The seldom-frowning King frown'd, and replied,
"Too courteous, truly! you shall go no more
On quest of mine, seeing that you forget
Obedience is the courtesy due to kings."

He spake and parted. Wroth but all in awe, For twenty strokes of the blood, without a word, Linger'd that other, staring after him;

Then shook his hair, strode off, and buzz'd abroad

About the maid of Astolat, and her love.

All ears were prick'd at once, all tongues were loosed: "The maid of Astolat loves Sir Lancelot,

Sir Lancelot loves the maid of Astolat."

Some read the King's face, some the Queen's, and all
Had marvel what the maid might be, but most
Predoom'd her as unworthy. One old dame
Came suddenly on the Queen with the sharp news.
She, that had heard the noise of it before,

But sorrowing Lancelot should have stoop'd so low,
Marr'd her friend's point with pale tranquillity.
So ran the tale like fire about the court,
Fire in dry stubble a nine days' wonder flared:
Till ev'n the knights at banquet twice or thrice
Forgot to drink to Lancelot and the Queen,
And pledging Lancelot and the lily maid
Smiled at each other, while the Queen who sat
With lips severely placid felt the knot
Climb in her throat, and with her feet unseen
Crush'd the wild passion out against the floor
Beneath the banquet, where the meats became
As wormwood, and she hated all who pledged.

But far away the maid in Astolat,
Her guiltless rival, she that ever kept
The one-day-seen Sir Lancelot in her heart,
Crept to her father, while he mused alone,
Sat on his knee, stroked his gray face and said,
"Father, you call me wilful, and the fault

Is yours who let me have my will, and now,
Sweet father, will you let me lose my wits?"
"Wherefore let me hence,"

Nay," said he, "surely."

She answer'd, " and find out our dear Lavaine."
"You will not lose your wits for dear Lavaine :
Bide," answer'd he: "we needs must hear anon
Of him, and of that other." "Ay," she said,
"And of that other, for I needs must hence
And find that other, wheresoe'er he be,

And with mine own hand give his diamond to him,
Lest I be found as faithless in the quest

As yon proud Prince who left the quest to me.
Sweet father, I behold him in my dreams.
Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself,
Death-pale, for lack of gentle maiden's aid.
The gentler-born the maiden, the more bound,
My father, to be sweet and serviceable

To noble knights in sickness, as you know,

When these have worn their tokens: let me hence

I pray you." Then her father, nodding, said:

Ay, ay, the diamond: wit you well, my child, Right fain were I to learn this knight were whole, Being our greatest: yea, and you must give it — And sure I think this fruit is hung too high

For any mouth to gape for save a Queen's

Nay, I mean nothing: so then, get you gone,
Being so very wilful you must go."

Lightly, her suit allow'd, she slipt away, And while she made her ready for her ride, Her father's latest word humm'd in her ear,

Being so very wilful you must go,"

And changed itself and echoed in her heart,

Being so very wilful you must die."

But she was happy enough and shook it off,
As we shake off the bee that buzzes at us;
And in her heart she answer'd it and said,
"What matter, so I help him back to life?"
Then far away with good Sir Torre for guide
Rode o'er the long backs of the bushless downs
To Camelot, and before the city-gates

Came on her brother with a happy face
Making a roan horse caper and curvet

For pleasure all about a field of flowers:

Whom when she saw, "Lavaine," she cried, "Lavaine,
How fares my lord Sir Lancelot?" He amazed,
"Torre and Elaine ! why here? Sir Lancelot !
How know you my lord's name is Lancelot?"
But when the maid had told him all her tale,
Then turn'd Sir Torre, and being in his moods
Left them, and under the strange-statued gate,
Where Arthur's wars were render'd mystically,
Past up the still rich city to his kin,

His own far blood, which dwelt at Camelot ;
And her Lavaine across the poplar grove
Led to the caves: there first she saw the

casque

Of Lancelot on the wall: her scarlet sleeve,

Tho' carved and cut, and half the pearls away,
Stream'd from it still; and in her heart she laugh'd,
Because he had not loosed it from his helm,

But meant once more perchance to tourney in it.
And when they gain'd the cell in which he slept,
His battle-writhen arms and mighty hands
Lay naked on the wolfskin, and a dream

Of dragging down his enemy made them move.
Then she that saw him lying unsleek, unshorn,
Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself,
Utter'd a little tender dolorous cry.

The sound not wonted in a place so still
Woke the sick knight, and while he roll'd his eyes

Yet blank from sleep, she started to him, saying,
"Your prize the diamond sent you by the King":
His eyes glisten'd: she fancied, "Is it for me?"
And when the maid had told him all the tale

Of King and Prince, the diamond sent, the quest
Assign'd to her not worthy of it, she knelt
Full lowly by the corners of his bed,

And laid the diamond in his open hand.
Her face was near, and as we kiss the child

That does the task assign'd, he kiss'd her face.

At once she slipt like water to the floor.

Alas," he said, "your ride has wearied you.

Rest must you have." "No rest for me," she said; "Nay, for near you, fair lord, I am at rest.”

What might she mean by that? his large black eyes, Yet larger thro' his leanness, dwelt upon her,

Till all her heart's sad secret blazed itself

In the heart's colors on her simple face;
And Lancelot look'd and was perplext in mind,
And being weak in body said no more ;
But did not love the color; woman's love,
Save one, he not regarded, and so turn'd
Sighing, and feign'd a sleep until he slept.

Then rose Elaine and glided thro' the fields, And past beneath the wildly-sculptured gates Far up the dim rich city to her kin ;

There bode the night: but woke with dawn, and past

Down thro' the dim rich city to the fields,

Thence to the cave: so day by day she past

In either twilight ghost-like to and fro