King Arthur made new knights² to fill the gap   Left by the Holy Quest; and as he sat
  In hall at old Caerleon, the high doors
  Were softly sundered³, and through these a youth,
  Pelleas, and the sweet smell of the fields
  Past, and the sunshine came along with him.
 
     “Make me thy knight¹, because I know, Sir King,
  All that belongs to knighthood, and I love.”
  Such was his cry:  for having heard the King
  Had let proclaim a tournament—the prize
  A golden circlet and a knightly⁴ sword,
  Full fain had Pelleas for his lady won
  The golden circlet, for himself the sword:
  And there were those who knew him near the King,
  And promised for him:  and Arthur made him knight.
 
     And this new knight, Sir Pelleas of the isles⁶—
  But lately come to his inheritance,
  And lord of many a barren isle⁵ was he—
  Riding at noon, a day or twain before,
  Across the forest called of Dean, to find
  Caerleon and the King, had felt the sun
  Beat like a strong knight on his helm, and reeled
  Almost to falling from his horse; but saw
  Near him a mound⁷ of even-sloping side,
  Whereon a hundred stately beeches⁸ grew,
  And here and there great hollies⁹ under them;
  But for a mile all round was open space,
  And fern and heath:  and slowly Pelleas drew
  To that dim day, then binding¹¹ his good horse
  To a tree, cast himself down; and as he lay
  At random¹² looking over the brown earth
  Through that green-glooming twilight¹³ of the grove¹⁴,
  It seemed to Pelleas that the fern without
  Burnt as a living fire of emeralds,
  So that his eyes were dazzled looking at it.
  Then o’er it crost the dimness of a cloud
  Floating, and once the shadow of a bird
  Flying, and then a fawn¹⁵; and his eyes closed.
  And since he loved all maidens¹⁶, but no maid
  In special, half-awake he whispered, “Where?
  O where? I love thee, though I know thee not.
  For fair thou art and pure as Guinevere,
  And I will make thee with my spear and sword
  As famous—O my Queen, my Guinevere,
  For I will be thine Arthur when we meet.”
 
     Suddenly wakened with a sound of talk
  And laughter at the limit of the wood,
  And glancing through the hoary¹⁷ boles, he saw,
  Strange as to some old prophet might have seemed
  A vision hovering¹⁸ on a sea of fire,
  Damsels in divers¹⁹ colours like the cloud
  Of sunset and sunrise, and all of them
  On horses, and the horses richly trapt
  Breast-high in that bright line of bracken stood:
  And all the damsels talked confusedly,
  And one was pointing this way, and one that,
  Because the way was lost.
 
                           And Pelleas rose,
  And loosed his horse, and led him to the light.
  There she that seemed the chief among them said,
  “In happy time behold²⁰ our pilot-star!
  Youth, we are damsels-errant, and we ride,
  Armed as ye see, to tilt²¹ against the knights
  There at Caerleon, but have lost our way:
  To right? to left? straight forward? back again?
  Which? tell us quickly.”
 
                          Pelleas gazing thought,
  “Is Guinevere herself so beautiful?”
  For large her violet eyes looked, and her bloom
  A rosy²² dawn kindled²³ in stainless²⁴ heavens,
  And round her limbs, mature in womanhood;
  And slender was her hand and small her shape;
  And but for those large eyes, the haunts of scorn,
  She might have seemed a toy to trifle with,
  And pass and care no more.  But while he gazed
  The beauty of her flesh abashed²⁵ the boy,
  As though it were the beauty of her soul:
  For as the base man, judging of the good,
  Puts his own baseness in him by default
  Of will and nature, so did Pelleas lend
  All the young beauty of his own soul to hers,
  Believing her; and when she spake to him,
  Stammered²⁶, and could not make her a reply.
  For out of the waste islands had he come,
  Where saving his own sisters he had known
  Scarce any but the women of his isles,
  Rough wives, that laughed and screamed against the gulls²⁷,
  Makers²⁸ of nets, and living from the sea.
 
     Then with a slow smile turned the lady round
  And looked upon her people; and as when
  A stone is flung into some sleeping tarn²⁹,
  The circle widens till it lip the marge,
  Spread the slow smile through all her company.
  Three knights were thereamong; and they too smiled,
  Scorning him; for the lady was Ettarre,
  And she was a great lady in her land.
 
     Again she said, “O wild and of the woods,
  Knowest thou not the fashion of our speech?
  Or have the Heavens but given thee a fair face,
  Lacking a tongue?”
 
                    “O damsel,” answered he,
  “I woke from dreams; and coming out of gloom
  Was dazzled by the sudden light, and crave³⁰
  Pardon:  but will ye to Caerleon?  I
  Go likewise:  shall I lead you to the King?”
 
     “Lead then,” she said; and through the woods they went.
  And while they rode, the meaning in his eyes,
  His tenderness of manner, and chaste³¹ awe³²,
  His broken utterances³³ and bashfulness,
  Were all a burthen to her, and in her heart
  She muttered, “I have lighted on a fool,
  Raw, yet so stale!”  But since her mind was bent³⁴
  On hearing, after trumpet³⁵ blown, her name
  And title, “Queen of Beauty,” in the lists
  Cried—and beholding³⁶ him so strong, she thought
  That peradventure he will fight for me,
  And win the circlet:  therefore flattered him,
  Being so gracious, that he wellnigh deemed
  His wish by hers was echoed; and her knights
  And all her damsels too were gracious to him,
  For she was a great lady.
 
                           And when they reached
  Caerleon, ere they past to lodging³⁷, she,
  Taking his hand, “O the strong hand,” she said,
  “See! look at mine! but wilt³⁸ thou fight for me,
  And win me this fine circlet, Pelleas,
  That I may love thee?”
 
                        Then his helpless heart
  Leapt, and he cried, “Ay! wilt thou if I win?”
  “Ay, that will I,” she answered, and she laughed,
  And straitly nipt the hand, and flung it from her;
  Then glanced askew³⁹ at those three knights of hers,
  Till all her ladies laughed along with her.
 
     “O happy world,” thought Pelleas, “all, meseems,
  Are happy; I the happiest of them all.”
  Nor slept that night for pleasure in his blood,
  And green wood-ways, and eyes among the leaves;
  Then being on the morrow knighted, sware
  To love one only.  And as he came away,
  The men who met him rounded on their heels
  And wondered after him, because his face
  Shone like the countenance⁴¹ of a priest of old
  Against the flame about a sacrifice
  Kindled by fire from heaven:  so glad was he.
 
     Then Arthur made vast banquets, and strange knights
  From the four winds came in:  and each one sat,
  Though served with choice from air, land, stream, and sea,
  Oft in mid-banquet measuring with his eyes
  His neighbour’s make and might:  and Pelleas looked
  Noble among the noble, for he dreamed
  His lady loved him, and he knew himself
  Loved of the King:  and him his new-made knight
  Worshipt, whose lightest whisper moved him more
  Than all the ranged reasons of the world.
 
     Then blushed and brake the morning of the jousts⁴²,
  And this was called “The Tournament of Youth:”
  For Arthur, loving his young knight, withheld⁴³
  His older and his mightier⁴⁴ from the lists,
  That Pelleas might obtain his lady’s love,
  According to her promise, and remain
  Lord of the tourney.  And Arthur had the jousts
  Down in the flat field by the shore of Usk
  Holden:  the gilded⁴⁵ parapets were crowned
  With faces, and the great tower filled with eyes
  Up to the summit, and the trumpets⁴⁶ blew.
  There all day long Sir Pelleas kept the field
  With honour:  so by that strong hand of his
  The sword and golden circlet were achieved.
 
     Then rang the shout his lady loved:  the heat
  Of pride and glory fired her face; her eye
  Sparkled; she caught the circlet from his lance,
  And there before the people crowned herself:
  So for the last time she was gracious to him.
 
     Then at Caerleon for a space—her look
  Bright for all others, cloudier on her knight—
  Lingered Ettarre:  and seeing Pelleas droop⁴⁷,
  Said Guinevere, “We marvel⁴⁸ at thee much,
  O damsel, wearing this unsunny face
  To him who won thee glory!”  And she said,
  “Had ye not held your Lancelot in your bower⁴⁹,
  My Queen, he had not won.”  Whereat the Queen,
  As one whose foot is bitten by an ant,
  Glanced down upon her, turned and went her way.
 
     But after, when her damsels, and herself,
  And those three knights all set their faces home,
  Sir Pelleas followed.  She that saw him cried,
  “Damsels—and yet I should be shamed to say it—
  I cannot bide⁵⁰ Sir Baby.  Keep him back
  Among yourselves.  Would rather that we had
  Some rough old knight who knew the worldly way,
  Albeit⁵¹ grizzlier than a bear, to ride
  And jest with:  take him to you, keep him off,
  And pamper⁵² him with papmeat, if ye will,
  Old milky⁵³ fables⁵⁴ of the wolf and sheep,
  Such as the wholesome⁵⁵ mothers tell their boys.
  Nay⁵⁶, should ye try him with a merry one
  To find his mettle⁵⁷, good:  and if he fly us,
  Small matter! let him.”  This her damsels heard,
  And mindful of her small and cruel hand,
  They, closing round him through the journey home,
  Acted her hest, and always from her side
  Restrained him with all manner of device,
  So that he could not come to speech with her.
  And when she gained her castle, upsprang the bridge,
  Down rang the grate of iron through the groove⁵⁸,
  And he was left alone in open field.
 
     “These be the ways of ladies,” Pelleas thought,
  “To those who love them, trials of our faith.
  Yea, let her prove me to the uttermost,
  For loyal to the uttermost am I.”
  So made his moan; and darkness falling, sought
  A priory not far off, there lodged⁵⁹, but rose
  With morning every day, and, moist or dry,
  Full-armed upon his charger all day long
  Sat by the walls, and no one opened to him.
 
     And this persistence⁶⁰ turned her scorn to wrath⁶¹.
  Then calling her three knights, she charged them, “Out!
  And drive him from the walls.”  And out they came
  But Pelleas overthrew⁶² them as they dashed
  Against him one by one; and these returned,
  But still he kept his watch beneath the wall.
 
     Thereon her wrath became a hate; and once,
  A week beyond, while walking on the walls
  With her three knights, she pointed⁶³ downward, “Look,
  He haunts me—I cannot breathe—besieges me;
  Down! strike him! put my hate into your strokes,
  And drive him from my walls.”  And down they went,
  And Pelleas overthrew them one by one;
  And from the tower above him cried Ettarre,
  “Bind¹⁰ him, and bring him in.”
 
                               He heard her voice;
  Then let the strong hand, which had overthrown⁶⁴
  Her minion-knights, by those he overthrew
  Be bounden straight, and so they brought him in.
 
     Then when he came before Ettarre, the sight
  Of her rich beauty made him at one glance
  More bondsman in his heart than in his bonds.
  Yet with good cheer he spake, “Behold me, Lady,
  A prisoner, and the vassal⁶⁵ of thy will;
  And if thou keep me in thy donjon here,
  Content am I so that I see thy face
  But once a day:  for I have sworn my vows⁶⁶,
  And thou hast given thy promise, and I know
  That all these pains are trials of my faith,
  And that thyself, when thou hast seen me strained
  And sifted⁶⁷ to the utmost, wilt at length
  Yield me thy love and know me for thy knight.”
 
     Then she began to rail so bitterly,
  With all her damsels, he was stricken mute;
  But when she mocked his vows and the great King,
  Lighted on words:  “For pity of thine own self,
  Peace, Lady, peace:  is he not thine and mine?”
  “Thou fool,” she said, “I never heard his voice
  But longed to break away.  Unbind him now,
  And thrust him out of doors; for save he be
  Fool to the midmost marrow⁶⁸ of his bones,
  He will return no more.”  And those, her three,
  Laughed, and unbound, and thrust him from the gate.
 
     And after this, a week beyond, again
  She called them, saying, “There he watches yet,
  There like a dog before his master’s door!
  Kicked, he returns:  do ye not hate him, ye?
  Ye know yourselves:  how can ye bide at peace,
  Affronted⁶⁹ with his fulsome⁷⁰ innocence⁷¹?
  Are ye but creatures of the board and bed,
  No men to strike?  Fall on him all at once,
  And if ye slay⁷² him I reck not:  if ye fail,
  Give ye the slave mine order to be bound,
  Bind him as heretofore, and bring him in:
  It may be ye shall slay him in his bonds.”
 
     She spake; and at her will they couched their spears,
  Three against one:  and Gawain passing by,
  Bound upon solitary⁷³ adventure, saw
  Low down beneath the shadow of those towers
  A villainy, three to one:  and through his heart
  The fire of honour and all noble deeds
  Flashed, and he called, “I strike upon thy side—
  The caitiffs!”  “Nay,” said Pelleas, “but forbear;
  He needs no aid who doth his lady’s will.”
 
     So Gawain, looking at the villainy done,
  Forbore, but in his heat and eagerness
  Trembled and quivered, as the dog, withheld
  A moment from the vermin that he sees
  Before him, shivers, ere he springs and kills.
 
     And Pelleas overthrew them, one to three;
  And they rose up, and bound, and brought him in.
  Then first her anger, leaving Pelleas, burned
  Full on her knights in many an evil name
  Of craven, weakling, and thrice-beaten hound:
  “Yet, take him, ye that scarce are fit to touch,
  Far less to bind, your victor, and thrust him out,
  And let who will release him from his bonds.
  And if he comes again”—there she brake short;
  And Pelleas answered, “Lady, for indeed
  I loved you and I deemed you beautiful,
  I cannot brook⁷⁵ to see your beauty marred⁷⁶
  Through evil spite:  and if ye love me not,
  I cannot bear to dream you so forsworn:
  I h............