Behind him rose a shadow and a shriek- With silent smiles of slow disparagement; Mark's way,' said Mark, and clove him And tamper'd with the Lords of the thro' the brain. That night came Arthur home, and while he climb'd, All in a death-dumb autumn-dripping gloom, The stairway to the hall, and look'd and saw The great Queen's bower was dark,— about his feet A voice clung sobbing till he question'd it, 'What art thou?' and the voice about his feet Sent up an answer, sobbing, 'I am thy fool, And I shall never make thee smile again.' GUINEVERE. White Horse, Heathen, the brood by Hengist left; and sought To make disruption in the Table Round Were sharpen'd by strong hate for Lance- For thus it chanced one morn when all the court, Green-suited, but with plumes that mock'd the may, Had been, their wont, a-maying and return'd, That Modred still in green, all ear and eye, Climb'd to the high-top of the gardenwall QUEEN GUINEVERE had fled the court, To spy some secret scandal if he might, and sat There in the holy house at Almesbury And saw the Queen who sat betwixt her best Enid, and lissome Vivien, of her court than this Blurr'd by the creeping mist, for all He saw not, for Sir Lancelot passing by Clung to the dead earth, and the land So from the high wall and the flowering was still. For hither had she fled, her cause of Sir Modred; he that like a subtle beast throne, grove Of grasses Lancelot pluck'd him by the heel, And cast him as a worm upon the way; with dust, He, reverencing king's blood in a bad man, Ready to spring, waiting a chance: for Made such excuses as he might, and these Full knightly without scorn; for in those this He chill'd the popular praises of the King | days LL No knight of Arthur's noblest dealt in Beside the placid breathings of the King, scorn; But, if a man were halt or hunch'd, in him By those whom God had made full-limb'd and tall, Scorn was allow'd as part of his defect, And he was answer'd softly by the King And all his Table. So Sir Lancelot holp To raise the Prince, who rising twice or thrice Full sharply smote his knees, and smiled, and went : But, ever after, the small violence done But when Sir Lancelot told This matter to the Queen, at first she laugh'd Lightly, to think of Modred's dusty fall, Then shudder'd, as the village wife who cries 'I shudder, some one steps across my grave;' Then laugh'd again, but faintlier, for indeed She half-foresaw that he, the subtle beast, Would track her guilt until he found, and hers Would be for evermore a name of scorn. Henceforward rarely could she front in hall, Or elsewhere, Modred's narrow foxy face, Heart-hiding smile, and gray persistent In the dead night, grim faces came and went Before her, or a vague spiritual fear— Like to some doubtful noise of creaking doors, Heard by the watcher in a haunted house, That keeps the rust of murder on the walls Held her awake: or if she slept, she dream'd An awful dream; for then she seem'd to stand On some vast plain before a setting sun, And from the sun there swiftly made at her A ghastly something, and its shadow flew Before it, till it touch'd her, and she turn'd When lo! her own, that broadening from her feet, And blackening, swallow'd all the land, and in it Far cities burnt, and with a cry she woke. And all this trouble did not pass but grew; Till ev'n the clear face of the guileless King, And trustful courtesies of household life, Became her bane; and at the last she said, 'O Lancelot, get thee hence to thine own land, For if thou tarry we shall meet again, And if we meet again, some evil chance Will make the smouldering scandal break and blaze eye : Before the people, and our lord the King.' Henceforward too, the Powers that tend And Lancelot ever promised, but re the soul, main'd, To help it from the death that cannot die, And still they met and met. Again she And save it even in extremes, began said, To vex and plague her. Many a time for 'O Lancelot, if thou love me get thee hence.' hours, And then they were agreed upon a night (When the good King should not be there) to meet And part for ever. Passion-pale they met And greeted hands in hands, and eye to eye, And then they rode to the divided way, Love-loyal to the least wish of the Queen, Low on the border of her couch they sat A madness of farewells. And Modred Moan as she fled, or thought she heard them moan: brought His creatures to the basement of the tower And in herself she moan'd 'Too late, too For testimony; and crying with full voice late!' 'Traitor, come out, ye are trapt at last,' Till in the cold wind that foreruns the aroused Lancelot, who rushing outward lionlike Leapt on him, and hurl'd him headlong, and he fell morn, A blot in heaven, the Raven, flying high, Croak'd, and she thought, 'He spies a field of death; Stunn'd, and his creatures took and bare For now the Heathen of the Northern him off, Sea, And all was still then she, The end is Lured by the crimes and frailties of the come, : court, And I am shamed for ever;' and he said, Begin to slay the folk, and spoil the land.' 'Mine be the shame; mine was the sin: but rise, And fly to my strong castle overseas : end, world.' And when she came to Almesbury she spake There to the nuns, and said, 'Mine enemies There hold thee with my life against the Pursue me, but, O peaceful Sisterhood, Receive, and yield me sanctuary, nor ask She answer'd, 'Lancelot, wilt thou hold Her name to whom ye yield it, till her me so? time Nay, friend, for we have taken our fare- To tell you :' and her beauty, grace and wells. power, Would God that thou couldst hide me Wrought as a charm upon them, and they Wrapt in her grief, for house or for shrift, 'No light so late! and dark and chill the night! But communed only with the little maid, O let us in, that we may find the light! Who pleased her with a babbling Too late, too late : ye cannot enter now. But let my words, the words of one so small, Who knowing nothing knows but to obey, What hour, I wonder, now?' and when And if I do not there is penance given she drew No answer, by and by began to hum An air the nuns had taught her; 'Late, so late!' Comfort your sorrows; for they do not flow From evil done; right sure am I of that, Who see your tender grace and stateliness. Which when she heard, the Queen look'd But weigh your sorrows with our lord the For if there ever come a grief to me I cry my cry in silence, and have done. What canst thou know of Kings and None knows it, and my tears have brought Or what of signs and wonders, but the 'Will the child kill me with her innocent Each with a beacon-star upon his head, talk?' But openly she answer'd, 'Must not I, And with a wild sea-light about his feet, flame Far on into the rich heart of the west : And in the light the white mermaiden swam, 'Yea, said the maid, 'this is all And strong man-breasted things stood Which good King Arthur founded, years Made answer, sounding like a distant horn. ago, So said my father-yea, and furthermore, With signs and miracles and wonders, Next morning, while he past the dim-lit At Camelot, ere the coming of the Queen.' Himself beheld three spirits mad with joy Come dashing down on a tall wayside Then thought the Queen within herself again, 'Will the child kill me with her foolish prate?' But openly she spake and said to her, flower, That shook beneath them, as the thistle shakes When three gray linnets wrangle for the seed: 'O little maid, shut in by nunnery walls, And still at evenings on before his horse |