She took them, and arrayed herself therein,
Remembering when first he came on her

Drest in that dress, and how he loved her in it,
And all her foolish fears about the dress,
And all his journey to her, as himself

Had told her, and their coming to the court.

For Arthur on the Whitsuntide before
Held court at old Caerleon upon Usk.
There on a day, he sitting high in hall,
Before him came a forester of Dean,

Wet from the woods, with notice of a hart
Taller than all his fellows, milky-white,

First seen that day: these things he told the king.
Then the good king gave order to let blow
His horns for hunting on the morrow morn.
And when the Queen petitioned for his leave
To see the hunt, allowed it easily.

So with the morning all the court were gone.

But Guinevere lay late into the morn,

Lost in sweet dreams, and dreaming of her love

For Lancelot, and forgetful of the hunt;

But rose at last, a single maiden with her,

Took horse, and forded Usk, and gained the wood;

There, on a little knoll beside it, stayed

Waiting to hear the hounds; but heard instead

A sudden sound of hoofs, for Prince Geraint,
Late also, wearing neither hunting-dress

Nor weapon, save a golden-hilted brand,

Came quickly flashing through the shallow ford
Behind them, and so galloped up the knoll.
A purple scarf, at either end whereof

There swung an apple of the purest gold,

Swayed round about him, as he galloped up

To join them, glancing like a dragon-fly

In summer suit and silks of holiday.
Low bowed the tributary Prince, and she,
Sweetly and statelily, and with all grace

Of womanhood and queenhood, answered him:
"Late, late, Sir Prince," she said, "later than we!"
"Yea, noble Queen," he answered, "and so late
That I but come like you to see the hunt,

Not join it." "Therefore wait with me," she said; "For on this little knoll, if anywhere,

There is good chance that we shall hear the hounds: Here often they break covert at our feet."

And while they listened for the distant hunt, And chiefly for the baying of Cavall,

King Arthur's hound of deepest mouth, there rode

Whereof the dwarf lagged latest, and the knight
Had visor up, and showed a youthful face,
Imperious, and of haughtiest lineaments.

And Guinevere, not mindful of his face

In the king's hall, desired his name, and sent
Her maiden to demand it of the dwarf;
Who being vicious, old and irritable,

And doubling all his master's vice of pride,
Made answer sharply that she should not know.
"Then will I ask it of himself," she said.

"Nay, by my faith, thou shalt not," cried the dwarf;
"Thou art not worthy ev'n to speak of him";
And when she put her horse toward the knight,
Struck at her with his whip, and she returned
Indignant to the Queen; at which Geraint
Exclaimed, "Surely I will learn the name,"
Made sharply to the dwarf, and asked it of him,
Who answered as before; and when the Prince
Had put his horse in motion toward the knight,
Struck at him with his whip, and cut his cheek.
The Prince's blood spirted upon the scarf,
Dyeing it; and his quick, instinctive hand
Caught at the hilt, as to abolish him:

But he, from his exceeding manfulness

2*

And pure nobility of temperament,

Wroth to be wroth at such a worm, refrained
From ev'n a word, and so returning said:

"I will avenge this insult, noble Queen,
Done in your maiden's person to yourself:
And I will track this vermin to their earths:
For though I ride unarmed, I do not doubt
To find, at some place I shall come at, arms
On loan, or else for pledge; and, being found,
Then will I fight him, and will break his pride,
And on the third day will again be here,

So that I be not fallen in fight.

Farewell."

"Farewell, fair Prince," answered the stately Queen.

"Be prosperous in this journey, as in all;

And may you light on all things that you love,
And live to wed with her whom first you love:

But ere you wed with any, bring your bride,
And I, were she the daughter of a king,

Yea, though she were a beggar from the hedge,

Will clothe her for her bridals like the sun."

And Prince Geraint, now thinking that he heard

The noble hart at bay, now the far horn,