Then thrice essay'd, by tenderest-touching terms
To sleek her ruffled peace of mind, in vain.
At last she let herself be conquer'd by him,
And as the cageling newly flown returns,
The seeming-injured simple-hearted thing
Came to her old perch back, and settled there.
There while she sat, half-falling from his knees,
Half-nestled at his heart, and since he saw
The slow tear creep from her closed eyelid yet,
About her, more in kindness than in love,
The gentle wizard cast a shielding arm.
But she dislink'd herself at once and rose,
Her arms upon her breast across, and stood
A virtuous gentlewoman deeply wrong'd,
Upright and flush'd before him: then she said:

"There must be now no passages of love Betwixt us twain henceforward evermore.

Since, if I be what I am grossly call'd,

What should be granted which your own gross heart Would reckon worth the taking? I will go.

In truth, but one thing now better have died

Thrice than have ask'd it once- could make me stay –

That proof of trust so often ask'd in vain!

How justly, after that vile term of yours,

I find with grief! I might believe you then,

Who knows? once more. O, what was once to me

Mere matter of the fancy, now has grown

The vast necessity of heart and life.
Farewell; think kindly of me, for I fear
My fate or fault, omitting gayer youth

For one so old, must be to love you still.
But ere I leave you let me swear once more
That if I schemed against your peace in this,
May yon just heaven, that darkens o'er me, send
One flash, that, missing all things else, may make
My scheming brain a cinder, if I lie."

Scarce had she ceased, when out of heaven a bolt (For now the storm was close above them) struck, Furrowing a giant oak, and javelining

With darted spikes and splinters of the wood
The dark earth round.

He raised his eyes and saw

The tree that shone white-listed thro' the gloom.
But Vivien, fearing Heaven had heard her oath,
And dazzled by the livid-flickering fork,

And deafen'd with the stammering cracks and claps
That follow'd, flying back and crying out,

"O Merlin, tho' you do not love me, save,

Yet, save me!" clung to him and hugg'd him close; And call'd him dear protector in her fright,

Nor yet forgot her practice in her fright,

But wrought upon his mood and hugg'd him close.
The pale blood of the wizard at her touch
Took gayer colors, like an opal warm'd.
She blamed herself for telling hearsay tales:
She shook from fear, and for her fault she wept
Of petulancy; she call'd him lord and liege,
Her seer, her bard, her silver star of eve,
Her God, her Merlin, the one passionate love
Of her whole life; and ever overhead
Bellow'd the tempest, and the rotten branch

Snapt in the rushing of the river-rain

Above them; and in change of glare and gloom
Her eyes and neck glittering went and came;
Till now the storm, its burst of passion spent,
Moaning and calling out of other lands,

Had left the ravaged woodland yet once more

To peace; and what should not have been had been, For Merlin, overtalk'd and overworn,

Had yielded, told her all the charm, and slept.

Then, in one moment, she put forth the charm
Of woven paces and of waving hands,
And in the hollow oak he lay as dead,

And lost to life and use and name and fame.

Then crying, "I have made his glory mine," And shrieking out "O fool!" the harlot leapt Adown the forest, and the thicket closed

Behind her, and the forest echo'd "fool."

LAINE the fair, Elaine the lovable,
Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat,

High in her chamber up a tower to the

east

Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;

Which first she placed where morning's earliest

ray

Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam;

Then fearing rust or soilure fashion'd for it

A case of silk, and braided thereupon.
All the devices blazon'd on the shield
In their own tinct, and added, of her wit,
A border fantasy of branch and flower,
And yellow-throated nestling in the nest.
Nor rested thus content, but day by day
Leaving her household and good father climb'd
That eastern tower, and entering barr'd her door,

Stript off the case, and read the naked shield,
Now guess'd a hidden meaning in his arms,
Now made a pretty history to herself

Of every dint a sword had beaten in it,

And every scratch a lance had made upon it,
Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh ;
That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle;
That at Caerleon; this at Camelot :

And ah God's mercy what a stroke was there!
And here a thrust that might have kill'd, but God
Broke the strong lance, and roll'd his enemy down,
And saved him: so she lived in fantasy.

How came the lily maid by that good shield
Of Lancelot, she that knew not ev'n his name?
He left it with her, when he rode to tilt
For the great diamond in the diamond jousts,
Which Arthur had ordain'd, and by that name
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.

For Arthur when none knew from whence he came, Long ere the people chose him for their king, Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse, Had found a glen, gray boulder and black tarn. A horror lived about the tarn, and clave Like its own mists to all the mountain side: For here two brothers, one a king, had met And fought together; but their names were lost. And each had slain his brother at a blow,

And down they fell and made the glen abhorr'd: