And thou, put on thy worst and meanest

dress

And ride with me.' And Enid ask'd,

amazed,

'If Enid errs, let Enid learn her fault.'
But he, 'I charge thee, ask not, but obey.'
Then she bethought her of a faded silk,
A faded mantle and a faded veil,
And moving toward a cedarn cabinet,
Wherein she kept them folded reverently
With sprigs of summer laid between the
folds,

She took them, and array'd herself therein,
Remembering when first he came on her
Drest in that dress, and how he loved her
in it,

And all her foolish fears about the dress, And all his journey to her, as himself Had told her, and their coming to the

court.

For Arthur on the Whitsuntide before Held court at old Caerleon upon Usk. There on a day, he sitting high in hall, Before him came a forester of Dean, Wet from the woods, with notice of a hart Taller than all his fellows, milky-white, First seen that day: these things he told the King.

Then the good King gave order to let blow His horns for hunting on the morrow morn. And when the Queen petition'd for his leave

To see the hunt, allow'd it easily.

So with the morning all the court were gone.

But Guinevere lay late into the morn, Lost in sweet dreams, and dreaming of her love

For Lancelot, and forgetful of the hunt; But rose at last, a single maiden with her, Took horse, and forded Usk, and gain'd the wood;

There, on a little knoll beside it, stay'd Waiting to hear the hounds; but heard instead

A sudden sound of hoofs, for Prince Geraint,

Late also, wearing neither hunting-dress
Nor weapon, save a golden-hilted brand,
Came quickly flashing thro' the shallow
ford

Behind them, and so gallop'd up the knoll.
A purple scarf, at either end whereof
There swung an apple of the purest gold,
Sway'd round about him, as he gallop'd up
To join them, glancing like a dragon-fly
In summer suit and silks of holiday.
Low bow'd the tributary Prince, and she,
Sweetly and statelily, and with all grace
Of womanhood and queenhood, answer'd
him:

'Late, late, Sir Prince,' she said, 'later than we!'

'Yea, noble Queen,' he answer'd, 'and so late

That I but come like you to see the hunt,

Not join it.' 'Therefore wait with me,' she said;

'For on this little knoll, if anywhere, There is good chance that we shall hear

the hounds:

Here often they break covert at our feet.'

And while they listen'd for the distant

hunt,

And chiefly for the baying of Cavall, King Arthur's hound of deepest mouth,

there rode

Full slowly by a knight, lady, and dwarf ; Whereof the dwarf lagg'd latest, and the

knight

Had vizor up, and show'd a youthful face, Imperious, and of haughtiest lineaments. And Guinevere, not mindful of his face

In the King's hall, desired his name, and

sent

Her maiden to demand it of the dwarf; Who being vicious, old and irritable, And doubling all his master's vice of pride, Made answer sharply that she should not know.

'Then will I ask it of himself,' she said. 'Nay, by my faith, thou shalt not,' cried the dwarf;

Thou art not worthy ev'n to speak of him ;'

And when she put her horse toward the knight,

Struck at her with his whip, and she return'd

Indignant to the Queen; whereat Geraint Exclaiming, Surely I will learn the name,' Made sharply to the dwarf, and ask'd it

of him,

Who answer'd as before; and when the Prince

Had put his horse in motion toward the

knight,

Struck at him with his whip, and cut his

cheek.

The Prince's blood spirted upon the scarf,
Dyeing it; and his quick, instinctive hand
Caught at the hilt, as to abolish him :
But he, from his exceeding manfulness
And pure nobility of temperament,
Wroth to be wroth at such a worm,
refrain'd

From ev'n a word, and so returning said:

'I will avenge this insult, noble Queen, Done in your maiden's person to yourself: And I will track this vermin to their earths: For tho' I ride unarm'd, I do not doubt To find, at some place I shall come at,

arms

On loan, or else for pledge; and, being

found,

Then will I fight him, and will break his pride,

And on the third day will again be here, So that I be not fall'n in fight. Farewell.'

Farewell, fair Prince,' answer'd the

stately Queen.

'Be prosperous in this journey, as in all; And may you light on all things that you love,

And live to wed with her whom first you love :

But ere you wed with any, bring your bride,

And I, were she the daughter of a king, Yea, tho' she were a beggar from the

hedge,

Will clothe her for her bridals like the sun.'

And Prince Geraint, now thinking that

he heard

The noble hart at bay, now the far horn,
A little vext at losing of the hunt,

A little at the vile occasion, rode,
By ups and downs, thro' many a grassy

glade

And valley, with fixt eye following the three.

At last they issued from the world of

wood,

And climb'd upon a fair and even ridge, And show'd themselves against the sky,

and sank.

And thither came Geraint, and underneath

Beheld the long street of a little town
In a long valley, on one side whereof,
White from the mason's hand, a fortress

rose;

And on one side a castle in decay, Beyond a bridge that spann'd a dry

ravine:

And out of town and valley came a noise As of a broad brook o'er a shingly bed Brawling, or like a clamour of the rooks At distance, ere they settle for the night.

And onward to the fortress rode the three,

And enter'd, and were lost behind the walls.

'So,' thought Geraint, I have track'd him to his earth.'

And down the long street riding wearily, Found every hostel full, and everywhere Was hammer laid to hoof, and the hot hiss

And bustling whistle of the youth who scour'd

His master's armour; and of such a one He ask'd, 'What means the tumult in the town?'

Who told him, scouring still, 'The sparrow-hawk!'

Then riding close behind an ancient churl, Who, smitten by the dusty sloping beam, Went sweating underneath a sack of corn, Ask'd yet once more what meant the

hubbub here?

Who answer'd gruffly, 'Ugh! the sparrow-hawk.'

Then riding further past an armourer's, Who, with back turn'd, and bow'd above his work,

Sat riveting a helmet on his knee,
He put the self-same query, but the man
Not turning round, nor looking at him,
said:

'Friend, he that labours for the sparrowhawk

Has little time for idle questioners.' Whereat Geraint flash'd into sudden

spleen :

A thousand pips eat up your sparrow

hawk!

Singing; and as the sweet voice of a bird, Heard by the lander in a lonely isle, Moves him to think what kind of bird it is That sings so delicately clear, and make Conjecture of the plumage and the form; So the sweet voice of Enid moved Geraint; And made him like a man abroad at morn When first the liquid note beloved of men Comes flying over many a windy wave To Britain, and in April suddenly Breaks from a coppice gemm'd with green and red,

And he suspends his converse with a friend,

Or it may be the labour of his hands,
To think or say, 'There is the nightin-

Frown and we smile, the lords of our own

hands;

For man is man and master of his fate.

'Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring

crowd;

Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud;

Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.'

'Hark, by the bird's song ye may learn the nest,'

Said Yniol; 'enter quickly.' Entering then,

Right o'er a mount of newly-fallen stones, The dusky-rafter'd many-cobweb'd hall, He found an ancient dame in dim brocade;

And near her, like a blossom vermeilwhite,

That lightly breaks a faded flower-sheath, Moved the fair Enid, all in faded silk, Her daughter. In a moment thought Geraint,

'Here by God's rood is the one maid for me.'

But none spake word except the hoary Earl :

'Enid, the good knight's horse stands in

the court;

Take him to stall, and give him corn, and then

Go to the town and buy us flesh and wine;

And we will make us merry as we may. Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.'

He spake the Prince, as Enid past him, fain

To follow, strode a stride, but Yniol caught

His purple scarf, and held, and said, 'Forbear!

Rest! the good house, tho' ruin'd, O

my son,

Endures not that her guest should serve

himself.'

And reverencing the custom of the house Geraint, from utter courtesy, forbore.

So Enid took his charger to the stall; And after went her way across the bridge, And reach'd the town, and while the Prince and Earl

Yet spoke together, came again with one, A youth, that following with a costrel bore The means of goodly welcome, flesh and wine.

And Enid brought sweet cakes to make them cheer,

And in her veil enfolded, manchet bread. And then, because their hall must also

serve

For kitchen, boil'd the flesh, and spread the board,

And stood behind, and waited on the three.
And seeing her so sweet and serviceable,
Geraint had longing in him evermore
To stoop and kiss the tender little thumb,
That crost the trencher as she laid it

down :

But after all had eaten, then Geraint, For now the wine made summer in his

veins,

Let his eye rove in following, or rest
On Enid at her lowly handmaid-work,
Now here, now there, about the dusky

hall;

Then suddenly addrest the hoary Earl :

'Fair Host and Earl, I pray your

courtesy ;

This sparrow-hawk, what is he? tell me of him.