Idylls of the King by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (read book txt) 📕

set upon him, saw
The maiden standing in the dewy light.
He had not dreamed she was so beautiful.
Then came on him a sort of sacred fear,
For silent, though he greeted her, she stood
Rapt on his face as if it were a God’s.
Suddenly flashed on her a wild desire,
That he should wear her favour at the tilt.
She braved a riotous heart in asking for it.
“Fair lord, whose name I know not⁠—noble it is,
I well believe, the noblest⁠—will you wear
My favour at this tourney?” “Nay,” said he,
“Fair lady, since I never yet have worn
Favour of any lady in the lists.
Such is my wont, as those, who know me, know.”
“Yea, so,” she answered; “then in wearing mine
Needs must be lesser likelihood, noble lord,
That those who know should know you.” And he turned
Her counsel up and down within his mind,
And found it true, and answered, “True, my child.
Well, I will wear it: fetch it out to me:
What is it?” and she told him “A red sleeve
Broidered with pearls,” and brought it: then he bound
Her token on his helmet, with a smile
Saying, “I never yet have done so much
For any maiden living,” and the blood
Sprang to her face and filled her with delight;
But left her all the paler, when Lavaine
Returning brought the yet-unblazoned shield,
His brother’s; which he gave to Lancelot,
Who parted with his own to fair Elaine:
“Do me this grace, my child, to have my shield
In keeping till I come.” “A grace to me,”
She answered, “twice today. I am your squire!”
Whereat Lavaine said, laughing, “Lily maid,
For fear our people call you lily maid
In earnest, let me bring your colour back;
Once, twice, and thrice: now get you hence to bed:”
So kissed her, and Sir Lancelot his own hand,
And thus they moved away: she stayed a minute,
Then made a sudden step to the gate, and there⁠—
Her bright hair blown about the serious face
Yet rosy-kindled with her brother’s kiss⁠—
Paused by the gateway, standing near the shield
In silence, while she watched their arms far-off
Sparkle, until they dipt below the downs.
Then to her tower she climbed, and took the shield,
There kept it, and so lived in fantasy.

Meanwhile the new companions past away
Far o’er the long backs of the bushless downs,
To where Sir Lancelot knew there lived a knight
Not far from Camelot, now for forty years
A hermit, who had prayed, laboured and prayed,
And ever labouring had scooped himself
In the white rock a chapel and a hall
On massive columns, like a shore-cliff cave,
And cells and chambers: all were fair and dry;
The green light from the meadows underneath
Struck up and lived along the milky roofs;
And in the meadows tremulous aspen-trees
And poplars made a noise of falling showers.
And thither wending there that night they bode.

But when the next day broke from underground,
And shot red fire and shadows through the cave,
They rose, heard mass, broke fast, and rode away:
Then Lancelot saying, “Hear, but hold my name
Hidden, you ride with Lancelot of the Lake,”
Abashed young Lavaine, whose instant reverence,
Dearer to true young hearts than their own praise,
But left him leave to stammer, “Is it indeed?”
And after muttering “The great Lancelot,”
At last he got his breath and answered, “One,
One have I seen⁠—that other, our liege lord,
The dread Pendragon, Britain’s King of kings,
Of whom the people talk mysteriously,
He will be there⁠—then were I stricken blind
That minute, I might say that I had seen.”

So spake Lavaine, and when they reached the lists
By Camelot in the meadow, let his eyes
Run through the peopled gallery which half round
Lay like a rainbow fallen upon the grass,
Until they found the clear-faced King, who sat
Robed in red samite, easily to be known,
Since to his crown the golden dragon clung,
And down his robe the dragon writhed in gold,
And from the carven-work behind him crept
Two dragons gilded, sloping down to make
Arms for his chair, while all the rest of them
Through knots and loops and folds innumerable
Fled ever through the woodwork, till they found
The new design wherein they lost themselves,
Yet with all ease, so tender was the work:
And, in the costly canopy o’er him set,
Blazed the last diamond of the nameless king.

Then Lancelot answered young Lavaine and said,
“Me you call great: mine is the firmer seat,
The truer lance: but there is many a youth
Now crescent, who will come to all I am
And overcome it; and in me there dwells
No greatness, save it be some far-off touch
Of greatness to know well I am not great:
There is the man.” And Lavaine gaped upon him
As on a thing miraculous, and anon
The trumpets blew; and then did either side,
They that assailed, and they that held the lists,
Set lance in rest, strike spur, suddenly move,
Meet in the midst, and there so furiously
Shock, that a man far-off might well perceive,
If any man that day were left afield,
The hard earth shake, and a low thunder of arms.
And Lancelot bode a little, till he saw
Which were the weaker; then he hurled into it
Against the stronger: little need to speak
Of Lancelot in his glory! King, duke, earl,
Count, baron⁠—whom he smote, he overthrew.

But in the field were Lancelot’s kith and kin,
Ranged with the Table Round that held the lists,
Strong men, and wrathful that a stranger knight
Should do and almost overdo the deeds
Of Lancelot; and one said to the other, “Lo!
What is he? I do not mean the force alone⁠—
The grace and versatility of the man!
Is it not Lancelot?” “When has Lancelot worn
Favour of any lady in the lists?
Not such his wont, as we, that know him, know.”
“How then? who then?” a fury seized them all,
A fiery family passion for the name
Of Lancelot, and a glory one with theirs.
They couched their spears and pricked their steeds, and thus,
Their plumes driven backward by the wind they made
In moving, all together down upon him
Bare, as a wild wave in the wide North-sea,
Green-glimmering toward the summit, bears, with all
Its stormy crests that smoke against the skies,
Down on a bark, and overbears the bark,
And him that helms it, so they overbore
Sir Lancelot and his charger, and a spear
Down-glancing lamed the charger, and a spear
Pricked sharply his own cuirass, and the head
Pierced through his side, and there snapt, and remained.

Then Sir Lavaine did well