And pastime both of hawk and hound, and all
That appertains to noble maintenance.

Yea, and he brought me to a goodly house;
But since our fortune slipt from sun to shade,
And all through that young traitor, cruel need
Constrained us, but a better time has come;
So clothe yourself in this, that better fits
Our mended fortunes and a Prince's bride:
For though you won the prize of fairest fair,
And though I heard him call you fairest fair,
Let never maiden think, however fair,

She is not fairer in new clothes than old.

And should some great court-lady say, the Prince
Hath picked a ragged-robin from the hedge,

And like a madman brought her to the court,

Then were you shamed, and, worse, might shame the

Prince

To whom we are beholden; but I know,

When my dear child is set forth at her best,

That neither court nor country, though they sought
Through all the provinces like those of old
That lighted on Queen Esther, has her match."

Here ceased the kindly mother out of breath; And Enid listened brightening as she lay;

Then, as the white and glittering star of morn
Parts from a bank of snow, and by and by
Slips into golden cloud, the maiden rose,
And left her maiden couch, and robed herself,
Helped by the mother's careful hand and eye,
Without a mirror, in the gorgeous gown;
Who, after, turned her daughter round, and said,
She never yet had seen her half so fair;
And called her like that maiden in the tale,
Whom Gwydion made by glamour out of flowers,
And sweeter than the bride of Cassivelaun,
Flur, for whose love the Roman Cæsar first
Invaded Britain, but we beat him back,
As this great prince invaded us, and we,
Not beat him back, but welcomed him with joy.
"And I can scarcely ride with you to court,
For old am I, and rough the ways and wild;
But Yniol goes, and I full oft shall dream
I see my princess as I see her now,
Clothed with my gift, and gay among the gay."

But while the women thus rejoiced, Geraint Woke where he slept in the high hall, and called For Enid, and when Yniol made report

Of that good mother making Enid gay

In such apparel as might well beseem

His princess, or indeed the stately Queen,

He answered: "Earl, entreat her by my love, Albeit I give no reason but

my wish,

That she ride with me in her faded silk."
Yniol with that hard message went; it fell,
Like flaws in summer laying lusty corn:
For Enid, all abashed she knew not why,
Dared not to glance at her good mother's face,
But silently, in all obedience,

Her mother silent too, nor helping her,

Laid from her limbs the costly-broidered gift,
And robed them in her ancient suit again,
And so descended. Never man rejoiced
More than Geraint to greet her thus attired;
And glancing all at once as keenly at her,
As careful robins eye the delver's toil,
Made her cheek burn and either eyelid fall,
But rested with her sweet face satisfied;
Then seeing cloud upon the mother's brow,
Her by both hands he caught, and sweetly said :

At

"O my new mother, be not wroth or grieved your new son,

for my petition to her.

When late I left Caerleon, our great Queen,
In words whose echo lasts, they were so sweet,
Made promise, that whatever bride I brought,
Herself would clothe her like the sun in Heaven.
Thereafter, when I reached this ruined hold,
Beholding one so bright in dark estate,

I vowed that could I gain her, our kind Queen,
No hand but hers, should make your Enid burst
Sunlike from cloud- and likewise thought, perhaps,
That service done so graciously would bind
The two together; for I wish the two

To love each other: how should Enid find
A nobler friend? Another thought I had;

I came among you here so suddenly,

That though her gentle presence at the lists

Might well have served for proof that I was loved, I doubted whether filial tenderness,

Or easy nature, did not let itself

Be moulded by your wishes for her weal;

Or whether some false sense in her own self
Of my contrasting brightness, overbore

Her fancy dwelling in this dusky hall;

And such a sense might make her long for court

And all its dangerous glories: and I thought,

That could I some way prove such force in her
Linked with such love for me, that at a word
(No reason given her) she could cast aside
A splendor dear to women, new to her,
And therefore dearer; or if not so new,
Yet therefore tenfold dearer by the power
Of intermitted custom; then I felt

That I could rest, a rock in ebbs and flows,
Fixt on her faith. Now, therefore, I do rest,
A prophet certain of my prophecy,

That never shadow of mistrust can cross

Between us. Grant me pardon for my thoughts:
And for my strange petition I will make
Amends hereafter by some gaudy-day,

When your fair child shall wear your costly gift
Beside your own warm hearth, with, on her knees,
Who knows? another gift of the high God,

Which, may be, shall have learned to lisp you thanks."

He spoke the mother smiled, but half in tears, Then brought a mantle down and wrapt her in it, And claspt and kissed her, and they rode away.

Now thrice that morning Guinevere had climbed