And reverently they bore her into hall. Then came the fine Gawain and wonder'd

at her,

And Lancelot later came and mused at her, And last the Queen herself, and pitied her : But Arthur spied the letter in her hand, Stoopt, took, brake seal, and read it; this was all:

'Most noble lord, Sir Lancelot of the
Lake,

I, sometime call'd the maid of Astolat,
Come, for you left me taking no farewell,
Hither, to take my last farewell of you.
I loved you, and my love had no return,
And therefore my true love has been my
death.

And therefore to our Lady Guinevere,
And to all other ladies, I make moan.
Pray for my soul, and yield me burial.
Pray for my soul thou too, Sir Lancelot,
As thou art a knight peerless.'

Thus he read; And ever in the reading, lords and dames Wept, looking often from his face who read To hers which lay so silent, and at times, So touch'd were they, half-thinking that her lips,

Who had devised the letter, moved again.

Then freely spoke Sir Lancelot to them all:

My lord liege Arthur, and all ye that hear,

Know that for this most gentle maiden's death

Right heavy am I; for good she was and true,

But loved me with a love beyond all love In women, whomsoever I have known. Yet to be loved makes not to love again; Not at my years, however it hold in youth.

I swear by truth and knighthood that I gave

No cause, not willingly, for such a love:
To this I call my friends in testimony,
Her brethren, and her father, who himself
Besought me to be plain and blunt, and use,
To break her passion, some discourtesy
Against my nature: what I could, I did.
I left her and I bad her no farewell;
Tho', had I dreamt the damsel would
have died,

I might have put my wits to some rough use,
And help'd her from herself.'

Then said the Queen

(Sea was her wrath, yet working after storm)

'Ye might at least have done her so much grace,

Fair lord, as would have help'd her from her death.'

He raised his head, their eyes met and hers fell,

He adding,

'Queen, she would not be content Save that I wedded her, which could not be. Then might she follow me thro' the world,

she ask'd;

It could not be. I told her that her love Was but the flash of youth, would darken

down

To rise hereafter in a stiller flame

Toward one more worthy of her-then

would I,

More specially were he, she wedded, poor, Estate them with large land and territory In mine own realm beyond the narrow seas, To keep them in all joyance: more than this I could not; this she would not, and she died.'

He pausing, Arthur answer'd, 'O my knight,

It will be to thy worship, as my knight, And mine, as head of all our Table Round, To see that she be buried worshipfully.'

So toward that shrine which then in all the realm

Was richest, Arthur leading, slowly went The marshall'd Order of their Table

Round,

And Lancelot sad beyond his wont, to

see

The maiden buried, not as one unknown, Nor meanly, but with gorgeous obsequies, And mass, and rolling music, like a queen. And when the knights had laid her comely head

Low in the dust of half-forgotten kings, Then Arthur spake among them, 'Let her tomb

Be costly, and her image thereupon.
And let the shield of Lancelot at her feet
Be carven, and her lily in her hand.
And let the story of her dolorous voyage
For all true hearts be blazon'd on her tomb
In letters gold and azure!' which was

wrought

Thereafter; but when now the lords and

dames

And people, from the high door streaming,

brake

Disorderly, as homeward each, the Queen, Who mark'd Sir Lancelot where he

moved apart,

Drew near, and sigh'd in passing,

'Lancelot,

Forgive me; mine was jealousy in love.' He answer'd with his eyes upon the

ground,

'That is love's curse; pass on, my Queen, forgiven.'

But Arthur, who beheld his cloudy brows, Approach'd him, and with full affection said,

'Lancelot, my Lancelot, thou in whom I have

Most joy and most affiance, for I know What thou hast been in battle by my side, And many a time have watch'd thee at the tilt

Strike down the lusty and long-practised knight,

And let the younger and unskill'd go by To win his honour and to make his name, And loved thy courtesies and thee, a man Made to be loved; but now I would to God,

Seeing the homeless trouble in thine eyes, Thou couldst have loved this maiden,

shaped, it seems,

By God for thee alone, and from her face, If one may judge the living by the dead, Delicately pure and marvellously fair, Who might have brought thee, now lonely man

Wifeless and heirless, noble issue, sons Born to the glory of thy name and fame, My knight, the great Sir Lancelot of the Lake.'

Then answer'd Lancelot, 'Fair she was,

my King,

Pure, as you ever wish your knights to be. To doubt her fairness were to want an eye, To doubt her pureness were to want a

heart

Yea, to be loved, if what is worthy love Could bind him, but free love will not be bound.'

'Free love, so bound, were freest,' said

the King.

'Let love be free; free love is for the best: And, after heaven, on our dull side of

death,

What should be best, if not so pure a love Clothed in so pure a loveliness? yet thee

Ay, that will I. Farewell too-now at lastFarewell, fair lily. Not rather dead love's harsh heir, jealous pride?

"Jealousy in love?"

Queen, if I grant the jealousy as of love, May not your crescent fear for name and fame

Speak, as it waxes, of a love that wanes ? Why did the King dwell on my name to me ?

Mine own name shames me, seeming a reproach,

Lancelot, whom the Lady of the Lake Caught from his mother's arms-the wondrous one

Who passes thro' the vision of the night— She chanted snatches of mysterious hymns Heard on the winding waters, eve and

morn

She kiss'd me saying, "Thou art fair, my child,

As a king's son," and often in her arms She bare me, pacing on the dusky mere. Would she had drown'd me in it, where'er

it be!

For what am I? what profits me my name