To the King's best wish. O damsel, be you wise, To call him shamed who is but overthrown? Thrown have I been, nor once, but many a time. I know not, all thro' mere unhappi- | Victor from vanquish'd issues at the Thy brethren of thee make - which could not chance Had sent thee down before a lesser spear, Shamed had I been, and sad — O Lance- The tale of Gareth, petulantly she said: 'Ay, well-ay, well for worse than being fool'd lot thou!' Whereat the maiden, petulant: 'Lancelot, Why came ye not, when call'd? and wherefore now Come ye, not call'd? 1 gloried in my knave, Of others, is to fool one's self. A cave, Sir Lancelot, is hard by, with meats and drinks And forage for the horse, and flint for fire. But all about it flies a honeysuckle. Change his for mine, and take my charger, fresh, Not to be spurr'd, loving the battle as well As he that rides him.' 'Lancelot-like,' she said, 1270 And wherefore, damsel? tell me all ye know. You cannot scare me; nor rough face, or voice, Brute bulk of limb, or boundless savagery Courteous in this, Lord Lancelot, as Appal me from the quest.' in all.' And Gareth, wakening, fiercely clutch'd the shield: Ramp, ye lance-splintering lions, on whom all spears Are rotten sticks! ye seem agape to roar ! The Lady Lyonors wrung her hands and wept, 1360 As doom'd to be the bride of Night and Death; Sir Gareth's head prickled beneath his helm ; And even Sir Lancelot thro' his warm blood felt Ice strike, and all that mark'd him were aghast. So large mirth lived, and Gareth won the quest. And he that told the tale in older times Says that Sir Gareth wedded Lyonors, At once Sir Lancelot's charger But he that told it later says Lynette. fiercely neigh'd, And Death's dark war-horse bounded forward with him. Then those that did not blink the terror saw That Death was cast to ground, and slowly rose. But with one stroke Sir Gareth split the skull. Half fell to right and half to left and lay. 1370 Then with a stronger buffet he clove the helm As throughly as the skuli; and out from this Issued the bright face of a blooming boy Fresh as a flower new-born, and crying, 'Knight, Slay me not; my three brethren bade me do it, To make a horror all about the house, And stay the world from Lady Lyo And Enid, but to please her husband's eye, Who first had found and loved her in a state Of broken fortunes, daily fronted him In some fresh splendor; and the Queen herself, Grateful to Prince Geraint for servicc done, Loved her, and often with her own white hands Array'd and deck'd her, as the loveliest, Next after her own self, in all the court. And Enid loved the Queen, and with true heart Adored her, as the stateliest and the best 20 And loveliest of all women upon earth. And seeing them so tender and so close, Long in their common love rejoiced Geraint. |
