STANFORD LINEARY GARETH AND LYNETTE. THE last tall son of Lot and Bellicent, And tallest, Gareth, in a showerful spring "How he went down," said Gareth, "as a false knight Or evil king before my lance if lance Were mine to use-O senseless cataract, Bearing all down in thy precipitancy— And yet thou art but swollen with cold snows, And mine is living blood: thou dost His will, The Maker's, and not knowest, and I that know, Have strength and wit, in my good mother's hall Linger with vacillating obedience, Prison'd, and kept and coax'd and whistled to Since the good mother holds me still a child— Good mother is bad mother unto me! A worse were better; yet no worse would I. Heaven yield her for it, but in me put force To weary her ears with one continuous prayer, Until she let me fly discaged to sweep In ever-highering eagle-circles up To the great Sun of Glory, and thence swoop Down upon all things base, and dash them dead, |