Was gracious to all ladies, and the same In open battle or the tilting-field Forbore his own advantage, and the King

In open battle or the tilting-field Forbore his own advantage, and these

two

Were the most nobly-mannered men of all;

For manners are not idle, but the fruit Of loyal nature, and of noble mind."

"Yea," said the maid, "be manners such fair fruit?

Then Lancelot's needs must be a thousand-fold

Less noble, being, as all rumor runs, The most disloyal friend in all the world."

To which a mournful answer made the Queen.

"O closed about by narrowing nunnerywalls,

What knowest thou of the world, and all its lights

And shadows, all the wealth and all the woe?

If ever Lancelot, that most noble

knight,

Were for one hour less noble than himself,

Pray for him that he scape the doom of fire,

And weep for her, who drew him to his doom."

"Yea," said the little novice, "I pray for both;

But I should all as soon believe that his, Sir Lancelot's, were as noble as the King's,

As I could think, sweet lady, yours would be

Such as they are, were you the sinful Queen."

So she, like many another babbler, hurt

Whom she would soothe, and harm'd where she would heal;

For here a sudden flush of wrathful heat

Fired all the pale face of the Queen, who cried,

"Such as thou art be never maiden more

For ever! thou their tool, set on to plague

And play upon, and harry me, petty spy And traitress." When that storm of

anger brake

From Guinevere, aghast the maiden

But when the Queen immersed in such a trance,

And moving through the past unconciously,

Came to that point where first she saw the King

Ride toward her from the city, sigh'd to

find

Her journey done, glanced at him,

thought him cold,

High, self-contain'd, and passionless, not like him,

Stiff-stricken, listening; but when armed feet

Thro' the long gallery from the outer doors

Rang coming, prone from off her seat she fell,

And grovell'd with her face against the floor:

There with her milkwhite arms and shadowy hair

She made her face a darkness from the King:

And in the darkness heard his armed feet

Pause by her; then came silence, then a voice,

Monotonous and hollow like a Ghost's Denouncing judgment, but tho'

changed the King's.

"Liest thou here so low, the child of

To Modred, and a remnant stays with

me.

And of this remnant will I leave a part,

True men who love me still, for whom I live,

To guard thee in the wild hour coming

on,

Lest but a hair of this low head be harm'd.

Fear ..ot thou shalt be guarded till my death.

Howbeit I know, if ancient prophecies Have err'd not, that I march to meet my doom.

Thou hast not made my life so sweet to me,

That I the King should greatly care to liv;

For thou hast spoilt the purpose of my life.

Bear with me for the last time while I show,

Ev'n for thy sake, the sin which thou hast sinn'd.

For when the Roman left us, and their law

Relax'd its hold upon us, and the ways Were fill'd with rapine, here and there a deed

Of prowess done redress'd a random

wrong.

But I was first of all the kings who drew

The knighthood-errant of this realm and all

The realms together under me, their Head,

In that fair order of my Table Round, A glorious company, the flower of men,

To serve as model for the mighty world,

And be the fair beginning of a time. I made them lay their hands in mine and swear

To reverence the King, as if he were Their conscience, and their conscience as their King.

To break the heathen and uphold the Christ.

To ride abroad redressing human wrongs,

To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it,

To lead sweet lives in purest chastity, To love one maiden only, cleave to her,

And worship her by years of noble deeds,

Until they won her; for indeed I knew

Of no more subtle master under heaven Than is the maiden passion for a maid, Not only to keep down the base in man,

But teach high thought, and amiable words

And courtliness, and the desire of fame.

could speak

Of the pure heart, nor seem to glauce at thee?

And in thy bowers of Camelot or of Usk

Thy shadow still would glide from room to room,

And I should evermore be vext with thee

In hanging robe or vacant ornament Or ghostly footfall echoing on the tair.

For think not, tho' thou wouldst not love thy lord.

Thy lord has wholly lost his love for thee.

I am not made of so slight elements. Yet must I leave thee, woman, to thy shame.

I hold that man the worst of public foes

Who either for his own or children's sake.

To save his blood from scandal, lets

The fealty of our friends, and stirs the pulse

With devil's leaps, and poisons half the young.

Worst of the worst were that man he that reigns!

Better the King's waste hearth and aching heart

Than thou reseated in thy place of light,

The mockery of my people, and their bane."

He paused, and in the pause she crept an inch

Nearer, and laid her hands about his feet.

Far off a solitary trumpet blew,

Then waiting by the doors the war horse neigh'd

As at a friend's voice, and he spake again.

"Yet think not that I come to urge

thy crimes,

I did not come to curse thee, Guine

Until it came a kingdom's curse with thee

I cannot touch thy lips, they are not mine,

But Lancelot's: nay, they never were the King's.

I cannot take thy hand; that too is flesh,

And in the flesh thou hast sinn'd; and mine own flesh,

Here looking down on thine polluted, cries

'I loathe thee:' yet not less, O Guine

vere,

west,

Where I must strike against the man they call

My sister's son-no kin of mine, who leagues

With lords of the White Horse, heathen, and knights

Traitors and strike him dead, and meet myself

Death, or I know not what mysterious doom.

And thou remaining here wilt learn the event:

But hither shall I never come again, Never lie by thy side, see thee no more, Farewell!"

And while she grovell'd at his feet, She felt the King's breath wander o'er her neck,

And in the darkness o'er her fallen head,

Perceived the waving of his hands that blest.

Then, listening till those armed steps were gone,

Rose the pale Queen, and in her anguish found

The casement:"peradventure" so she

thought,

"If I might see his face, and not be

seen."

And lo, he sat on horseback at the door!

And near him the sad nuns with each a light

Stood, and he gave them charge about

the Queen,

To guard and foster her for evermore. And while he spake to these his helm

was lower'd,

base

Re-makes itself, and flashes down the vale

Went on in passionate utterance.

"Gone-my lord Gone thro' my sin to slay and to be sl-in!

And he forgave me, and I could not speak.

Farewell? I should have answer'd his farewell.

His mercy choked me. Gone, my lord the King.

My own true lord! how dare I call him mine?

The shadow of another cleaves to me, And makes me one pollution: he, the King,

Call'd me polluted: shall I kill myself? What help in that? I cannot kill my sin,

If soul be soul; nor can I kill my shame;

No, nor by living can I live it down. The days will grow to weeks, the weeks to months,

The months will add themselves and

make the years,

The years will roll into the centuries, And mine will ever be a name of scorn. I must not dwell on that defeat of fame.

Let the world be; that is but of the world.

What else? what hope? I think there was a hope,

Except he mock'd me when he spake of hope;

His hope he call'd it; but he never mocks,

For mockery is the fume of little hearts.

And blessed be the King, who hath forgiven

My wickedness to him, and left me hope

That in mine own heart I can live down

sin

And be his mate hereafter in the heavens

Before high God. Ah great and gentle lord,

Who wast, as is the conscience of a saint

Among his warring senses, to thy knights

To whom my false voluptuous pride, that took

Full easily all impressions from below, Would not look up, or half-despised the height

To which I would not or I could not climb

I thought I could not breathe in that fine air

That pure severity of perfect lightI wanted warmth and color which I found

In Lancelot-now I see thee what thou art,

Thou art the highest and most human too,

Not Lancelot, nor another. Is there

The vast design and purpose of the King.

O shut me round with narrowing nunnery-walls,

Meek maidens, from the voices crying 'shame.'

I must not scorn myself: he loves me still.

Let no one dream but that he loves me still.

So let me, if you do not shudder at me Nor shun to call me sister, dwell with

you;

Wear black and white, and be a nun like you;

Fast with your fasts, not feasting with your feasts;

Grieve with your griefs, not grieving at your joys,

But not rejoicing; mingle with your rites;

Pray and be pray'd for; lie before your shrines;

Do each low office of your holy house; Walk your dim cloister, and distribute dole

To poor sick people, richer in his eyes Who ransom'd us, and haler too than I ; And treat their loathsome hurts and heal mine own;

And so wear out in almsdeed and in prayer

The sombre close of that voluptuous day,

Which wrought the ruin of my lord the King.'

She said: they took her to themselves; and she

Still hoping, fearing "is it yet too

late?