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V.

Thus in the garden's narrow bound,
Flank'd by some castle's Gothic round,
Fain would the artist's skill provide
The limits of his realms to hide.
The walks in labyrinths he twines,

Shade after shade with skill combines,
With many a varied flowery knot,
And copse, and arbour, decks the spot,
Tempting the hasty foot to stay,
And linger on the lovely way;
Vain art! vain hope! 'tis fruitless all!
At length we reach the bounding wall,
And, sick of flower and trim-dress'd
tree,

Long for rough glades and forest free.

VI.

'Three summer months had scantly flown

When Arthur, in embarrass'd tone,
Spoke of his liegemen and his throne;
Said, all too long had been his stay,
And duties, which a monarch sway,
Duties, unknown to humbler men,
Must tear her knight from Guendolen.
She listen'd silently the while,
Her mood express'd in bitter smile;
Beneath her eye must Arthur quail,
And oft resume the unfinish'd tale,
Confessing, by his downcast eye,
The wrong he sought to justify.
He ceased. A moment mute she gazed,
And then her looks to heaven she rais'd;
One palm her temples veiled, to hide
The tear that sprung in spite of pride;

The other for an instant press'd
The foldings of her silken vest!

VII.

'At her reproachful sign and look, The hint the Monarch's conscience took.

Eager he spoke-" No, lady, no!
Deem not of British Arthur so,
Nor think he can deserter prove
To the dear pledge of mutual love.

I swear by sceptre and by sword,
As belted knight and Britain's lord,
That boy is born a kingdom's heir;
That if a boy shall claim my care,
But if a maiden Fate allows,
To choose that maid a fitting spouse,
A summer-day in lists shall strive
My knights, the bravest knights alive,
And he, the best and bravest tried,
ShallArthur's daughterclaim for bride."
He spoke, with voice resolved and
high;

The lady deign'd him not reply.

VIII.

At dawn of morn, ere on the brake His matins did a warbler make, Or stirr'd his wing to brush away A single dewdrop from the spray, Ere yet a sunbeam, through the mist, The castle-battlements had kiss'd, The gates revolve, the drawbridge falls, And Arthur sallies from the walls. Doff'd his soft garb of Persia's loom, And steel from spur to helmet-plume, His Lybian steed full proudly trode, And joyful neigh'd beneath his load. The Monarch gave a passing sigh To penitence and pleasures by, When, lo! to his astonish'd ken Appear'd the form of Guendolen.

IX.

Beyond the outmost wall she stood, Attired like huntress of the wood : Sandall'd her feet, her ankles bare,

And eagle-plumage deck'd her hair;

Firm was her look, her bearing bold, And in her hand a cup of gold. "Thou goest!" she said, "and ne'er again

Must we two meet, in joy or pain. Full fain would I this hour delay, Though weak the wish-yet, wilt thou stay?

No! thou look'st forward. Still, attend! Part we like lover and like friend."

She raised the cup-"Not this the juice The sluggish vines of earth produce; Pledge we, at parting, in the draught Which Genii love!" She said, and quaff'd ;

And strange unwonted lustres fly From her flush'd cheek and sparkling eye.

X.

'The courteous Monarch bent him low,
And, stooping down from saddlebow,
Lifted the cup, in act to drink.
A drop escaped the goblet's brink-
Intense as liquid fire from hell,
Upon the charger's neck it fell.
Screaming with agony and fright,
He bolted twenty feet upright!
The peasant still can show the dint
Where his hoofs lighted on the flint.
From Arthur's hand the goblet flew,
Scattering a shower of fiery dew,
That burn'd and blighted where it fell!
The frantic steed rush'd up the dell,
As whistles from the bow the reed;
Nor bit nor rein could check his speed
Until he gain'd the hill;

Then breath and sinew fail'd apace,
And, reeling from the desperate race,
He stood, exhausted, still.
The Monarch, breathless and amazed,
Back on the fatal castle gazed:
Nor tower nor donjon could he spy,
Darkening against the morning sky;
But, on the spot where once they

frown'd,

The lonely streamlet brawl'd around A tufted knoll, where dimly shone Fragments of rock and rifted stone. Musing on this strange hap the while, The King wends back to fair Carlisle; And cares, that cumber royal sway, Wore memory of the past away.

XI.

'Full fifteen years and more were sped, Each brought new wreaths to Arthur's head.

Twelve bloody fields, with glory fought,
The Saxons to subjection brought :
Rython, the mighty giant, slain
By his good brand, relieved Bretagne:
The Pictish Gillamore in fight,

And Roman Lucius, own'd his might; And wide were through the world renown'd

The glories of his Table Round. Each knight who sought adventurous fame,

To the bold court of Britain came, And all who suffer'd causeless wrong, From tyrant proud, or faitour strong, Sought Arthur's presence, to complain, Nor there for aid implored in vain.

XII.

For this the King, with pomp and pride,

Held solemn court at Whitsuntide,

And summon'd Prince and Peer, All who owed homage for their land, Or who craved knighthood from his hand,

Or who had succour to demand,

To come from far and near. At such high tide were glee and game Mingled with feats of martial fame, For many a stranger champion came In lists to break a spear; And not a knight of Arthur's host, Save that he trode some foreign coast, But at this feast of Pentecost

Before him must appear. Ah, Minstrels! when the Table Round Arose, with all its warriors crown'd, There was a theme for bards to sound

In triumph to their string! Five hundred years are past and gone, But Time shall draw his dying groan Ere he behold the British throne Begirt with such a ring!

XIII.

'The heralds named the appointed spot, As Caerleon or Camelot,

Or Carlisle fair and free.

At Penrith, now, the feast was set,
And in fair Eamont's vale were met

The flower of Chivalry.
There Galaad sate with manly grace,
Yet maiden meekness in his face;
There Morolt of the iron mace,

And love-lorn Tristrem there: And Dinadam with lively glance, And Lanval with the fairy lance, And Mordred with his look askance,

Brunor and Bevidere.

Why should I tell of numbers more? Sir Cay, Sir Banier, and Sir Bore,

Sir Carodac the keen,

The gentle Gawain's courteous lore,
Hector de Mares and Pellinore,
And Lancelot, that evermore

Look'd stol'n-wise on the Queen.

XIV.

'When wineandmirth did most abound, And harpers play'd their blithest round, A shrilly trumpet shook the ground,

And marshals cleared the ring; A maiden, on a palfrey white, Heading a band of damsels bright, Paced through the circle, to alight

And kneel before the King. Arthur, with strong emotion, saw Her graceful boldness check'd by

awe,

Her dress, like huntress of the wold, Her bow and baldric trapp'd with gold,

Her sandall'd feet, her ankles bare, And the eagle-plume that deck'd her

hair.

Graceful her veil she backward flung; The King, as from his seat he sprung,

Almost cried, "Guendolen!" But 'twas a face more frank and wild, Betwixt the woman and the child, Where less of magic beauty smiled

Than of the race of men ; And in the forehead's haughty grace The lines of Britain's royal race,

Pendragon's, you might ken.

XV.

'Faltering, yet gracefully, she said— "Great Prince! behold an orphan maid,

In her departed mother's name,
A father's vow'd protection claim!
The vow was sworn in desert lone,
In the deep valley of Saint John."
At once the King the suppliant raised,
And kiss'd her brow, her beauty
praised;

His vow, he said, should well be kept,
Ere in the sea the sun was dipp'd;
Then, conscious, glanced upon his
queen;

But she, unruffled at the scene
Of human frailty, construed mild,
Look'd upon Lancelot, and smiled.

XVI.

"Up! up! each knight of gallant crest,
Take buckler, spear, and brand!
He that to-day shall bear him best
Shall win my Gyneth's hand.
And Arthur's daughter, when a bride,
Shall bring a noble dower;
Both fair Strath-Clyde and Reged
wide,

And Carlisle town and tower." Then might you hear each valiant knight

To page and squire that cried, "Bring my armour bright, and my

courser wight!

'Tis not each day that a warrior's might May win a royal bride."

Then cloaks and caps of maintenance In haste aside they fling;

The helmets glance, and gleams the lance,

And the steel-weaved hauberks ring. Small care had they of their peaceful array,

They might gather it that wolde; For brake and bramble glitter'd gay With pearls and cloth of gold.

XVII.

What time, of all King Arthur's crew
Thereof came jeer and laugh)

'Within trumpet sound of the Table He, as the mate of lady true,

Round

Were fifty champions free, And they all arise to fight that prize, They all arise but three.

Nor love's fond troth, nor wedlock's oath,

One gallant could withhold, For priests will allow of a broken vow For penance or for gold.

But sigh and glance from ladies bright

Among the troop were thrown, To plead their right, and true-love plight,

And 'plain of honour flown. The knights they busied them so fast, With buckling spur and belt, That sigh and look, by ladies cast, Were neither seen nor felt. From pleading, or upbraiding glance, Each gallant turns aside, And only thought, "If speeds my lance, A queen becomes my bride! She has fair Strath-Clyde, and Reged wide,

And Carlisle tower and town; She is the loveliest maid, beside, That ever heir'd a crown." So in haste their coursers they bestride, And strike their visors down.

XVIII.

'The champions, arm'd in martial sort,
Have throng'd into the list,
And but three knights of Arthur's court
Are from the tourney miss'd.
And still these lovers' fame survives

For faith so constant shown,There were two who loved their neighbours' wives,

And one who loved his own. The first was Lancelot de Lac, The second Tristrem bold, The third was valiant Carodac, Who won the cup of gold,

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Alone the cup could quaff. Though envy's tongue would fain surmise

That, but for very shame,
Sir Carodac, to fight that prize,

Had given both cup and dame;
Yet, since but one of that fair court
Was true to wedlock's shrine,
Brand him who will with base report,
He shall be free from mine.

XIX.

'Now caracoled the steeds in air, Now plumes and pennons wanton'd fair,

As all around the lists so wide
In panoply the champions ride.
King Arthur saw, with startled eye,
The flower of chivalry march by,
The bulwark of the Christian creed,
The kingdom's shield in hour of need.
Too late he thought him of the woc
Might from their civil conflict flow;
For well he knew they would not part
Till cold was many a gallant heart.
His hasty vow he 'gan to rue,
And Gyneth then apart he drew;
To her his leading-staff resign'd,
But added caution grave and kind.

XX.

"Thou see'st, my child, as promisebound,

I bid the trump for tourney sound.
Take thou my warder, as the queen
And umpire of the martial scene;
But mark thou this: as Beauty bright
Is polar star to valiant knight,
As at her word his sword he draws,
His fairest guerdon her applause,
So gentle maid should never ask
Of knighthood vain and dangerous

task;

And Beauty's eyes should ever be Like the twin stars that soothe the sea,

And Beauty's breath shall whisper Pendragon's daughter will not fear

peace,

And bid the storm of battle cease.
I tell thee this, lest all too far
These knights urge tourney into war.
Blithe at the trumpet let them go,
And fairly counter blow for blow;
No striplings these, who succour need
For a razed helm or falling steed.
But, Gyneth, when the strife grows
warm,

And threatens death or deadly harm,
Thy sire entreats, thy king commands,
Thou drop the warder from thy hands.
Trust thou thy father with thy fate,
Doubt not he choose thee fitting mate;
Nor be it said, through Gyneth's pride
A rose of Arthur's chaplet died."

XXI.

'A proud and discontented glow O'ershadow'd Gyneth's brow of snow; She put the warder by:

For clashing sword or splinter'd spear, Nor shrink though blood should flow;

And all too well sad Guendolen
Hath taught the faithlessness of men,
That child of hers should pity, when
Their meed they undergo."

XXII.

'He frown'd and sigh'd, the Monarch bold:

"I give what I may not withhold;
For not for danger, dread, or death,
Must British Arthur break his faith.
Too late I mark thy mother's art
Hath taught thee this relentless part.
I blame her not, for she had wrong,
But not to these my faults belong.
Use, then, the warder as thou wilt;
But trust me, that, if life be spilt,
In Arthur's love, in Arthur's grace,

"Reserve thy boon, my liege," she Gyneth shall lose a daughter's place."

said,

"Thus chaffer'd down and limited, Debased and narrow'd, for a maid

Of less degree than I.
No petty chief, but holds his heir
At a more honour'd price and rare
Than Britain's King holds me!
Although the sun-burn'd maid, for
dower,

Has but her father's rugged tower,
His barren hill and lee.

King Arthur swore, By crown and sword,

As belted knight and Britain's lord, That a whole summer's day should strive

His knights, the bravest knights alive!
Recall thine oath and to her glen
Poor Gyneth can return agen;
Not on thy daughter will the stain,
That soils thy sword and crown,
remain.

But think not she will e'er be bride
Save to the bravest, proved and tried;

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