PELLEAS AND ETTARRE.

KING Arthur made new knights to fill the gap

Left by the Holy Quest; and as he sat

In hall at old Caerleon, the high doors

Were softly sunder'd, and thro' these a youth,

Pelleas, and the sweet smell of the fields

Past, and the sunshine came along with him.

'Make me thy knight, because I know, Sir King,

All that belongs to knighthood, and I love,'
Such was his cry; for having heard the King
Had let proclaim a tournament-the prize

A golden circlet and a knightly sword,

Full fain had Pelleas for his lady won

The golden circlet, for himself the sword:

And there were those who knew him near the King

And promised for him and Arthur made him knight.

:

And this new knight, Sir Pelleas of the isles

But lately come to his inheritance,

And lord of many a barren isle was he

Riding at noon, a day or twain before,

Across the forest call'd of Dean, to find

Caerleon and the King, had felt the sun

Beat like a strong knight on his helm, and reel'd
Almost to falling from his horse; but saw

Near him a mound of even-sloping side,

Whereon a hundred stately beeches grew,

And here and there great hollies under them.

But for a mile all round was open space,

And fern and heath: and slowly Pelleas drew To that dim day, then binding his good horse

To a tree, cast himself down; and as he lay

At random looking over the brown earth
Thro' that green-glooming twilight of the grove,

It seem'd to Pelleas that the fern without

Burnt as a living fire of emeralds,

So that his eyes were dazzled looking at it. Then o'er it crost the dimness of a cloud Floating, and once the shadow of a bird Flying, and then a fawn; and his eyes closed. And since he loved all maidens, but no maid In special, half-awake he whisper'd, 'Where?

O where? I love thee, tho' I know thee not. For fair thou art and pure as Guinevere,

And I will make thee with my spear and sword As famous- -O my queen, my Guinevere,

For I will be thine Arthur when we meet.'

Suddenly waken'd with a sound of talk

And laughter at the limit of the wood,

And glancing thro' the hoary boles, he saw,

Strange as to some old prophet might have seem'd

A vision hovering on a sea of fire,

Damsels in divers colours like the cloud

Of sunset and sunrise, and all of them

On horses, and the horses richly trapt

Breast-high in that bright line of bracken stood :

And all the damsels talk'd confusedly,

And one was pointing this way, and one that,

Because the way was lost.

And Pelleas rose,

And loosed his horse, and led him to the light.

There she that seem'd the chief among them said,

'In happy time behold our pilot-star!

Youth, we are damsels-errant, and we ride,

Arm'd as ye see, to tilt against the knights

There at Caerleon, but have lost our way:

To right to left? straight forward? back again?

Which? tell us quickly.'

And Pelleas gazing thought,

'Is Guinevere herself so beautiful?'

For large her violet eyes look'd, and her bloom

A rosy dawn kindled in stainless heavens,
And round her limbs, mature in womanhood,
And slender was her hand and small her shape,
And but for those large eyes, the haunts of scorn,
She might have seem'd a toy to trifle with,

And pass and care no more. But while he gazed
The beauty of her flesh abash'd the boy,

As tho' it were the beauty of her soul :
For as the base man, judging of the good,
Puts his own baseness in him by default