A worse were better; yet no worse would I.
Heaven yield her for it, but in me put force
To weary her ears with one continuous prayer,
Until she let me fly discaged to sweep

In ever-highering eagle-circles up

To the great Sun of Glory, and thence swoop
Down upon all things base, and dash them dead,
A knight of Arthur, working out his will,

To cleanse the world. Why, Gawain, when he came
With Modred hither in the summertime,

Ask'd me to tilt with him, the proven knight.
Modred for want of worthier was the judge.

Then I so shook him in the saddle, he said,

"Thou hast half prevail'd against me," said so-he— Tho' Modred biting his thin lips was mute, For he is alway sullen: what care I?'

And Gareth went, and hovering round her chair

Ask'd, Mother, tho' ye count me still the child,

Sweet mother, do ye love the child?' She laugh'd,
Thou art but a wild-goose to question it.'

'Then, mother, an ye love the child,' he said,
'Being a goose and rather tame than wild,
Hear the child's story.' 'Yea, my well-beloved,
An 'twere but of the goose and golden eggs.'

And Gareth answer'd her with kindling eyes, 'Nay, nay, good mother, but this egg of mine

Was finer gold than any goose can lay;
For this an Eagle, a royal Eagle, laid
Almost beyond eye-reach, on such a palm
As glitters gilded in thy Book of Hours.
And there was ever haunting round the palm
A lusty youth, but poor, who often saw
The splendour sparkling from aloft, and thought
'An I could climb and lay my hand upon it,
Then were I wealthier than a leash of kings."
But ever when he reach'd a hand to climb,

One, that had loved him from his childhood, caught And stay'd him, "Climb not lest thou break thy neck,

I charge thee by my love," and so the boy,

Sweet mother, neither clomb, nor brake his neck,
But brake his very heart in pining for it,

And past away.'

To whom the mother said,

'True love, sweet son, had risk'd himself and climb'd, And handed down the golden treasure to him.'

And Gareth answer'd her with kindling eyes,
'Gold? said I gold ?—ay then, why he, or she,
Or whosoe'er it was, or half the world
Had ventured-had the thing I spake of been
Mere gold-but this was all of that true steel,
Whereof they forged the brand Excalibur,
And lightnings play'd about it in the storm,

And all the little fowl were flurried at it,
And there were cries and clashings in the nest,
That sent him from his senses: let me go.'

Then Bellicent bemoan'd herself and said,

Hast thou no pity upon my loneliness?

Lo, where thy father Lot beside the hearth
Lies like a log, and all but smoulder'd out!
For ever since when traitor to the King
He fought against him in the Barons' war,
And Arthur gave him back his territory,
His age hath slowly droopt, and now lies there
A yet-warm corpse, and yet unburiable,

No more; nor sees, nor hears, nor speaks, nor knows.
And both thy brethren are in Arthur's hall,

Albeit neither loved with that full love

I feel for thee, nor worthy such a love :

Stay therefore thou; red berries charm the bird,
And thee, mine innocent, the jousts, the wars,
Who never knewest finger-ache, nor pang

Of wrench'd or broken limb-an often chance
In those brain-stunning shocks, and tourney-falls,
Frights to my heart; but stay: follow the deer
By these tall firs and our fast-falling burns;
So make thy manhood mightier day by day;
Sweet is the chase: and I will seek thee out
Some comfortable bride and fair, to grace
Thy climbing life, and cherish my prone year,

Till falling into Lot's forgetfulness

I know not thee, myself, nor anything.

Stay, my best son! ye are yet more boy than man.'

Then Gareth, An ye hold me yet for child,
Hear yet once more the story of the child.
For, mother, there was once a King, like ours;
The prince his heir, when tall and marriageable,
Ask'd for a bride; and thereupon the King
Set two before him. One was fair, strong, arm'd—
But to be won by force-and many men

Desired her; one, good lack, no man desired.
And these were the conditions of the King:
That save he won the first by force, he needs
Must wed that other, whom no man desired,
A red-faced bride who knew herself so vile,
That evermore she long'd to hide herself,
Nor fronted man or woman, eye to eye-
Yea--some she cleaved to, but they died of her.
And one-they call'd her Fame; and one,-O Mother,
How can ye keep me tether'd to you-Shame!

Man am I grown, a man's work must I do.

Follow the deer? follow the Christ, the King,

Live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow the KingElse, wherefore born?'

To whom the mother said,

'Sweet son, for there be many who deem him not,

Or will not deem him, wholly proven King-
Albeit in mine own heart I knew him King,
When I was frequent with him in my youth,
And heard him Kingly speak, and doubted him
No more than he, himself; but felt him mine,
Of closest kin to me : yet-wilt thou leave
Thine easeful biding here, and risk thine all,
Life, limbs, for one that is not proven King?
Stay, till the cloud that settles round his birth
Hath lifted but a little. Stay, sweet son.'

And Gareth answer'd quickly, 'Not an hour, So that ye yield me--I will walk thro' fire, Mother, to gain it-your full leave to go. Not proven, who swept the dust of ruin'd Rome From off the threshold of the realm, and crush'd The Idolaters, and made the people free? Who should be King save him who makes us free?'

So when the Queen, who long had sought in vain To break him from the intent to which he grew, Found her son's will unwaveringly one, She answer'd craftily, 'Will ye walk thro' fire? Who walks thro' fire will hardly heed the smoke. Ay, go then, an ye must: only one proof, Before thou ask the King to make thee knight, Of thine obedience and thy love to me, Thy mother, I demand.'