Won by the mellow voice before she look'd, Lifted her eyes, and read his lineaments. The great and guilty love he bare the Queen, In battle with the love he bare his lord, Had marr'd his face, and mark'd it ere his time. Another sinning on such heights with one, The flower of all the west and all the world, Had been the sleeker for it: but in him His mood was often like a fiend, and rose And drove him into wastes and solitudes For agony, who was yet a living soul. Marr'd as he was, he seem'd the goodliest man That ever among ladies ate in hall, And noblest, when she lifted up her eyes. However marr'd, of more than twice her years, Seam'd with an ancient swordcut on the cheek, And bruised and bronzed, she lifted up her eyes And loved him, with that love which was her doom. Then the great knight, the darling of the court, Loved of the loveliest, into that rude hall Stept with all grace, and not with half disdain Hid under grace, as in a smaller time, But kindly man moving among his kind : Whom they with meats and vintage of their best And talk and minstrel melody entertain'd. And much they ask'd of court and Table Round, And ever well and readily answer'd he : But Lancelot, when they glanced at Guinevere, Suddenly speaking of the wordless man, 'Fair lord, whose name I know not noble it is, I well believe, the noblest-will you wear My favour at this tourney?' 'Nay,' said he, 'Fair lady, since I never yet have worn Favour of any lady in the lists. Such is my wont, as those, who know me, know.' 'Yea, so,' she answer'd; 'then in wearing mine Needs must be lesser likelihood, noble lord, That those who know should know you.' And he turn'd Her counsel up and down within his mind, And found it true, and answer'd, 'True, my child. Well, I will wear it: fetch it out to me: What is it?' and she told him 'A red sleeve Broider'd with pearls,' and brought it : then he bound Her token on his helmet, with a smile Saying, 'I never yet have done so much For any maiden living,' and the blood Sprang to her face and fill'd her with delight; But left her all the paler, when Lavaine Returning brought the yet-unblazon'd shield, His brother's; which he gave to Lancelot, Who parted with his own to fair Elaine : 'Do me this grace, my child, to have my shield In keeping till I come.' 'A grace to me,' She answer'd, 'twice to-day. I am your squire !' Whereat Lavaine said, laughing, Lily maid, For fear our people call you lily maid So kiss'd her, and Sir Lancelot his own hand, And thus they moved away: she stay'd a minute, Then made a sudden step to the gate, and there Her bright hair blown about the serious face Yet rosy-kindled with her brother's kissPaused by the gateway, standing near the shield In silence, while she watch'd their arms far-off Sparkle, until they dipt below the downs. Then to her tower she climb'd, and took the shield, There kept it, and so lived in fantasy. Meanwhile the new companions past away Far o'er the long backs of the bushless downs, To where Sir Lancelot knew there lived a knight Not far from Camelot, now for forty years A hermit, who had pray'd, labour'd and pray'd, And ever labouring had scoop'd himselt The green light from the meadows underneath Struck up and lived along the milky roofs; And in the meadows tremulous aspen-trees And poplars made a noise of falling showers. And thither wending there that night they bode. But when the next day broke from underground, |