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THE LAST TOURNAMENT.

BY ALFRED TENNYSON,

POET LAUREATE.

POET LAUREATE.

DAGONET, the fool, whom Gawain in his moods

Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round,
At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods,
Danced like a wither'd leaf before the Hall.
And toward him from the hall, with harp in hand,
And from the crown thereof a carcanet
Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize
Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday,
Came Tristram, saying, “Why skip ye so, Sir Fool ?'

For Arthur and Sir Lancelot riding once
Far down beneath a winding wall of rock
Heard a child wail. A stump of oak half-dead,
From roots like some black coil of carven snakes
Clutch'd at the crag, and started thro' mid air

• This poem forms one of the “ Idylls of the King.” Its place is between " Pelleas” and “Guinevere."

TOL. XIX.

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