| |
| BUT, knowing now that they would have her speak, | |
| She threw her wet hair backward from her brow, | |
| Her hand close to her mouth touching her cheek, | |
| |
| As though she had had there a shameful blow, | |
| And feeling it shameful to feel aught but shame | 5 |
| All through her heart, yet felt her cheek burned so, | |
| |
| She must a little touch it; like one lame | |
| She walked away from Gauwaine, with her head | |
| Still lifted up; and on her cheek of flame | |
| |
| The tears dried quick; she stopped at last and said: | 10 |
| “O knights and lords, it seems but little skill | |
| To talk of well-known things past now and dead. | |
| |
| “God wot I ought to say, I have done ill, | |
| And pray you all forgiveness heartily! | |
| Because you must be right, such great lords; still | 15 |
| |
| “Listen, suppose your time were come to die, | |
| And you were quite alone and very weak; | |
| Yea, laid a dying while very mightily | |
| |
| “The wind was ruffling up the narrow streak | |
| Of river through your broad lands running well: | 20 |
| Suppose a hush should come, then some one speak: | |
| |
| “‘One of these cloths is heaven, and one is hell, | |
| Now choose one cloth for ever; which they be, | |
| I will not tell you, you must somehow tell | |
| |
| “‘Of your own strength and mightiness; here, see!’ | 25 |
| Yea, yea, my lord, and you to ope your eyes, | |
| At foot of your familiar bed to see | |
| |
| “A great God’s angel standing, with such dyes, | |
| Not known on earth, on his great wings, and hands, | |
| Held out two ways, light from the inner skies | 30 |
| |
| “Showing him well, and making his commands | |
| Seem to be God’s commands, moreover, too, | |
| Holding within his hands the cloths on wands; | |
| |
| “And one of these strange choosing cloths was blue, | |
| Wavy and long, and one cut short and red; | 35 |
| No man could tell the better of the two. | |
| |
| “After a shivering half-hour you said: | |
| ‘God help! heaven’s color, the blue;’ and he said, ‘hell.’ | |
| Perhaps you would then roll upon your bed, | |
| |
| “And cry to all good men that loved you well, | 40 |
| ‘Ah Christ! if only I had known, known, known;’ | |
| Launcelot went away, then I could tell, | |
| |
| “Like wisest man how all things would be, moan, | |
| And roll and hurt myself, and long to die, | |
| And yet fear much to die for what was sown. | 45 |
| |
| “Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, | |
| Whatever may have happened through these years, | |
| God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie.” | |
| |
| Her voice was low at first, being full of tears, | |
| But as it cleared, it grew full loud and shrill, | 50 |
| Growing a windy shriek in all men’s ears, | |
| |
| A ringing in their startled brains, until | |
| She said that Gauwaine lied, then her voice sunk, | |
| And her great eyes began again to fill, | |
| |
| Though still she stood right up, and never shrunk, | 55 |
| But spoke on bravely, glorious lady fair! | |
| Whatever tears her full lips may have drunk, | |
| |
| She stood, and seemed to think, and wrung her hair, | |
| Spoke out at last with no more trace of shame, | |
| With passionate twisting of her body there: | 60 |
| |
| “It chanced upon a day that Launcelot came | |
| To dwell at Arthur’s court: at Christmastime | |
| This happened; when the heralds sung his name, | |
| |
| “Son of King Ban of Benwick, seemed to chime | |
| Along with all the bells that rang that day, | 65 |
| O’er the white roofs, with little change of rhyme. | |
| |
| “Christmas and whitened winter passed away, | |
| And over me the April sunshine came, | |
| Made very awful with black hail-clouds, yea | |
| |
| “And in the Summer I grew white with flame, | 70 |
| And bowed my head down: Autumn, and the sick | |
| Sure knowledge things would never be the same, | |
| |
| “However often Spring might be most thick | |
| Of blossoms and buds, smote on me, and I grew | |
| Careless of most things, let the clock tick, tick, | 75 |
| |
| “To my unhappy pulse, that beat right through | |
| My eager body; while I laughed out loud, | |
| And let my lips curl up at false or true, | |
| |
| “Seemed cold and shallow without any cloud. | |
| Behold, my judges, then the cloths were brought; | 80 |
| While I was dizzied thus, old thoughts would crowd | |
| |
| “Belonging to the time ere I was bought | |
| By Arthur’s great name and his little love; | |
| Must I give up for ever then, I thought, | |
| |
| “That which I deemed would ever round me move, | 85 |
| Glorifying all things; for a little word, | |
| Scarce ever meant at all, must I now prove | |
| |
| “Stone-cold for ever? Pray you, does the Lord | |
| Will that all folks should be quite happy and good? | |
| I love God now a little, if this cord | 90 |
| |
| “Were broken, once for all what striving could | |
| Make me love anything in earth or heaven? | |
| So day by day it grew, as if one should | |
| |
| “Slip slowly down some path worn smooth and even, | |
| Down to a cool sea on a summer day; | 95 |
| Yet still in slipping there was some small leaven | |
| |
| “Of stretched hands catching small stones by the way, | |
| Until one surely reached the sea at last, | |
| And felt strange new joy as the worn head lay | |
| |
| “Back, with the hair like sea-weed; yea all past | 100 |
| Sweat of the forehead, dryness of the lips, | |
| Washed utterly out by the dear waves o’ercast, | |
| |
| “In the lone sea, far off from any ships! | |
| Do I not know now of a day in Spring? | |
| No minute of that wild day ever slip | 105 |
| |
| “From out my memory; I hear thrushes sing, | |
| And wheresoever I may be, straightway | |
| Thoughts of it all come up with most fresh sting: | |
| |
| “I was half mad with beauty on that day, | |
| And went without my ladies all alone, | 110 |
| In a quiet garden walled round every way; | |
| |
| “I was right joyful of that wall of stone, | |
| That shut the flowers and trees up with the sky, | |
| And trebled all the beauty: to the bone, | |
| |
| “Yea right through to my heart, grown very shy | 115 |
| With wary thoughts, it pierced, and made me glad; | |
| Exceedingly glad, and I knew verily, | |
| |
| “A little thing just then had made me mad; | |
| I dared not think, as I was wont to do, | |
| Sometimes, upon my beauty; If I had | 120 |
| |
| “Held out my long hand up against the blue, | |
| And, looking on the tenderly darken’d fingers, | |
| Thought that by rights one ought to see quite through, | |
| |
| “There, see you, where the soft still light yet lingers | |
| Round by the edges; what should I have done, | 125 |
| If this had joined with yellow spotted singers, | |
| |
| “And startling green drawn upward by the sun? | |
| But shouting, loosed out, see now! all my hair, | |
| And trancedly stood watching the west wind run | |
| |
| “With faintest half-heard breathing sound: why there | 130 |
| I lose my head e’en now in doing this; | |
| But shortly listen: In that garden fair | |
| |
| “Came Launcelot walking; this is true, the kiss | |
| Wherewith we kissed in meeting that spring day, | |
| I scarce dare talk of the remember’d bliss, | 135 |
| |
| “When both our mouths went wandering in one way, | |
| And aching sorely, met among the leaves; | |
| Our hands being left behind strained far away. | |
| |
| “Never within a yard of my bright sleeves | |
| Had Launcelot come before: and now so nigh! | 140 |
| After that day why is it Guenevere grieves? | |
| |
| “Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, | |
| Whatever happened on through all those years, | |
| God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie. | |
| |
| “Being such a lady could I weep these tears | 145 |
| If this were true? A great queen such as I | |
| Having sinn’d this way, straight her conscience sears; | |
| |
| “And afterwards she liveth hatefully, | |
| Slaying and poisoning, certes never weeps: | |
| Gauwaine be friends now, speak me lovingly, | 150 |
| |
| “Do I not see how God’s dear pity creeps | |
| All through your frame, and trembles in your mouth? | |
| Remember in what grave your mother sleeps, | |
| |
| “Buried in some place far down in the south | |
| Men are forgetting as I speak to you; | 155 |
| By her head sever’d in that awful drouth | |
| |
| “Of pity that drew Agravaine’s fell blow, | |
| I pray your pity! let me not scream out | |
| For ever after, when the shrill winds blow | |
| |
| “Through half your castle-locks! let me not shout | 160 |
| For ever after in the winter night | |
| When you ride out alone! in battle-rout | |
| |
| “Let not my rusting tears make your sword light! | |
| Ah! God of mercy, how he turns away! | |
| So, ever must I dress me to the fight, | 165 |
| |
| “So: let God’s justice work! Gauwaine, I say, | |
| See me hew down your proofs: yea all men know | |
| Even as you said how Mellyagraunce one day, | |
| |
| “One bitter day in la Fausse Garde, for so | |
| All good knights held it after, saw: | 170 |
| Yea, sirs, by cursed unknightly outrage; though | |
| |
| “You, Gauwaine, held his word without a flaw. | |
. . . . . . . Not so, fair lords, even if the world should end | |
| |
| “This very day, and you were judges here | 175 |
| Instead of God. Did you see Mellyagraunce | |
| When Launcelot stood by him? what white fear | |
| |
| “Curdled his blood, and how his teeth did dance, | |
| His side sink in? as my knight cried and said: | |
| ‘Slayer of unarm’d men, here is a chance! | 180 |
| |
| “‘Setter of traps, I pray you guard your head, | |
| By God I am so glad to fight with you, | |
| Stripper of ladies, that my hand feels lead | |
| |
| “‘For driving weight; hurrah now! draw and do, | |
| For all my wounds are moving in my breast, | 185 |
| And I am getting mad with waiting so.’ | |
| |
| “He struck his hands together o’er the beast, | |
| Who fell down flat, and grovell’d at his feet, | |
| And groan’d at being slain so young: ‘At least, | |
| |
| “My knight said, ‘Rise you, sir, who are so fleet | 190 |
| At catching ladies, half-arm’d will I fight, | |
| My left side all uncovered!’ then I weet, | |
| |
| “Up sprang Sir Mellyagraunce with great delight | |
| Upon his knave’s face; not until just then | |
| Did I quite hate him, as I saw my knight | 195 |
| |
| “Along the lists look to my stake and pen | |
| With such a joyous smile, it made me sigh | |
| From agony beneath my waist-chain, when | |
| |
| “The fight began, and to me they drew nigh; | |
| Ever Sir Launcelot kept him on the right, | 200 |
| And traversed warily, and ever high | |
| |
| “And fast leapt caitiff’s sword, until my knight | |
| Sudden threw up his sword to his left hand, | |
| Caught it and swung it; that was all the fight; | |
| |
| “Except a spout of blood on the hot land, | 205 |
| For it was hottest summer; and I know | |
| I wonder’d how the fire, while I should stand, | |
| |
| “And burn, against the heat, would quiver so, | |
| Yards above my head; thus these matters went, | |
| Which things were only warnings of the woe | 210 |
| |
| “That fell on me. Yet Mellyagraunce was shent, | |
| For Mellyagraunce had fought against the Lord; | |
| Therefore, my lords, take heed lest you be blent | |
| |
| “With all his wickedness; say no rash word | |
| Against me, being so beautiful; my eyes | 215 |
| Wept all away to gray, may bring some sword | |
| |
| “To drown you in your blood; see my breast rise | |
| Like waves of purple sea, as here I stand; | |
| And how my arms are moved in wonderful wise, | |
| |
| “Yea also at my full heart’s strong command, | 220 |
| See through my long throat how the words go up | |
| In ripples to my mouth; how in my hand | |
| |
| “The shadow lies like wine within a cup | |
| Of marvellously color’d gold; yea now | |
| This little wind is rising, look you up, | 225 |
| |
| “And wonder how the light is falling so | |
| Within my moving tresses: will you dare | |
| When you have looked a little on my brow, | |
| |
| “To say this thing is vile? or will you care | |
| For any plausible lies of cunning woof, | 230 |
| Where you can see my face with no lie there | |
| |
| “For ever? am I not a gracious proof?— | |
| ‘But in your chamber Launcelot was found’— | |
| Is there a good knight then would stand aloof, | |
| |
| “When a queen says with gentle queenly sound: | 235 |
| ‘O true as steel, come now and talk with me, | |
| I love to see your step upon the ground | |
| |
| “‘Unwavering, also well I love to see | |
| That gracious smile light up your face, and hear | |
| Your wonderful words, that all mean verily | 240 |
| |
| “‘The thing they seem to mean: good friend, so dear | |
| To me in everything, come here to-night, | |
| Or else the hours will pass most dull and drear; | |
| |
| “‘If you come not, I fear this time I might | |
| Get thinking over much of times gone by, | 245 |
| When I was young, and green hope was in sight: | |
| |
| “‘For no man cares now to know why I sigh; | |
| And no man comes to sing me pleasant songs, | |
| Nor any brings me the sweet flowers that lie | |
| |
| “‘So thick in the gardens; therefore one so longs | 250 |
| To see you, Launcelot; that we may be | |
| Like children once again, free from all wrongs | |
| |
| “‘Just for one night.’ Did he not come to me? | |
| What thing could keep true Launcelot away | |
| If I said, ‘Come?’ there was one less than three | 255 |
| |
| “In my quiet room that night, and we were gay; | |
| Till sudden I rose up, weak, pale, and sick, | |
| Because a bawling broke our dream up, yea | |
| |
| “I looked at Launcelot’s face and could not speak, | |
| For he looked helpless too, for a little while; | 260 |
| Then I remember how I tried to shriek, | |
| |
| “And could not, but fell down; from tile to tile | |
| The stones they threw up rattled o’er my head | |
| And made me dizzier; till within a while | |
| |
| “My maids were all about me, and my head | 265 |
| On Launcelot’s breast was being soothed away | |
| From its white chattering, until Launcelot said:… | |
| |
| “By God! I will not tell you more to-day, | |
| Judge any way you will: what matters it? | |
| You know quite well the story of that fray, | 270 |
| |
| “How Launcelot still’d their bawling, the mad fit | |
| That caught up Gauwaine, all, all, verily, | |
| But just that which would save me; these things flit. | |
| |
| “Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, | |
| Whatever may have happen’d these long years, | 275 |
| God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie! | |
| |
| “All I have said is truth, by Christ’s dear tears.” | |
| She would not speak another word, but stood | |
| Turn’d sideways; listening, like a man who hears | |
| |
| His brother’s trumpet sounding through the wood | 280 |
| Of his foes’ lances. She leaned eagerly, | |
| And gave a slight spring sometimes, as she could | |
| |
| At last hear something really; joyfully | |
| Her cheek grew crimson, as the headlong speed | |
| Of the roan charger drew all men to see, | 285 |
| The knight who came was Launcelot at good need. | |
| |
