To Camelot, and Sir Pelleas in brief while Caught his unbroken limbs from the dark field, THE LAST TOURNAMENT. And follow'd to the city. It chanced that DAGONET, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood both Brake into hall together, worn and pale. Had made mock-knight of Arthur's There with her knights and dames was Table Round, Guinevere. Full wonderingly she gazed on Lancelot So soon return'd, and then on Pelleas, him Who had not greeted her, but cast himself Down on a bench, hard-breathing. ye fought?' At Camelot, high above the yellowing Danced like a wither'd leaf before the hall. in hand, And from the crown thereof a carcanet Have Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday, She ask'd of Lancelot. Ay, my Queen,' Came Tristram, saying, 'Why skip ye he said. 'And thou hast overthrown him?' 'Ay, my Queen.' so, Sir Fool?' For Arthur and Sir Lancelot riding once Then she, turning to Pelleas, 'O young Far down beneath a winding wall of rock Heard a child wail. A stump of oak knight, Hath the great heart of knighthood in thee fail'd So far thou canst not bide, unfrowardly, A fall from him?' Then, for he answer'd not, half-dead, From roots like some black coil of carven snakes, Clutch'd at the crag, and started thro' mid air 'Or hast thou other griefs? If I, the Bearing an eagle's nest: and thro' the tree She quail'd; and he, hissing 'I have no Scaling, Sir Lancelot from the perilous Sprang from the door into the dark. This ruby necklace thrice around her neck, And all unscarr'd from beak or talon, The Queen Look'd hard upon her lover, he on her; brought And each foresaw the dolorous day to A maiden babe; which Arthur pitying And make them, an thou wilt, a tourney- From ear to ear with dogwhip-weals, his Following thy will! but, O my Queen, A churl, to whom indignantly the King, I muse Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone 'My churl, for whom Christ died, what evil beast or fiend? Those diamonds that I rescued from the Hath drawn his claws athwart thy face? tarn, And Lancelot won, methought, for thee Man was it who marr'd heaven's image to wear.' 'Would rather you had let them fall,’ she cried, in thee thus ?' Then, sputtering thro' the hedge of splinter'd teeth, 'Plunge and be lost-ill-fated as they Yet strangers to the tongue, and with were, A bitterness to me !-ye look amazed, Not knowing they were lost as soon as given Slid from my hands, when I was leaning out Above the river--that unhappy child came Not from the skeleton of a brother-slayer, But the sweet body of a maiden babe. Perchance-who knows?-the purest of thy knights blunt stump Pitch-blacken'd sawing the air, said the maim'd churl, 'He took them and he drave them to his tower Some hold he was a table-knight of thineA hundred goodly ones-the Red Knight, he Lord, I was tending swine, and the Red Knight Brake in upon me and drave them to his tower; And when I call'd upon thy name as one May win them for the purest of my maids.' That doest right by gentle and by churl, Maim'd me and maul'd, and would out- Waits to be solid fruit of golden deeds, right have slain, Save that he sware me to a message, saying, "Tell thou the King and all his liars, that I Move with me toward their quelling, which achieved, The loneliest ways are safe from shore to shore. But thou, Sir Lancelot, sitting in my place Have founded my Round Table in the Enchair'd to-morrow, arbitrate the field; For wherefore shouldst thou care to mingle with it, North, And whatsoever his own knights have sworn Only to yield my Queen her own again? My knights have sworn the counter to Speak, Lancelot, thou art silent: is it Yet better if the King abide, and leave The leading of his younger knights to me. Else, for the King has will'd it, it is well.' Then Arthur rose and Lancelot follow'd him, The heathen are upon him, his long lance And while they stood without the doors, Broken, and his Excalibur a straw.' the King Turn'd to him saying, 'Is it then so well? Then Arthur turn'd to Kay the sene- Or mine the blame that oft I seem as he schal, 'Take thou my churl, and tend him curiously Like a king's heir, till all his hurts be whole. Of whom was written, "A sound is in his ears"? The foot that loiters, bidden go,-the glance The heathen-but that ever-climbing A manner somewhat fall'n from reverThat only seems hal.'-loyal to command, wave, Hurl'd back again so often in empty foam, Hath lain for years at rest—and renegades, Thieves, bandits, leavings of confusion, whom The wholesome realm is purged of otherwhere, ence Or have I dream'd the bearing of our knights Tells of a manhood ever less and lower? Or whence the fear lest this my realm, uprear'd, By noble deeds at one with noble vows, Friends, thro' your manhood and your From flat confusion and brute violences, Down the slope city rode, and sharply turn'd the Queen. The sudden trumpet sounded as in a dream North by the gate. In her high bower To ears but half-awaked, then one low roll Of Autumn thunder, and the jousts began: And ever the wind blew, and yellowing leaf Working a tapestry, lifted up her head, she sigh'd. Then ran across her memory the strange rhyme And gloom and gleam, and shower and shorn plume Went down it. Sighing weariedly, as one Of bygone Merlin, 'Where is he who Who sits and gazes on a faded fire, knows? From the great deep to the great deep he goes.' But when the morning of a tournament, By these in earnest those in mockery call'd The Tournament of the Dead Innocence, Brake with a wet wind blowing, Lancelot, Round whose sick head all night, like birds of prey, The words of Arthur flying shriek'd, arose, And down a streetway hung with folds of pure White samite, and by fountains running wine, When all the goodlier guests are past away, Sat their great umpire, looking o'er the He saw the laws that ruled the tournament cast down Before his throne of arbitration cursed roar An ocean-sounding welcome to one knight, Where children sat in white with cups of But newly-enter'd, taller than the rest, gold, And armour'd all in forest green, whereon Moved to the lists, and there, with slow There tript a hundred tiny silver deer, And wearing but a holly-spray for crest, chair. sad steps Ascending, fill'd his double-dragon'd With ever-scattering berries, and on shield A spear, a harp, a bugle-Tristram-late From overseas in Brittany return'd, And marriage with a princess of that realm, Isolt the White-Sir Tristram of the Woods He glanced and saw the stately galleries, Dame, damsel, each thro' worship of their Queen White-robed in honour of the stainless Whom Lancelot knew, had held sometime And some with scatter'd jewels, like a His own against him, and now yearn'd to bank shake Of maiden snow mingled with sparks of The burthen off his heart in one full shock With Tristram ev'n to death: his strong fire. He look'd but once, and vail'd his eyes again. hands gript And dinted the gilt dragons right and left, Until he groan'd for wrath-so many of Caracole; then bow'd his homage, bluntly those, saying, That ware their ladies' colours on the 'Fair damsels, each to him who worships each casque, Drew from before Sir Tristram to the Sole Queen of Beauty and of love, behold bounds, This day my Queen of Beauty is not here.' And there with gibes and flickering And most of these were mute, some anger'd, mockeries one Stood, while he mutter'd, 'Craven crests! Murmuring, 'All courtesy is dead,' and O shame! one, What faith have these in whom they sware The glory of our Round Table is no more.' to love? The glory of our Round Table is no more.' Then fell thick rain, plume droopt and mantle clung, So Tristram won, and Lancelot gave, And pettish cries awoke, and the wan day Art thou the purest, brother? See, the Laugh'd shrilly, crying, 'Praise the patient Wherewith thou takest this, is red!' to Our one white day of Innocence hath past, Tho' somewhat draggled at the skirt. So be it. whom Tristram, half plagued by Lancelot's languorous mood, Made answer, 'Ay, but wherefore toss me this Like a dry bone cast to some hungry hound? Let be thy fair Queen's fantasy. Strength of heart The snowdrop only, flowering thro' the Would make the world as blank as Come-let us gladden their sad eyes, our And might of limb, but mainly use and And Lancelot's, at this night's solemnity With all the kindlier colours of the field.' skill, Are winners in this pastime of our King. upon it So dame and damsel glitter'd at the feast No blood of mine, I trow; but O chief Variously gay: for he that tells the tale Liken'd them, saying, as when an hour of cold knight, Right arm of Arthur in the battlefield, Great brother, thou nor I have made the Falls on the mountain in midsummer world; Be happy in thy fair Queen as I in mine.' And all the purple slopes of mountain snows, flowers And Tristram round the gallery made Pass under white, till the warm hour |