In next day's tourney I may break his pride."

And Yniol answer'd "Arms, indeed, but old

And rusty, old and rusty, Prince Geraint,

Are mine, and therefore at your asking, yours.

But in this tournament can no man tilt,

Except the lady he loves best be there. Two forks are tixt into the meadow

ground,

And over these is laid a silver wand, And over that is placed the sparrowhawk,

The prize of beauty for the fairest there.

And this, what knight soever be in field

Lays claim to for the lady at his side, And tilts with my good nephew thereupon,

Who being apt at arms and big of bone Has ever won it for the lady with him, And toppling over all antagonism

Has earn'd himself the name of sparrow-hawk.

But you, that have no lady, cannot fight."

With frequent smile and nod departing found,

Half disarray'd as to her rest, the girl; Whom first she kiss'd on either cheek, and then

On either shining shoulder laid a hand, And kept her off and gazed upon her face,

And told her all their converse in the hall,

Proving her heart: but never light and shade

Coursed one another more on open ground

Beneath a troubled heaven, than red and pale

Across the face of Enid hearing her; While slowly falling as a scale that falls,

When weight is added only grain by grain,

Sank her sweet head upon her gentle breast;

Nor did she lift an eye nor speak a word,

Rapt in the fear and in the wonder of it;

So moving without answer to her rest She found no rest, and ever fail'd to

draw

The quiet night into her blood, but lay Contemplating her own unworthiness; And when the pale and bloodless east began

To quicken to the sun, arose, and raised

Her mother too, and hand in hand they moved

Down to the meadow where the jousts were held,

And waited there for Yniol and Geraint.

And thither came the twain, and when Geraint

Beheld her first in field, awaiting him, He felt, were she the prize of bodily force,

Himself beyond the rest pushing could

move

The chair of Idris. Yniol's rusted arms Were on his princely person, but thro'' these

Princelike his bearing, shone; and er rant knights

And ladies came, and by and by the town

Flow'd in, and settling circled all the lists.

And there they fixt the forks into the ground,

And over these they placed a silver wand

And over that a golden sparrow-hawk. Then Yniol's nephew, after trumpet blown,

Spake to the lady with him and proclaim'd.

"Advance and take as fairest of the fair,

the bone,

And fell'd him, and set foot upon his breast,

And said, "Thy name?" To whom the fallen man

Made answer, groaning, "Edyrn, son of Nudd!

Ashamed am I that I should tell it thee.

My pride is broken: men have seen my fall."

"Then, Edyrn, son of Nudd," replied Geraint,

"These two things shalt thou do, or else thou diest.

First, thou thyself, thy lady, and thy dwarf,

Shalt ride to Arthur's court, and being there,

Crave pardon for that insult done the Queen,

And shalt abide her judgment, on it; next,

Thou shalt give back their earldom to thy kin.

These two things shalt thou do, or thou

shalt die.

And Edyrn answer'd, "These things will I do,

For I have never yet been overthrown, And thou hast overthrown me, and my

pride

Is broken down, for Enid sees my fall!' And rising up, he rode to Arthur's court,

And there the Queen forgave him easily.

And being young, he changed, and came to loathe

His crime of traitor, slowly drew himself

Bright from his old dark life, and fell at last

In the great battle fighting for the king.

But when the third day from the hunting-morn

Made a low splendor in the world, and wings

Moved in her ivy, Enid, for she lay With her fair head in the dim-yellow

raint.

And still she look'd, and still the ter ror grew

Of that strange bright and dreadful thing, a court,

All staring at her in her faded silk: And softly to her own sweet heart she said:

"This noble prince who won our earldom back,

So splendid in his acts and his attire, Sweet heaven, how much I shall discredit him!

Would he could tarry with us here awhile!

But being so beholden to the Prince, It were but little grace in any of us, Bent as he seem'd on going this third

day,

To seek a second favor at his hands. Yet if he could but tarry a day or two, I Myself would work eye dim, and fin

ger lame,

Far liefer than so much discredit him."

And Enid fell in longing for a dress All branch'd and flower'd with gold, a costly gift

Of her good mother, given her on the night

Before her birthday, three sad years ago,

That night of fire, when Edyrn sack'd their house,

And scatter'd all they had to all the winds:

For while the mother show'd it, and the two

Were turning and admiring it, the work To both appear'd so costly, rose a cry That Edyrn's men were on them, and they fled

With little save the jewels they had on, Which being sold and sold had bought them bread:

And Edyrn's men had caught them in

their flight,

And placed them in this ruin; and she wish'd

The Prince had found her in her an

cient home;

Then let her fancy flit across the past, And roam the goodly places that she knew ;

And last bethought her how she used to watch,

Near that old home, a pool of golden

And all the children in their cloth of gold

Ran to her, crying, "if we have fish at all

Let them be gold; and charge the gar. deners now

To pick the faded creature from the pool,

And cast it on the mixen that it die." And therewithal one came and seized on her,

And Enid started waking, with her heart

All overshadow'd by the foolish dream, And lo! it was her mother grasping her

To get her well awake; and in her hand

A suit of bright apparel, which she laid

Flat on the couch, and spoke exultingly:

"See here, my child, how fresh the

colors look,

While you were talking sweetly with your Prince

Came one with this and laid it in my hand,

For love or fear, or seeking favor of us, Because we have our earldom back

again.

And yester-eve I would not tell you of

it,

But kept it for a sweet surprise at morn.

Yea, truly is it not a sweet surprise? For I myself unwillingly have worn My faded suit, as you, my child, have yours,

And howsoever patient, Yniol his. Ah, dear, he took me from a goodly house,

With store of rich apparel, sumptuous fare,

And page, and maid, and squire, and seneschal,

And pastime both of hawk and hound, and all

That appertains to noble maintenance. Yea, and he brought me to a goodly house;

But since our fortune slipt from sun to shade,

And all thro' that young traitor, cruel need

Constrain'd us, but a better time has come;

So clothe yourself in this, that better fits

Our mended fortunes and a Prince's bride :

For tho' ye won the prize of fairest fair.

And tho' I heard him call you fairest fair,

Let never maiden think, however fair, She is not fairer in new clothes than old.

And should some great court-lady say, the Prince

Hath pick'd a ragged robin from the hedge,

And like a madman brought her to the court,

Then were ye shamed, and, worse, might shame the Prince

To whom we are beholden; but I know,

When my dear child is set forth at her best,

That neither court nor country, tho' they sought

Thro' all the provinces like those of old

That lighted on Queen Esther, has her match."

She never yet had seen her half so fair;

And call'd her like that maiden in the tale,

Whom Gwydion made by glamour out of flowers,

And sweeter than the bride of Cassivelaun,

Flur, for whose love the Roman Cæsar first

Invaded Britain, (“but we beat him back,

As this great prince invaded us, and we,

Not beat him back, but welcomed him with joy.

And I can scarcely ride with you to court,

For old am I, and rough the ways and wild;

But Yniol goes, and I full oft shall dream

I see my princess as I see her now, Clothed with my gift, and gay among the gay.

But while the women thus rejoiced, Geraint

Woke where he slept in the high hall, and call'd

For Enid, and when Yniol made re