'O there,great 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 answered 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 loud battles by the shore Of Duglas;that on Bassa;then the war That thundered 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 centered in a sun Of silver rays,that lightened as he breathed;And at Caerleon had he helped 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 uttered this,Low to her own heart said the lily maid,'Save your own 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 through all hindrance finds the man Behind it,and so paints him that his face,The shape and colour 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 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 turned,and smoothed The glossy shoulder,humming to himself.
Half-envious of the flattering hand,she drew Nearer and stood.He looked,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,though 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 favour at the tilt.
She braved a riotous heart in asking for it.
'Fair lord,whose name I know not--noble it is,I well believe,the noblest--will you wear My favour at this tourney?''Nay,'said he,'Fair lady,since I never yet have worn Favour of any lady in the lists.
Such is my wont,as those,who know me,know.'
'Yea,so,'she answered;'then in wearing mine Needs must be lesser likelihood,noble lord,That those who know should know you.'And he turned Her counsel up and down within his mind,And found it true,and answered,'True,my child.
Well,I will wear it:fetch it out to me:
What is it?'and she told him 'A red sleeve Broidered with pearls,'and brought it:then he bound Her token on his helmet,with a smile Saying,'I never yet have done so much For any maiden living,'and the blood Sprang to her face and filled her with delight;But left her all the paler,when Lavaine Returning brought the yet-unblazoned shield,His brother's;which he gave to Lancelot,Who parted with his own to fair Elaine:
'Do me this grace,my child,to have my shield In keeping till I come.''A grace to me,'
She answered,'twice today.I am your squire!'
Whereat Lavaine said,laughing,'Lily maid,For fear our people call you lily maid In earnest,let me bring your colour back;Once,twice,and thrice:now get you hence to bed:'
So kissed her,and Sir Lancelot his own hand,And thus they moved away:she stayed a minute,Then made a sudden step to the gate,and there--Her bright hair blown about the serious face Yet rosy-kindled with her brother's kiss--Paused by the gateway,standing near the shield In silence,while she watched their arms far-off Sparkle,until they dipt below the downs.
Then to her tower she climbed,and took the shield,There kept it,and so lived in fantasy.
Meanwhile the new companions past away Far o'er the long backs of the bushless downs,To where Sir Lancelot knew there lived a knight Not far from Camelot,now for forty years A hermit,who had prayed,laboured and prayed,And ever labouring had scooped himself In the white rock a chapel and a hall On massive columns,like a shorecliff cave,And cells and chambers:all were fair and dry;The green light from the meadows underneath Struck up and lived along the milky roofs;And in the meadows tremulous aspen-trees And poplars made a noise of falling showers.
And thither wending there that night they bode.
But when the next day broke from underground,And shot red fire and shadows through the cave,They rose,heard mass,broke fast,and rode away:
Then Lancelot saying,'Hear,but hold my name Hidden,you ride with Lancelot of the Lake,'
Abashed young Lavaine,whose instant reverence,Dearer to true young hearts than their own praise,But left him leave to stammer,'Is it indeed?'
