Hard by the gates. Wide open were the gates,

And no watch kept; and in thro' these he past,

And heard but his own steps, and his own heart

Beating, for nothing moved but his own self,

And his own shadow. Then he crost the court,

And spied not any light in hall or bower, But saw the postern portal also wide Yawning; and up a slope of garden, all Of roses white and red, and brambles mixt And overgrowing them, went on, and found,

Here too, all hush'd below the mellow

moon,

Save that one rivulet from a tiny cave Came lightening downward, and so spilt

itself

Among the roses, and was lost again.

Then was he ware of three pavilions

rear'd

Above the bushes, gilden-peakt: in one, Red after revel, droned her lurdane knights

Slumbering, and their three squires across their feet:

In one, their malice on the placid lip Froz'n by sweet sleep, four of her damsels

lay:

And in the third, the circlet of the jousts Bound on her brow, were Gawain and Ettarre.

Back, as a hand that pushes thro' the

leaf

To find a nest and feels a snake, he drew: Back, as a coward slinks from what he

fears

To cope with, or a traitor proven, or hound

Beaten, did Pelleas in an utter shame Creep with his shadow thro' the court

again,

Fingering at his sword-handle until he

stood

There on the castle-bridge once more, and thought,

'I will go back, and slay them where they lie.'

And so went back, and seeing them yet in sleep

Said, 'Ye, that so dishallow the holy sleep,

Your sleep is death,' and drew the sword, and thought,

'What! slay a sleeping knight? the King hath bound

And sworn me to this brotherhood; ' again,

'Alas that ever a knight should be so false.'

Then turn'd, and so return'd, and groaning laid

The naked sword athwart their naked

throats,

There left it, and them sleeping; and she

lay,

The circlet of the tourney round her brows,

And the sword of the tourney across her throat.

And forth he past, and mounting on

his horse

Stared at her towers that, larger than

themselves

In their own darkness, throng'd into the

moon.

Then crush'd the saddle with his thighs,

and clench'd

His hands, and madden'd with himself and moan'd:

'Would they have risen against me in

their blood

At the last day? I might have answer'd them

Even before high God. O towers so strong,

Huge, solid, would that even while I gaze The crack of earthquake shivering to your

base

Split you, and Hell burst up your harlot roofs

Bellowing, and charr'd you thro' and thro' within,

Black as the harlot's heart-hollow as a skull !

Let the fierce east scream thro' your eyeletholes,

And whirl the dust of harlots round and

round

In dung and nettles! hiss, snake- I saw him there

Let the fox bark, let the wolf yell. Who yells

Here in the still sweet summer night, but I

I, the poor Pelleas whom she call'd her fool?

Fool, beast-he, she, or I? myself most fool;

Beast too, as lacking human wit-disgraced,

Dishonour'd all for trial of true loveLove?-we be all alike: only the King Hath made us fools and liars. O noble Vows !

O great and sane and simple race of brutes That own no lust because they have no

law!

For why should I have loved her to my shame?

I loathe her, as I loved her to my shame. I never loved her, I but lusted for herAway-'

To Camelot, and Sir Pelleas in brief while Caught his unbroken limbs from the dark field,

And follow'd to the city. It chanced that both

Brake into hall together, worn and pale. There with her knights and dames was Guinevere.

Full wonderingly she gazed on Lancelot So soon return'd, and then on Pelleas, him

Who had not greeted her, but cast himself

Down on a bench, hard-breathing. 'Have ye fought?'

She ask'd of Lancelot. Ay, my Queen,' he said.

And thou hast overthrown him?' 'Ay,

my Queen.'

Then she, turning to Pelleas, 'O young knight,

Hath the great heart of knighthood in thee fail'd

So far thou canst not bide, unfrowardly, A fall from him?' Then, for he answer'd

not,

'Or hast thou other griefs? If I, the Queen,

May help them, loose thy tongue, and let me know.'

But Pelleas lifted up an eye so fierce She quail'd; and he, hissing 'I have no sword,'

Sprang from the door into the dark.

The Queen

Look'd hard upon her lover, he on her; And each foresaw the dolorous day to

be:

And all talk died, as in a grove all song Beneath the shadow of some bird of prey; Then a long silence came upon the hall, And Modred thought, 'The time is hard at hand.'

THE LAST TOURNAMENT. DAGONET, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood

Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round,

At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods,

Danced like a wither'd leaf before the hall. And toward him from the hall, with harp in hand,

And from the crown thereof a carcanet
Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize
Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday,
Came Tristram, saying, 'Why skip ye
so, Sir Fool?'

For Arthur and Sir Lancelot riding once Far down beneath a winding wall of rock Heard a child wail. A stump of oak

half-dead,

From roots like some black coil of carven snakes,

Clutch'd at the crag, and started thro'

mid air

Bearing an eagle's nest: and thro' the tree Rush'd ever a rainy wind, and thro' the

wind

Pierced ever a child's cry: and crag and

tree

Scaling, Sir Lancelot from the perilous

nest,

This ruby necklace thrice around her neck, And all unscarr'd from beak or talon,

brought

A maiden babe; which Arthur pitying took, Then gave it to his Queen to rear: the Queen

But coldly acquiescing, in her white arms Received, and after loved it tenderly, And named it Nestling so forgot herself