As closing in himself the strength of ten, And when his anger tare him, massacring Man, woman, lad and girl—yea, the soft

babe!

Some hold that he hath swallow'd infant flesh,

Monster! O Prince, I went for Lancelot first,

The quest is Lancelot's give him back the shield.'

Said Gareth laughing, 'An he fight for this,

Belike he wins it as the better man :
Thus-and not else!'

But Lancelot on him urged All the devisings of their chivalry When one might meet a mightier than himself;

How best to manage horse, lance, sword and shield,

And so fill up the gap where force might fail

With skill and fineness. Instant were his words.

Then Gareth, 'Here be rules. I know

but one

To dash against mine enemy and to win. Yet have I watch'd thee victor in the joust, And seen thy way.' 'Heaven help thee,' sigh'd Lynette.

Then for a space, and under cloud that grew

To thunder-gloom palling all stars, they rode

In converse till she made her palfrey halt, Lifted an arm, and softly whisper'd,

'There.'

And all the three were silent seeing,

pitch'd

But Gareth spake and all indignantly, Fool, for thou hast, men say, the strength of ten,

Canst thou not trust the limbs thy God

hath given,

But must, to make the terror of thee more, Trick thyself out in ghastly imageries

Of that which Life hath done with, and the clod,

Less dull than thou, will hide with mantling flowers

As if for pity?' But he spake no word; Which set the horror higher: a maiden swoon'd;

The Lady Lyonors wrung her hands and wept,

As doom'd to be the bride of Night and Death;

Sir Gareth's head prickled beneath his helm ;

And ev'n Sir Lancelot thro' his warm blood felt

Ice strike, and all that mark'd him were aghast.

At once Sir Lancelot's charger fiercely neigh'd,

And Death's dark war-horse bounded

forward with him.

Then those that did not blink the terror,

saw

That Death was cast to ground, and

slowly rose.

But with one stroke Sir Gareth split the skull.

Half fell to right and half to left and lay. Then with a stronger buffet he clove the helm

As throughly as the skull; and out from this

Issued the bright face of a blooming boy Fresh as a flower new-born, and crying, 'Knight,

Slay me not: my three brethren bad me

do it,

To make a horror all about the house,

And stay the world from Lady Lyonors. They never dream'd the passes would be past.'

Answer'd Sir Gareth graciously to one Not many a moon his younger, 'My fair child,

What madness made thee challenge the chief knight

Of Arthur's hall?' 'Fair Sir, they bad me do it.

They hate the King, and Lancelot, the King's friend,

They hoped to slay him somewhere on the stream,

They never dream'd the passes could be past.'

Then sprang the happier day from underground;

And Lady Lyonors and her house, with dance

And revel and song, made merry over

Death,

As being after all their foolish fears
And horrors only proven a blooming boy.
So large mirth lived and Gareth won the
quest.

And he that told the tale in older times Says that Sir Gareth wedded Lyonors, But he, that told it later, says Lynette.

GERAINT AND ENID.

1.

THE brave Geraint, a knight of Arthur's court,

A tributary prince of Devon, one
Of that great Order of the Table Round,
Had married Enid, Yniol's only child,
And loved her, as he loved the light of
Heaven.

And as the light of Heaven varies, now

At sunrise, now at sunset, now by night
With moon and trembling stars, so loved
Geraint

To make her beauty vary day by day,
In crimsons and in purples and in gems.
And Enid, but to please her husband's
eye,

Who first had found and loved her in a state

Of broken fortunes, daily fronted him

In some fresh splendour; and the Queen herself,

Grateful to Prince Geraint for service done,

Loved her, and often with her own white hands

Array'd and deck'd her, as the loveliest, Next after her own self, in all the court. And Enid loved the Queen, and with true heart

Adored her, as the stateliest and the best And loveliest of all women upon earth. And seeing them so tender and so close, Long in their common love rejoiced Geraint.

But when a rumour rose about the Queen, Touching her guilty love for Lancelot, Tho' yet there lived no proof, nor yet was heard

The world's loud whisper breaking into storm,

Not less Geraint believed it; and there fell

A horror on him, lest his gentle wife, Thro' that great tenderness for Guinevere, Had suffer'd, or should suffer any taint In nature wherefore going to the King, He made this pretext, that his princedom lay

Close on the borders of a territory, Wherein were bandit earls, and caitift

knights,

Assassins, and all flyers from the hand

Of Justice, and whatever loathes a law : And therefore, till the King himself should please

To cleanse this common sewer of all his realm,

He craved a fair permission to depart, And there defend his marches; and the King

Mused for a little on his plea, but, last, Allowing it, the Prince and Enid rode, And fifty knights rode with them, to the shores

Of Severn, and they past to their own land;

Where, thinking, that if ever yet was

wife

True to her lord, mine shall be so to me, He compass'd her with sweet observances And worship, never leaving her, and grew Forgetful of his promise to the King, Forgetful of the falcon and the hunt, Forgetful of the tilt and tournament, Forgetful of his glory and his name, Forgetful of his princedom and its cares. And this forgetfulness was hateful to her. And by and by the people, when they met, In twos and threes, or fuller companies, Began to scoff and jeer and babble of him As of a prince whose manhood was all

gone,

And molten down in mere uxoriousness. And this she gather'd from the people's

eyes:

This too the women who attired her head, To please her, dwelling on his boundless love,

Told Enid, and they sadden'd her the

more:

And day by day she thought to tell Geraint, But could not out of bashful delicacy; While he that watch'd her sadden, was

the more

Suspicious that her nature had a taint.