That if the sparrow-hawk, this nephew, fight 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 thine asking, thine.
But in this tournament can no man tilt,
Except the lady he loves best be there.
Two forks are fixt into the meadow ground,
And over these is placed a silver wand,
And over that a golden sparrow-hawk,
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 thou, that hast no lady, canst not fight.'

To whom Geraint with eyes all bright replied,

Leaning a little toward him, 'Thy leave!

Let me lay lance in rest, O noble host,

For this dear child, because I never saw,
Tho' having seen all beauties of our time,
Nor can see elsewhere, anything so fair.
And if I fall her name will yet remain
Untarnish'd as before; but if I live,

So aid me Heaven when at mine uttermost,

As I will make her truly my true wife.'

Then, howsoever patient, Yniol's heart Danced in his bosom, seeing better days. And looking round he saw not Enid there, (Who hearing her own name had slipt away) But that old dame, to whom full tenderly And fondling all her hand in his he said, 'Mother, a maiden is a tender thing,

And best by her that bore her understood.

Go thou to rest, but ere thou go to rest

Tell her, and prove her heart toward the

Prince.'

So spake the kindly-hearted Earl, and she

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 errant 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 the silver wand,

And over that the 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,

For I these two years past have won it for thee, The prize of beauty.' Loudly spake the Prince, 'Forbear: there is a worthier,' and the knight With some surprise and thrice as much disdain Turn'd, and beheld the four, and all his face Glow'd like the heart of a great fire at Yule,

So burnt he was with passion, crying out,

'Do battle for it then,' no more; and thrice They clash'd together, and thrice they brake their

spears.

Then each, dishorsed and drawing, lash'd at each So often and with such blows, that all the crowd Wonder'd, and now and then from distant walls There came a clapping as of phantom hands.

So twice they fought, and twice they breathed,

and still