But newly enter'd, taller than the rest,
And armor'd all in forest green, whereon
There tript a hundred tiny silver deer,
And wearing but a holly-spray for crest,
With ever-scattering berries, and on shield
A spear, a harp, a bug. Tristram-late
From overseas in Brittany return'd,
And marriage with a princess of that realm,
Isolt the White Sir Tristram of the

WoodsWhom Lancelot knew, had held sometime with pain

His own against him, and now yearn'd to shake

The burthen off his heart in one full shock With Tristram ev'n to death: his strong hands gript

And dinted the gilt dragons right and left, Until he groan'd for wrath-so many of those,

That ware their ladies' colors on the casque, Drew from before Sir Tristram to the bounds, And there with gibes and flickering mockeries

Stood, while he mutter'd, "Craven crests! O shame!

What faith have these in whom they sware to love?

The glory of our Round Table is no more.'

Then fell thick rain, plume droopt and mantle clung,

And pettish cries awoke, and the wan day Went glooming down in wet and weariness: But under her black brows a swarthy dame Laught shrilly, crying "Praise the patient saints,

Our one white day of Innocence hath past, Tho' somewhat draggled at the skirt. So be it.

The snowdrop only, flow'ring thro' the year, Would make the world as blank as wintertide.

Come let us comfort their sad eyes, our
Queen's

And Lancelot's, at this night's solemnity
With all the kindlier colors of the field."

So dame and damsel glitter'd at the feast Variously gay: for he that tells the tale Liken'd them, saying "as when an hour of cold

Falls on the mountain in midsummer snows, And all the purple slopes of mountain flowers Pass under white, till the warm hour returns With veer of wind, and all are flowers again";

So dame and damsel cast the simple white, And glowing in all colors, the live grass, Rose-campion, bluebell, kingcup, poppy, glanced

About the revels, and with mirth so loud Beyond all use, that, half-amazed, the Queen, And wroth at Tristram and the lawless

"Belike for lack of wiser company; Or being fool, and seeing too much wit Makes the world rotten, why, belike I skip To know myself the wisest knight of all." 'Ay, fool," said Tristram, "but 't is eating dry

66

To dance without a catch, a roundelay To dance to.' Then he twangled on his harp,

And while he twangled little Dagonet stood, Quiet as any water-sodden log

Stay'd in the wandering warble of a brook; But when the twangling ended, skipt again; Then being ask'd, "Why skipt ye not, Sir Fool?"

Made answer, "I had liefer twenty years Skip to the broken music of my brains Than any broken music ye can make. Then Tristram, waiting for the quip to come, "Good now, what music have I broken, fool?"

king's;

For when thou playest that air with Queen Isolt,

Thou makest broken music with thy bride, Her daintier namesake down in Brittany . And so thou breakest Arthur's music too." "Save for that broken music in thy brains, Sir Fool," said Tristram, "I would break thy head.

Fool, I came late, the heathen wars were o'er,

The life had flown, we sware but by the shell

I am but a fool to reason with a fool.
Come, thou art crabb'd and sour: but lean
me down,

Sir Dagonet, one of thy long asses' ears,
And hearken if my music be not true.

66 6 Free love-free field -we love but
while we may :

The woods are hush'd, their music is no

But Dagonet with one foot poised in his hand,

'Friend, did ye mark that fountain yesterday

Made to run wine?- but this had run itself All out like a long life to a sour end

And them that round it sat with golden cups
To hand the wine to whomsoever came-
The twelve small damosels white as Inno-
cence,

In honor of poor Innocence the babe,
Who left the gems which Innocence the
Queen

Lent to the King, and Innocence the King Gave for a prize- and one of those white slips

Handed her cup and piped, the pretty one, 'Drink, drink, Sir Fool,' and thereupon I

drank,

Spat pish- the cup was gold, the draught was mud."

And Tristram, "Was it muddier than thy gibes?

Is all the laughter gone dead out of thee?Not marking how the knighthood mock thee, fool

'Fear God: honor the king-his one true knight

Sole follower of the vows' for here be they

King

Had made thee fool, thy vanity so shot up
It frighted all free fool from out thy heart;
Which left thee less than fool, and less than

swine,

A naked aught-yet swine I hold thee still, For I have flung thee pearls, and find thee swine."

And little Dagonet mincing with his feet, "Knight, an ye fling those rubies round my neck

In lieu of hers, I'll hold thou hast some touch

Of music, since I care not for thy pearls. Swine? I have wallow'd, I have wash'd— the world

Is flesh and shadow- I have had my day. The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath foul'd mean I wallow'd, then I wash'd

I have had my day and my philosophiesAnd thank the Lord I am King Arthur's fool.

Swine, say ye? swine, goats, asses, rams and geese

Troop'd round a Paynim harper once, who thrumm'd

On such a wire as musically as thou Some such fine song-but never a king's fool."

heard.

And Dagonet, "Nay, nor will: I see it and

hear.

But then what folly had sent him overseas
After she left him lonely here? a name?
Was it the name of one in Brittany,
Isolt, the daughter of the King? "Isolt
Of the white hands" they call'd her: the

sweet name

Allured him first, and then the maid herself, Who served him well with those white hands of hers,

And loved him well, until himself had thought
He loved her also, wedded easily,
But left her all as easily, and return'd.
The black-blue Irish hair and Irish eyes
Had drawn him home - what marvel? then
he laid

His brows upon the drifted leaf and dream'd.

He seem'd to pace the strand of Brittany Between Isolt of Britain and his bride, And show'd them both the ruby-chain, and both

Began to struggle for it, till his Queen Graspt it so hard, that all her hand was red. Then cried the Breton, "Look, her hand is red!

These be no rubies, this is frozen blood, And melts within her hand-her hand is hot

With ill desires, but this I gave thee, look, Is all as cool and white as any flower." Follow'd a rush of eagle's wings, and then A whimpering of the spirit of the child, Because the twain had spoil'd her carcanet.