Suddenly speaking of the wordless man, Heard from the Baron that, ten years before,

The heathen caught and reft him of his tongue.

"He learnt and warn'd me of their fierce design

Against my house, and him they caught and maim'd:

But I my sons and little daughter fled
From bonds or death, and dwelt among the

woods

By the great river in a boatman's hut. Dull days were those, till our good Arthur broke

The Pagan yet once more on Badon hill."

"O there, good Lord, doubtless," Lavaine said, rapt

By all the sweet and sudden passion of youth Toward greatness in its elder, you have fought.

O tell us; for we live apart, you know Of Arthur's glorious wars.' And Lancelot spoke

And answer'd him at full, as having been
With Arthur in the fight which all day long
Rang by the white mouth of the violent
Glem ;

And in the four wild battles by the shore
Of Duglas; that on Bassa; then the war
That thunder'd in and out the gloomy skirts
Of Celidon the forest; and again

By castle Gurnion where the glorious King
Had on his cuirass worn our Lady's Head,
Carved of one emerald, centred in a sun
Of silver rays, that lighten'd as he breathed;
And at Caerleon had he help'd his lord,
When the strong neighings of the wild white
Horse

Set every gilded parapet shuddering;
And up in Agned Cathregonion too,
And down the waste sand-shores of Trath
Treroit,

Where many a heathen fell; "and on the mount

Of Badon I myself beheld the King
Charge at the head of all his Table Round,
And all his legions crying Christ and him,
And break them; and I saw him, after, stand
High on a heap of slain, from spur to plume
Red as the rising sun with heathen blood,
And seeing me, with a great voice he cried,
'They are broken, they are broken' for the
King,

However mild he seems at home, nor cares
For triumph in our mimic wars, the jousts
For if his own knight cast him down, he
laughs

Saying, his knights are better men than he -
Yet in this heathen war the fire of God
Fills him; I never saw his like; there lives
No greater leader.

While he utter'd this, Low to her own heart said the lily maid, "Save your great self, fair lord"; and when he fell From talk of war to traits of pleasantry

Being mirthful he but in a stately kind
She still took note that when the living smile
Died from his lips, across him came a cloud
Of melancholy severe, from which again,
Whenever in her hovering to and fro
The lily maid had striven to make him cheer,
There brake a sudden-beaming tenderness
Of manners and of nature and she thought
That all was nature, all, perchance, for her,
And all night long his face before her lived,
As when a painter, poring on a face,
Divinely thro' all hindrance finds the man
Behind it, and so paints him that his face,
The shape and color of a mind and life,
Lives for his children, ever at its best
And fullest; so the face before her lived,
Dark-splendid, speaking in the silence, full
Of noble things, and held her from her sleep.
Till rathe she rose, half-cheated in the
thought

She needs must bid farewell to sweet
Lavaine.

First as in fear, step after step, she stole, Down the long tower-stairs, hesitating: Anon, she heard Sir Lancelot cry in the

court,

"This shield, my friend, where is it?" and Lavaine

Past inward, as she came from out the tower. There to his proud horse Lancelot turn'd, and smooth'd

The glossy shoulder, humming to himself. Half-envious of the flattering hand, she drew Nearer and stood. He look'd, and more

amazed

Than if seven men had set upon him, saw
The maiden standing in the dewy light.
He had not dreamed she was so beautiful.
Then came on him a sort of sacred fear,
For silent, tho' he greeted her, she stood
Rapt on his face as if it were a God's.
Suddenly flashed on her a wild desire,
That he should wear her favor at the tilt.
She braved a riotous heart in asking for it.
"Fair lord, whose name I know not - noble
it is,

will you wear 'Ñay," said

66

I well believe, the noblest My favor at this tourney?" he, "Fair lady, since I never yet have worn Favor of any lady in the lists. Such is my wont, as those, who know me, know." "Yea, so, ," she answer'd; "then in wearing mine

Needs must be lesser likelihood, noble lord, That those who know should know you.'

And he turn'd

Her counsel up and down within his mind, And found it true, and answer'd, "True, my child.

Well, I will wear it: fetch it out to me : What is it?" and she told him "a red sleeve

Broider'd with pearls," and brought it: then he bound

Her token on his helmet, with a smile
Saying, "I never yet have done so much

"How then? who then?" a fury seized on them,

A fiery family passion for the name

Of Lancelot, and a glory one with theirs. They couch'd their spears and prick'd their steeds and thus,

Their plumes driv'n backward by the wind they made

In moving, all together down upon him
Bare, as a wild wave in the wild North-sea,
Green-glimmering toward the summit, bears,
with all

Its stormy crests that smote against the skies,
Down on a bark, and overbears the bark,
And him that helms it, so they overbore
Sir Lancelot and his charger, and a spear
Down-glancing lamed the charger, and a spear
Prick'd sharply his own cuirass, and the head
Pierced thro' his side, and there snapt, and
remain'd.

Then Sir Lavaine did well and worshipfully;

He bore a knight of old repute to the earth, And brought his horse to Lancelot where he lay.

He up the side, sweating with agony, got,
But thought to do while he might yet endure
And being lustily holpen by the rest,
His party, tho' it seemed half-miracle
To those he fought with -drave his kith and
kin,

And all the Table Round that held the lists,
Back to the barrier; then the heralds blew
Proclaiming his the prize, who wore the
sleeve

Of scarlet, and the pearls; and all the knights

His party, cried" Advance, and take your

prize

The diamond"; but he answer'd, "Diamond

me

No diamonds! for God's love, a little air! Prize me no prizes, for my prize is death! Hence will I and I charge you, follow me not."

He spoke, and vanish'd suddenly from the field

With young Lavaine into the poplar grove. There from his charger down he slid, and sat, Gasping to Sir Lavaine, Draw.the lancehead":

"Ah, my sweet lord, Sir Lancelot," said Lavaine,

"I dread me, if I draw it, you will die." But he, "I die already with it: draw Draw" - and Lavaine drew, and that other gave

A marvellous great shriek and ghastly groan, And half his blood burst forth, and down he sank

For the pure pain, and wholly swoon'd away. Then came the hermit out and bare him in, There stanch'd his wound; and there, in daily doubt

Whether to live or die, for many a week

grove

Of poplars with their noise of falling showers, And ever-tremulous aspen-trees, he lay.

At Arthur's right, with smiling face arose, With smiling face and frowning heart, a Prince In the mid might and flourish of his May, Gawain, surnamed The Courteous, fair and strong.

And after Lancelot, Tristram, and Geraint And Lamorack, a good knight, but therewithal

Sir Modred's brother, of a crafty house,
Nor often loyal to his word, and now
Wroth that the king's command to sally forth
In quest of whom he knew not, made him
leave

The banquet, and concourse of knights and kings.

So all in wrath he got to horse and

went;

While Arthur to the banquet, dark in mood, Past, thinking, "Is it Lancelot who has come Despite the wound he spake of, all for gain Of glory, and has added wound to wound,