Moving to meet him in the castle court;
And close behind them stept the lily maid
Elaine, his daughter: mother of the house

There was not some light jest among them rose
With laughter dying down as the great knight
Approach'd them: then the Lord of Astolat:

"Whence comest thou, my guest, and by what name Livest between the lips? for by thy state

And presence I might guess thee chief of those,
After the king, who eat in Arthur's halls.
Him have I seen the rest, his Table Round,
Known as they are, to me they are unknown."

Then answer'd Lancelot, the chief of knights : "Known am I, and of Arthur's hall, and known, What I by mere mischance have brought, my shield. But since I go to joust as one unknown At Camelot for the diamond, ask me not, Hereafter you shall know me and the shield I pray you lend me one, if such you have, Blank, or at least with some device not mine."

Then said the Lord of Astolat, "Here is Torre's: Hurt in his first tilt was my son, Sir Torre. And so, God wot, his shield is blank enough.

His you can have." Then added plain Sir Torre, "Yea since I cannot use it, you may have it." Here laugh'd the father, saying, "Fie, Sir Churl,

Is that an answer for a noble knight?

Allow him but Lavaine, my younger here,

He is so full of lustihood, he will ride

Joust for it, and win, and bring it in an hour
And set it in this damsel's golden hair,

To make her thrice as wilful as before."

"Nay, father, nay good father, shame me not Before this noble knight," said young Lavaine, "For nothing. Surely I but play'd on Torre : He seem'd so sullen, vext he could not go:

A jest, no more: for, knight, the maiden dreamt
That some one put this diamond in her hand,
And that it was too slippery to be held,
And slipt and fell into some pool or stream,
The castle-well, belike; and then I said
That if I went and if I fought and won it
(But all was jest and joke among ourselves)
Then must she keep it safelier. All was jest.
But father give me leave, an if he will,
To ride to Camelot with this noble knight:
Win shall I not, but do my best to win :
Young as I am, yet would I do my best."

"So you will grace me," answer'd Lancelot, Smiling a moment, "with your fellowship O'er these waste downs whereon I lost myself, Then were I glad of you as guide and friend; And you shall win this diamond — as I hear, It is a fair large diamond — if you may, And yield it to this maiden, if you will." "A fair large diamond," added plain Sir Torre, "Such be for Queens and not for simple maids.” Then she, who held her eyes upon the ground,

Elaine, and heard her name so tost about,
Flush'd slightly at the slight disparagement
Before the stranger knight, who, looking at her,
Full courtly, yet not falsely, thus return'd:

"If what is fair be but for what is fair,

And only Queens are to be counted so,
Rash were my judgment then, who deem this maid
Might wear as fair a jewel as is on earth,
Not violating the bond of like to like."

He spoke and ceased: the lily maid Elaine,
Won by the mellow voice before she look'd,
Lifted her eyes, and read his lineaments.
The great and guilty love he bare the Queen,
In battle with the love he bare his lord,
Had marr'd his face, and mark'd it ere his time.
Another sinning on such heights with one,
The flower of all the west and all the world,
Had been the sleeker for it: but in him.
His mood was often like a fiend, and rose
And drove him into wastes and solitudes

For agony, who was yet a living soul.
Marr'd as he was, he seem'd the goodliest man,
That ever among ladies ate in Hall,
And noblest, when she lifted up her eyes.
However marr'd, of more than twice her years,
Seam'd with an ancient sword-cut on the cheek,
And bruised and bronzed, she lifted up her eyes
And loved him, with that love which was her doom.

Then the great knight, the darling of the court,
Loved of the loveliest, into that rude hall
Stept with all grace, and not with half disdain
Hid under grace, as in a smaller time,

But kindly man moving among his kind:
Whom they with meats and vintage of their best
And talk and minstrel melody entertain'd.
And much they ask'd of court and Table Round,
And ever well and readily answer'd he:
But Lancelot, when they glanced at Guinevere,
Suddenly speaking of the wordless man,

Heard from the Baron that, ten years before, The heathen caught and reft him of his tongue. "He learnt and warn'd me of their fierce design

Against my house, and him they caught and maim'd; But I my sons and little daughter fled

From bonds or death, and dwelt among the woods

By the great river in a boatman's hut.

Dull days were those, till our good Arthur broke
The Pagan yet once more on Badon hill."

"O there, great Lord, doubtless," Lavaine said, rapt
By all the sweet and sudden passion of youth
Toward greatness in its elder, "you have fought.
O tell us; for we live apart, you know

Of Arthur's glorious wars." And Lancelot spoke
And answer'd him at full, as having been
With Arthur in the fight which all day long
Rang by the white mouth of the violent Glem;
And in the four wild battles by the shore
Of Duglas; that on Bassa; then the war
That thunder'd in and out the gloomy skirts
Of Celidon the forest; and again

By castle Gurnion where the glorious King
Had on his cuirass worn our Lady's Head,
Carved of one emerald, centred in a sun
Of silver rays, that lighten'd as he breathed;
And at Caerleon had he help'd his lord,

When the strong neighings of the wild white Horse

Set every gilded parapet shuddering;

And up in Agned Cathregonion too,

And down the waste sand-shores of Trath Treroit,