Merlin, who knew the range of all their arts, Had built the King his havens, ships, and halls, Was also Bard, and knew the starry heavens; The people called him Wizard; whom at first She play'd about with slight and sprightly talk, And vivid smiles, and faintly-venom'd points Of slander, glancing here and grazing there; And yielding to his kindlier moods, the Seer Would watch her at her petulance, and play, Ev'n when they seem'd unlovable, and laugh As those that watch a kitten; thus he grew Tolerant of what he half disdain'd, and she, Perceiving that she was but half disdain'd, Began to break her sports with graver fits, Turn red or pale, would often when they met Sigh fully, or all-silent gaze upon him With such a fixt devotion, that the old man, Tho' doubtful, felt the flattery, and at times Would flatter his own wish in age for love, And half believe her true: for thus at times He waver'd; but that other clung to him, Fixt in her will, and so the seasons went. Then fell upon him a great melancholy; And leaving Arthur's court he gain'd the beach; There found a little boat, and stept into it; And Vivien follow'd, but he mark'd her not. She took the helm and he the sail; the boat Drave with a sudden wind across the deeps, And touching Breton sands they disembark'd. And then she follow'd Merlin all the way, Ev'n to the wild woods of Broceliande. For Merlin. once had told her of a charm, The which if any wrought on any one With woven paces and with waving arms, The man so wrought on ever seem'd to lie Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower, From which was no escape forevermore; And none could find that man forevermore, Nor could he see but him who wrought the charm Coming and going, and he lay as dead And lost to life and use and name and fame. And Vivien ever sought to work the charm Upon the great Enchanter of the Time, As fancying that her glory would be great According to his greatness whom she quench'd.

There lay she all her length and kiss'd his feet,
As if in deepest reverence and in love.
A twist of gold was round her hair; a robe
Of samite without price, that more exprest
Than hid her, clung about her lissome limbs,
In color like the satin-shining palm
On sallows in the windy gleams of March:
And while she kiss'd them, crying, "Trample me,
Dear feet, that I have follow'd thro' the world,
And I will pay you worship; tread me down
And I will kiss you for it;" he was mute:
So dark a forethought roll'd about his brain,
As on a dull day in an Ocean cave

The blind wave feeling round his long sea-hall
In silence: wherefore, when she lifted up
A face of sad appeal, and spake and said,
"O Merlin, do you love me?" and again,
"O Merlin, do you love me ?", and once more,
"Great Master, do you love me ?" he was mute.
And lissome Vivien, holding by his heel,
Writhed toward him, slided up his knee and sat,
Behind his ankle twined her hollow feet
Together, curved an arm about his neck,
Clung like a snake; and letting her left hand
Droop from his mighty shoulder as a leaf,
Made with her right a comb of pearl to part
The lists of such a beard as youth gone out
Had left in ashes: then he spoke and said,
Not looking at her, "Who are wise in love
Love most, say least," and Vivien answer'd quick,
"I saw the little elf-god eyeless once
In Arthur's arras hall at Camelot:

But neither eyes nor tongue,-O stupid child!
Yet you are wise who say it; let me think
Silence is wisdom: I am silent then
And ask no kiss;" then adding all at once,
"And lo, I clothe myself with wisdom," drew
The vast and shaggy mantle of his beard
Across her neck and bosom to her knee,
And call'd herself a gilded summer fly
Caught in a great old tyrant spider's web,
Who meant to eat her up in that wild wood
Without one word. So Vivien call'd herself,
But rather seem'd a lovely baleful star
Veil'd in gray vapor; till he sadly smiled:
"To what request for what strange boon," he said,
"Are these your pretty tricks and fooleries,
O Vivien, the preamble? yet my thanks,
For these have broken up my melancholy."

And Vivien answer'd smiling saucily,

"What, O my Master, have you found your voice?
I bid the stranger welcome. Thanks at last!
But yesterday you never open'd lip,
Except indeed to drink: no cup had we:
In mine own lady palms I cull'd the spring
That gather'd trickling dropwise from the cleft,
And made a pretty cup of both my hands-
And offer'd you it kneeling: then you drank
And knew no more, nor gave me one poor word;
O no more thanks than might a goat have given
With no more sign of reverence than a beard.
And when we halted at that other well,
And I was faint to swooning, and you lay
Foot-gilt with all the blossom-dust of those
Deep meadows we had traversed, did you know
That Vivien bathed your feet before her own?
And yet no thanks: and all thro' this wild wood
And all this morning when I fondled you:
Boon, yes, there was a boon, one not so strange-
How had I wrong'd you? surely you are wise,
But such a silence is more wise than kind."

And Merlin lock'd his hand in hers and said: "O did you never lie upon the shore, And watch the curl'd white of the coming wave Glass'd in the slippery sand before it breaks? Ev'n such a wave, but not so pleasurable, Dark in the glass of some presageful mood, Had I for three days seen, ready to fall. And then I rose and fled from Arthur's court To break the mood. You follow'd me unask'd; And when I look'd, and saw you following still, My mind involved yourself the nearest thing In that mind-mist; for shall I tell you truth? You seem'd that wave about to break upon me And sweep me from my hold upon the world, My use and name and fame. Your pardon, child. Your pretty sports have brighten'd all again. And ask your boon, for boon I owe you thrice, Once for wrong done you by confusion, next For thanks it seems till now neglected, last For these your dainty gambols: wherefore ask: And take this boon so strange and not so strange."

And Vivien answer'd, smiling mournfully: "O not so strange as my long asking it, Nor yet so strange as you yourself are strange, Nor half so strange as that dark mood of yours. I ever fear'd you were not wholly mine; And see, yourself have own'd you did me wrong. The people call you prophet: let it be: But not of those that can expound themselves. Take Vivien for expounder; she will call That three-days-long presageful gloom of yours No presage, but the same mistrustful mood That makes you seem less noble than yourself, Whenever I have ask'd this very boon, Now ask'd again; for see you not, dear love, That such a mood as that, which lately gloom'd

Your fancy when you saw me following you,
Must make me fear still more you are not mine,
Must make me yearn still more to prove you mine,
And make me wish still more to learn this charm
Of woven paces and of waving hands,
As proof of trust. O Merlin, teach it me.

The charm so taught will charm us both to rest.
For, grant me some slight power upon your fate,
I, feeling that you felt me worthy trust,
Should rest and let you rest, knowing you mine,
And therefore be as great as you are named,
Not muffled round with selfish reticence.
How hard you look and how denyingly!
O, if you think this wickedness in me,
That I should prove it on you unawares,
To make you lose your use and name and fame,
That makes me most indignant; then our bond
Had best be loosed forever: but think or not,
By Heaven that hears I tell you the clean truth,
As clean as blood of babes, as white as milk:
O Merlin, may this earth, if ever I,
If these unwitty wandering wits of mine,
Ev'n in the jumbled rubbish of a dream,
Have tript on such conjectural treachery-
May this hard earth cleave to the Nadir hell
Down, down, and close again, and nip me flat,
If I be such a traitress. Yield my boon,
Till which I scarce can yield you all I am;
And grant my re-reiterated wish,

The great proof of your love: because I think,
However wise, you hardly know me yet."

And Merlin loosed his hand from hers and said: "I never was less wise, however wise, Too curious Vivien, tho' you talk of trust, Than when I told you first of such a charm. Yea, if you talk of trust I tell you this, Too much I trusted, when I told you that, And stirr'd this vice in you which ruin'd man 'Thro' woman the first hour; for howsoe'er In children a great curiousness be well, Who have to learn themselves and all the world, In you, that are no child, for still I find Your face is practised, when I spell the lines, I call it, well, I will not call it vice: But since you name yourself the summer fly, I well could wish a cobweb for the gnat, That settles, beaten back, and beaten back Settles, till one could yield for weariness: But since I will not yield to give you power Upon my life and use and name and fame, Why will you never ask some other boon? Yea, by God's rood, I trusted you too much."

And Vivien, like the tenderest-hearted maid
That ever bided tryst at village stile,
Made answer, either eyelid wet with tears.
"Nay, master, be not wrathful with your maid;
Caress her: let her feel herself forgiven
Who feels no heart to ask another boon.
I think you hardly know the tender rhyme
Of trust me not at all or all in all.'

I heard the great Sir Lancelot sing it once,
And it shall answer for me. Listen to it.

'In Love, if Love be Love, it Love be ours, Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers: Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.

'It is the little rift within the lute, That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.

'The little rift within the lover's lute, Or little pitted speck in garner'd fruit, That rotting inward slowly moulders all.

It is not worth the keeping: let it go: But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no. And trust me not at all or all in all.'

O master, do you love my tender rhyme ?"

And Merlin look'd and half believed her true, So tender was her voice, so fair her face, So sweetly gleam'd her eyes behind her tears Like sunlight on a plain behind a shower: And yet he answer'd half indignantly:

"Far other was the song that once I heard By this huge oak, sung nearly where we sit: For here we met, some ten or twelve of us, To chase a creature that was current then In these wild woods, the hart with golden horns. It was the time when first the question rose About the founding of a Table Round, That was to be, for love of God and men And noble deeds, the flower of all the world. And each incited each to noble deeds. And while we waited, one, the youngest of us, We could not keep him silent, out he flash'd, And into such a song, such fire for fame, Such trumpet-blowings in it, coming down To such a stern and iron-clashing close, That when he stopt we long'd to hurl together, And should have done it; but the beauteous beast Scared by the noise upstarted at our feet, And like a silver shadow slipt away Thro' the dim land; and all day long we rode Thro' the dim land against the rushing wind, That glorious roundel echoing in our ears, And chased the flashes of his golden horns Until they vanish'd by the fairy well That laughs at iron-as our warriors didWhere children cast their pins and nails, and cry, "Laugh little well," but touch it with a sword, It buzzes wildly round the point; and there We lost him: such a noble song was that. But, Vivien, when you sang me that sweet rhyme, I felt as tho' you knew this cursed charm, Were proving it on me, and that I lay And felt them slowly ebbing, name and fame."

And Vivien answer'd, smiling mournfully;
"O mine have ebb'd away forevermore,
And all thro' following you to this wild wood,
Because I saw you sad, to comfort you.

Lo now, what hearts have men! they never mount
As high as woman in her selfless mood.
And touching fame, howe'er you scorn my song
Take one verse more-the lady speaks it-this:

'My name, once mine, now thine, is closelier mine, For fame, could fame be mine, that fame were thine, And shame, could shame be thine, that shame were mine.

So trust me not at all or ali in all.'

"Says she not well? and there is more-this rhyme Is like the fair pearl necklace of the Queen, That burst in dancing, and the pearls were spilt; Some lost, some stolen, some as relics kept. But nevermore the same two sister pearls Ran down the silken thread to kiss each other On her white neck-so is it with this rhyme; It lives dispersedly in many hands, And every minstrel sings it differently; Yet is there one true line, the pearl of pearls: Man dreams of Fame while woman wakes to love True: Love, tho' Love were of the grossest, carves A portion from the solid present, eats And uses, careless of the rest; but Fame, The Fame that follows death is nothing to us; And what is Fame in life but half-disfame, And counterchanged with darkness? you yourse

Know well that Envy calls you Devil's son,
And since you seem the Master of all Art,
They fain would make you Master of all Vice."

And Merlin lock'd his hand in hers and said, "I once was looking for a magic weed, And found a fair young squire who sat alone, Had carved himself a knightly shield of wood, And then was painting on it fancied arms, Azure, an Eagle rising, or, the Sun

In dexter chief; the scroll 'I follow fame.'
And speaking not, but leaning over him,
I took his brush and blotted out the bird,
And made a Gardener putting in a graff,
With this for motto, Rather use than fame.'
You should have seen him blush; but afterwards
He made a stalwart knight. O Vivien,
For you, methinks you think you love me well;
For me, I love you somewhat: rest: and Love
Should have some rest and pleasure in himself,
Not ever be too curious for a boon,
Too prurient for a proof against the grain
Of him you say you love: but Fame with men,
Being but ampler means to serve mankind,
Should have small rest or pleasure in herself,
But work as vassal to the larger love,
That dwarfs the petty love of one to one.
Use gave me Fame at first, and Fame again
Increasing gave me use. Lo, there my boon!
What other? for men sought to prove me vile,
Because I wish'd to give them greater minds;
And then did Envy call me Devil's son;
The sick weak beast seeking to help herself
By striking at her better, miss'd, and brought
Her own claw back, and wounded her own heart.
Sweet were the days when I was all unknown,
But when my name was lifted up, the storm
Broke on the mountain and I cared not for it.
Right well know I that Fame is half-disfame,
Yet needs must work my work. That other fame,
To one at least, who hath not children, vague,
The cackle of the unborn about the grave,
I cared not for it: a single misty star,
Which is the second in a line of stars
That seem a sword beneath a belt of three,
I never gazed upon it but I dreamt

Of some vast charm concluded in that star
To make fame nothing. Wherefore, if I fear,
Giving you power upon me thro' this charm,
That you might play me falsely, having power,
However well you think you love me now
(As sons of kings loving in pupilage

Have turn'd to tyrants when they came to power)
I rather dread the loss of use than fame;

If you-and not so much from wickedness,

As some wild turn of anger, or a mood

Of overstrain'd affection, it may be,

To keep me all to your own self, or else
A sudden spurt of woman's jealousy,

Should try this charm on whom you say you love."

And Vivien answer'd, smiling as in wrath: "Have I not sworn? I am not trusted. Good! Well, hide it, hide it; I shall find it out; And being found take heed of Vivien. A woman and not trusted, doubtless I Might feel some sudden turn of anger born Of your misfaith; and your fine epithet Is accurate too, for this full love of mine Without the full heart back may merit well Your term of overstrain'd. So used as I, My daily wonder is, I love at all. And as to woman's jealousy, O why not? O to what end except a jealous one, And one to make me jealous if I love, Wa this fair clarm invented by yourself? I well believe that all about this world You cage a buxom captive here and there,

Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower From which is no escape forevermore."

Then the great Master merrily answer'd her; "Full many a love in loving youth was mine, I needed then no charm to keep them mine But youth and love; and that full heart of yours Whereof you prattle, may now assure you mine; So live uncharm'd. For those who wrought it first, The wrist is parted from the hand that waved, The feet unmortised from their ankle-bones Who paced it, ages back: but will you hear The legend as in guerdon for your rhyme?

"There lived a King in the most Eastern East,
Less old than I, yet older, for my blood
Hath earnest in it of far springs to be.
A tawny pirate anchor'd in his port,

Whose bark had plunder'd twenty nameless isles;
And passing one, at the high peep of dawn,
He saw two cities in a thousand boats
All fighting for a woman on the sea.
And pushing his black craft among them all,
He lightly scatter'd theirs and brought her off,
With loss of half his people arrow-slain;
A maid so smooth, so white, so wonderful,
They said a light came from her when she moved
And since the pirate would not yield her up,
The King impaled him for his piracy;
Then made her Queen: but those isle-nurtur'd eyes
Waged such unwilling tho' successful war
On all the youth, they sicken'd; councils thinn'd,
And armies waned, for magnet-like she drew
The rustiest iron of old fighters' hearts,
And beasts themselves would worship; camels knelt
Unbidden, and the brutes of mountain back
That carried kings in castles, bow'd black knees
Of homage, ringing with their serpent hands,
To make her smile, her golden ankle-bells.
What wonder, being jealous, that he sent
His horns of proclamation out thro' all
The hundred under-kingdoms that he sway'd
To find a wizard who might teach the King
Some charm, which being wrought upon the Queen
Might keep her all his own: to such a one
He promised more than ever king has given,
A league of mountain full of golden mines,
A province with a hundred miles of coast,
A palace and a princess, all for him:
But on all those who tried and fail'd, the King
Pronounced a dismal sentence, meaning by it
To keep the list low and pretenders back,
Or like a king, not to be trifled with-
Their heads should moulder on the city gates.
And many tried and fail'd, because the charm
Of nature in her overbore their own:
And many a wizard brow bleach'd on the walls:
And many weeks a troop of carrion crows
Hung like a cloud above the gateway towers."

And Vivien, breaking in upon him, said:
"I sit and gather honey; yet, methinks,
Your tongue has tript a little: ask yourself.
The lady never made unwilling war
With those fine eyes: she had her pleasure in it,
And made her good man jealous with good cause.
And lived there neither dame nor damsel then
Wroth at a lover's loss? were all as tame,
I mean, as noble, as their Queen was fair?
Not one to flirt a venom at her eyes,
Or pinch a murderous dust into her drink,
Or make her paler with a poison'd rose?
Well, those were not our days; but did they find
A wizard? Tell me, was he like to thee?"

She ceased, and made her lithe arm round his neck Tighten, and then drew back, and let her eyes Speak for her, glowing on him, like a bride's On her new lord, her own, the first of men.

He answer'd laughing, "Nay, not like to me. At last they found-his foragers for charmsA little glassy-headed hairless man, Who lived alone in a great wild on grass; Read but one book, and ever reading grew So grated down and filed away with thought, So lean his eyes were monstrous; while the skin Clung but to crate and basket, ribs and spine. And since he kept his mind on one sole aim, Nor ever touch'd fierce wine, nor tasted flesh, Nor own'd a sensual wish, to him the wall That sunders ghosts and shadow-casting men Became a crystal, and he saw them thro' it, And heard their voices talk behind the wall, And learnt their elemental secrets, powers And forces; often o'er the sun's bright eye Drew the vast eyelid of an inky cloud, And lash'd it at the base with slanting storm; Or in the noon of mist and driving rain, When the lake whiten'd and the pine-wood roar'd, And the cairn'd mountain was a shadow, sunn'd

The world to peace again: here was the man.
And so by force they dragg'd him to the King.
And then he taught the King to charm the Queen
In such wise, that no man could see her more,
Nor saw she save the King, who wronght the charm,
Coming and going, and she lay as dead,
And lost all use of life: but when the King
Made proffer of the league of golden mines,
The province with a hundred miles of coast,
The palace and the princess, that old man
Went back to his old wild, and lived on grass,
And vanish'd, and his book came down to me."

And Vivien answer'd, smiling saucily: "You have the book: the charm is written in it. Good: take my counsel: let me know it at once: For keep it like a puzzle chest in chest, With each chest lock'd and padlock'd thirty-fold, And whelm all this beneath as vast a mound As after furious battle turfs the slain On some wild down above the windy deep,