Sigh'd, and began to gather heart again, Saying in herself, 'The simple, fearful child Meant nothing, but my own too-fearful guilt,

Simpler than any child, betrays itself. But help me, heaven, for surely I repent. For what is true repentance but in thought

Not ev'n in inmost thought to think again The sins that made the past so pleasant

to us :

And I have sworn never to see him more, To see him more.'

And ev'n in saying this, Her memory from old habit of the mind Went slipping back upon the golden days In which she saw him first, when Lancelot

came,

Reputed the best knight and goodliest

man,

Ambassador, to lead her to his lord Arthur, and led her forth, and far ahead Of his and her retinue moving, they, Rapt in sweet talk or lively, all on love And sport and tilts and pleasure, (for the time

Was maytime, and as yet no sin was dream'd,)

Rode under groves that look'd a paradise
Of blossom, over sheets of hyacinth
That seem'd the heavens upbreaking

thro' the earth,

And on from hill to hill, and every day
Beheld at noon in some delicious dale
The silk pavilions of King Arthur raised
For brief repast or afternoon repose
By couriers gone before; and on again,
Till yet once more ere set of sun they saw
The Dragon of the great Pendragonship,
That crown'd the state pavilion of the

King,

Blaze by the rushing brook or silent well.

But when the Queen immersed in such a trance,

And moving thro' the past unconsciously, Came to that point where first she saw the King

Ride toward her from the city, sigh'd to find

Her journey done, glanced at him, thought him cold,

High, self-contain'd, and passionless, not like him,

'Not like my Lancelot '-while she brooded thus

And grew half-guilty in her thoughts again,

There rode an armed warrior to the doors. A murmuring whisper thro' the nunnery

ran,

Then on a sudden a cry, 'The King." She sat

Stiff-stricken, listening; but when armed feet

Thro' the long gallery from the outer doors Rang coming, prone from off her seat she

fell,

And grovell'd with her face against the floor:

There with her milkwhite arms and

shadowy hair

She made her face a darkness from the

King:

And in the darkness heard his armed feet Pause by her; then came silence, then a

voice,

Monotonous and hollow like a Ghost's Denouncing judgment, but tho' changed, the King's:

'Liest thou here so low, the child of one I honour'd, happy, dead before thy shame? Well is it that no child is born of thee. The children born of thee are sword and fire,

Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws, The craft of kindred and the Godless hosts Of heathen swarming o'er the Northern

Sea;

Whom I, while yet Sir Lancelot, my right arm

The mightiest of my knights, abode with

me,

Have everywhere about this land of Christ In twelve great battles ruining overthrown. And knowest thou now from whence I come-from him,

From waging bitter war with him: and he, That did not shun to smite me in worse

way,

Had yet that grace of courtesy in him left, He spared to lift his hand against the King Who made him knight: but many a knight was slain;

And many more, and all his kith and kin Clave to him, and abode in his own land. And many more when Modred raised

revolt,

Forgetful of their troth and fealty, clave To Modred, and a remnant stays with me. And of this remnant will I leave a part, True men who love me still, for whom I live,

To guard thee in the wild hour coming on, Lest but a hair of this low head be harm'd. Fear not thou shalt be guarded till my death.

Howbeit I know, if ancient prophecies Have err'd not, that I march to meet my doom.

Thou hast not made my life so sweet to me,

That I the King should greatly care to

live;

For thou hast spoilt the purpose of my life. Bear with me for the last time while I show, Ev'n for thy sake, the sin which thou hast sinn'd.

For when the Roman left us, and their law Relax'd its hold upon us, and the ways Were fill'd with rapine, here and there a deed

Of prowess done redress'd a random

wrong.

But I was first of all the kings who drew The knighthood-errant of this realm and

all

The realms together under me, their Head,

In that fair Order of my Table Round, A glorious company, the flower of men, To serve as model for the mighty world, And be the fair beginning of a time.

I made them lay their hands in mine and

swear

To reverence the King, as if he were Their conscience, and their conscience as their King,

To break the heathen and uphold the

Christ,

To ride abroad redressing human wrongs,
To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it,
To honour his own word as if his God's,
To lead sweet lives in purest chastity,
To love one maiden only, cleave to her,
And worship her by years of noble deeds,
Until they won her; for indeed I knew
Of no more subtle master under heaven
Than is the maiden passion for a maid,
Not only to keep down the base in man,
But teach high thought, and amiable
words

And courtliness, and the desire of fame,
And love of truth, and all that makes a

man.

And all this throve before I wedded thee, Believing, "lo mine helpmate, one to feel My purpose and rejoicing in my joy." Then came thy shameful sin with Lance

lot;

Then came the sin of Tristram and Isolt;

Then others, following these my mightiest

knights,

And drawing foul ensample from fair

names,

Sinn'd also, till the loathsome opposite Of all my heart had destined did obtain, And all thro' thee! so that this life of mine I guard as God's high gift from scathe and wrong,

Not greatly care to lose; but rather think
How sad it were for Arthur, should he live,
To sit once more within his lonely hall,
And miss the wonted number of my
knights,

And miss to hear high talk of noble deeds
As in the golden days before thy sin.
For which of us, who might be left, could
speak

Of the pure heart, nor seem to glance at thee?

And in thy bowers of Camelot or of Usk Thy shadow still would glide from room

to room,

And I should evermore be vext with thee
In hanging robe or vacant ornament,
Or ghostly footfall echoing on the stair.
For think not, tho' thou wouldst not love
thy lord,

Thy lord has wholly lost his love for thee.
I am not made of so slight elements.
Yet must I leave thee, woman, to thy
shame.

I hold that man the worst of public foes
Who either for his own or children's sake,
To save his blood from scandal, lets the
wife

Whom he knows false, abide and rule the

house:

For being thro' his cowardice allow'd Her station, taken everywhere for pure, She like a new disease, unknown to men, Creeps, no precaution used, among the crowd,

But how to take last leave of all I loved?

O golden hair, with which I used to play Not knowing! O imperial-moulded form, And beauty such as never woman wore, Until it came a kingdom's curse with thee

I cannot touch thy lips, they are not mine, But Lancelot's: nay, they never were the King's.

I cannot take thy hand; that too is flesh, And in the flesh thou hast sinn'd; and mine own flesh,

Here looking down on thine polluted, cries "I loathe thee:" yet not less, O Guine

vere,

For I was ever virgin save for thee,

My love thro' flesh hath wrought into my life

So far, that my doom is, I love thee still. Let no man dream but that I love thee still. Perchance, and so thou purify thy soul, And so thou lean on our fair father Christ, Hereafter in that world where all are pure We two may meet before high God, and thou

Wilt spring to me, and claim me thine, and know

I am thine husband-not a smaller soul, Nor Lancelot, nor another. Leave me that,

I charge thee, my last hope. Now must I hence.

Thro' the thick night I hear the trumpet blow:

They summon me their King to lead mine hosts

Far down to that great battle in the west, Where I must strike against the man they call

My sister's son-no kin of mine, who leagues

With Lords of the White Horse, heathen, and knights,

Traitors-and strike him dead, and meet

myself

Death, or I know not what mysterious doom.

And thou remaining here wilt learn the event;

But hither shall I never come again, Never lie by thy side; see thee no moreFarewell!'

And while she grovell'd at his feet, She felt the King's breath wander o'er her neck,

And in the darkness o'er her fallen head, Perceived the waving of his hands that blest.

Then, listening till those armed steps

were gone,

Rose the pale Queen, and in her anguish found

The casement: 'peradventure,' so she thought,

'If I might see his face, and not be seen.' And lo, he sat on horseback at the door! And near him the sad nuns with each a light

Stood, and he gave them charge about the

Queen,

To guard and foster her for evermore. And while he spake to these his helm was

lower'd,

To which for crest the golden dragon

clung

Of Britain; so she did not see the face, Which then was as an angel's, but she saw, Wet with the mists and smitten by the lights,

The Dragon of the great Pendragonship Blaze, making all the night a steam of fire. And even then he turn'd; and more and

more

The moony vapour rolling round the King,