ENID.

THE brave Geraint, a knight of Arthur's court,

A tributary prince of Devon, one

Of that great order of the Table Round,

Had wedded Enid, Yniol's only child,

And loved her, as he loved the light of Heaven.

And as the light of Heaven varies, now

At sunrise, now at sunset, now by night

With moon and trembling stars, so loved Geraint

To make her beauty vary day by day,

In crimsons and in purples and in gems.

And Enid, but to please her husband's eye,

Who first had found and loved her in a state

Of broken fortunes, daily fronted him

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In some fresh splendour; and the Queen herself,

Grateful to Prince Geraint for service done,

Loved her, and often with her own white hands

Array'd and deck'd her, as the loveliest,

Next after her own self, in all the court.

And Enid loved the Queen, and with true heart
Adored her, as the stateliest and the best
And loveliest of all women upon earth.
And seeing them so tender and so close,
Long in their common love rejoiced Geraint.
But when a rumour rose about the Queen,
Touching her guilty love for Lancelot,

Tho' yet there lived no proof, nor yet was heard
The world's loud whisper breaking into storm,
Not less Geraint believed it; and there fell

A horror on him, lest his gentle wife,
Thro' that great tenderness for Guinevere,

Had suffer'd, or should suffer any taint

In nature wherefore going to the king,
He made this pretext, that his princedom lay

Close on the borders of a territory,

Wherein were bandit earls, and caitiff knights,
Assassins, and all flyers from the hand

Of Justice, and whatever loathes a law:

And therefore, till the king himself should please
To cleanse this common sewer of all his realm,
He craved a fair permission to depart,

And there defend his marches; and the king
Mused for a little on his plea, but, last,

Allowing it, the Prince and Enid rode,

And fifty knights rode with them, to the shores
Of Severn, and they past to their own land;
Where, thinking, that if ever yet was wife
True to her lord, mine shall be so to me,
He compass'd her with sweet observances
And worship, never leaving her, and grew
Forgetful of his promise to the king,
Forgetful of the falcon and the hunt,

Forgetful of the tilt and tournament,

Forgetful of his glory and his name,

Forgetful of his princedom and its cares.
And this forgetfulness was hateful to her.
And by and by the people, when they met
In twos and threes, or fuller companies,
Began to scoff and jeer and babble of him
As of a prince whose manhood was all gone,
And molten down in mere uxoriousness.

And this she gather'd from the people's eyes:
This too the women who attired her head,
To please her, dwelling on his boundless love,
Told Enid, and they sadden'd her the more:

And day by day she thought to tell Geraint,
But could not out of bashful delicacy;

While he that watch'd her sadden, was the more
Suspicious that her nature had a taint.

At last, it chanced that on a summer morn (They sleeping each by other) the new sun Beat thro' the blindless casement of the room, And heated the strong warrior in his dreams;