'Know ye the stranger woman?' 'Let Of some corruption crept among his

her be,'

Said Lancelot and unhooded casting off

The goodly falcon free; she tower'd; her bells,

knights,

Had met her, Vivien, being greeted fair, Would fain have wrought upon his cloudy mood

Tone under tone, shrill'd; and they lifted With reverent eyes mock-loyal, shaken

Their eager faces, wondering at the And flutter'd adoration, and at last

strength,

Boldness and royal knighthood of the bird
Who pounced her quarry and slew it.

Many a time

With dark sweet hints of some who prized him more

Than who should prize him most; at which the King

As once-of old-among the flowers-Had gazed upon her blankly and gone by :

they rode.

But Vivien half-forgotten of the Queen Among her damsels broidering sat, heard, watch'd

But one had watch'd, and had not held
his peace:

It made the laughter of an afternoon
That Vivien should attempt the blameless
King.

And whisper'd thro' the peaceful court And after that, she set herself to gain

Was

also Bard, and knew the starry heavens ;

And sowing one ill hint from ear to ear,
While all the heathen lay at Arthur's feet,
And no quest came, but all was joust and The people call'd him Wizard; whom at
play,

first

Leaven'd his hall. They heard and let She play'd about with slight and sprightly

And vivid smiles, and faintly-venom'd points

Thereafter as an enemy that has left Death in the living waters, and with- Of slander, glancing here and grazing drawn,

there;

The wily Vivien stole from Arthur's court. And yielding to his kindlier moods, the

Seer

She hated all the knights, and heard in Would watch her at her petulance, and thought

play,

Their lavish comment when her name Ev'n when they seem'd unloveable, and

For once, when Arthur walking all alone, As those that watch a kitten; thus he Vext at a rumour issued from herself

grew

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

Tolerant of what he half disdain'd, and For Merlin once had told her of a charm, The which if any wrought on anyone 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 for evermore; And none could find that man for evermore,

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 on Merlin a great melancholy; He walk'd with dreams and darkness, and he found

A doom that ever poised itself to fall,
An ever-moaning battle in the mist,
World-war of dying flesh against the life,
Death in all life and lying in all love,
The meanest having power upon the
highest,

Of samite without price, that more exprest And the high purpose broken by the Than hid her, clung about her lissome

worm.

limbs,

In colour like the satin-shining palm

So leaving Arthur's court he gain'd the On sallows in the windy gleams of March: And while she kiss'd them, crying, 'Trample me,

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

Dear fect, 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 : Drave with a sudden wind across the So dark a forethought roll'd about his

And touching Breton sands, they dis- As on a dull day in an Ocean cave

embark'd.

And then she follow'd Merlin all the way,
Ev'n to the wild woods of Broceliande.

The blind wave feeling round his long

sea-hall

In silence wherefore, when she lifted up

And Vivien answer'd smiling saucily, 'What, O my Master, have ye found your voice?

Writhed toward him, slided up his knee I bid the stranger welcome. Thanks at

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

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 And knew no more, nor gave me one
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

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

own?

And yet no thanks: and all thro' this wild

The vast and shaggy mantle of his beard That Vivien bathed your feet before her
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

wood

And all this morning when I fondled you:
Boon, ay, there was a boon, one not so

strange

How had I wrong'd you? surely ye are wise,

Veil'd in gray vapour; till he sadly But such a silence is more wise than kind.'

smiled:

To what request for what strange boon,'

And Merlin lock'd his hand in hers and

he said,

said:

'O did ye never lie upon the shore,
And watch the curl'd white of the coming

wave

And see, yourself have own'd ye did me wrong.

The people call you prophet: let it be :

Glass'd in the slippery sand before it But not of those that can expound them

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 ;

selves.

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, And when I look'd, and saw you follow- Now ask'd again: for see you not, dear ing still, love,

My mind involved yourself the nearest That such a mood as that, which lately gloom'd

thing

In that mind-mist: for shall I tell you Your fancy when ye saw me following you, Must make me fear still more you are not

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.

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,
O Merlin, teach it me.
The charm so taught will charm us both

Your pretty sports have brighten'd all As proof of trust.

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;

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 take this boon so strange and not so And therefore be as great as ye are named, strange.'

Not muffled round with selfish reticence.
How hard you look and how denyingly!

And Vivien answer'd smiling mourn- O, if you think this wickedness in me,

As clean as blood of babes, as white as Yea, by God's rood, I trusted you too

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,

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 ye hardly know the tender rhyme
Of" trust me not at all or all in all."

The great proof of your love: because II heard the great Sir Lancelot sing it once, And it shall answer for me. Listen to it.

think,

However wise, ye hardly know me yet.'

And Merlin loosed his hand from hers and said,

"In Love, if Love be Love, if Love

be ours,

Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers:

'I never was less wise, however wise, Too curious Vivien, tho' you talk of trust, Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all. Than when I told you first of such a

charm.

Yea, if ye 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,

"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 ye 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

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 Like sunlight on the plain behind a
Upon my life and use and name and fame,

shower :

Why will ye never ask some other boon? And yet he answer'd half indignantly :