Why should it look like Maud? By what I cannot but know Back from the Breton coast, Sick of a nameless fear, Back to the dark sea-line Looking, thinking of all I have lost; For years, a measureless ill, Strange, that the mind, when fraught I noticed one of his many rings- It is his mother's hair. Who knows if he be dead? Whether I need have fled? Am I guilty of blood? However this may be, - and When I was wont to meet her By the home that gave me birth, A shadow flits before me, The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be! It leads me forth at evening, At the shouts, the leagues of lights, Half the night I waste in sighs, 'T is a morning pure and sweet, She is walking in the meadow, And the woodland echo rings; In a moment we shall meet. She is singing in the meadow, And the rivulet at her feet Ripples on in light and shadow To the ballad that she sings. Do I hear her sing as of old, My bird with the shining head, But there rings on a sudden a passionate cry, There is some one dying or dead, And a sullen thunder is roll'd; For a tumult shakes the city, Get thee hence, nor come again, Then I rise, the eave-drops fall, And the yellow vapors choke The great city sounding wide; The day comes, a dull red ball Wrapt in drifts of lurid smoke On the misty river-tide. Thro' the hubbub of the market It crosses here, it crosses there, Thro' all that crowd confused and loud, The shadow still the same; And on my heavy eyelids My anguish hangs like shame. Alas for her that met me, Came glimmering thro' the laurels In the garden by the turrets Would the happy spirit descend But the broad light glares and beats, And I loathe the squares and streets, Always I long to creep Into some still cavern deep, WILL 1855. O, WELL for him whose will is strong! He suffers, but he will not suffer long; He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong. For him nor moves the loud world's random mock, Nor all Calamity's hugest waves confound, Who seems a promontory of rock, 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 A little bitter pool about a stone 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 eye. Henceforward too, the Powers that tend the soul, To help it from the death that cannot die, And save it even in extremes, began To vex and plague her. Many a time for hours, Beside the placid breathings of the King, 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 [stand An awful dream, for then she seem'd to 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 even 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 Before the people and our lord the King." And Lancelot ever promised, but remain'd And still they met and met. Again she said, "O Lancelot, if thou love me get thee hence." And then they were agreed upon a night When the good King should not be there -to meet And part for ever. Vivien, lurking, heard. She told Sir Modred. Passion-pale they met And greeted. Hands in hands, and eye to eye, Low on the border of her couch they sat Stammering and staring. It was their last hour, A madness of farewells. And Modred brought His creatures to the basement of the tower For testimony; and crying with full voice, "Traitor, come out, ye are trapped at last," aroused Lancelot, who rushing outward lionlike Leapt on him, and hurl'd him headlong, and he fell Stunn'd and his creatures took and bare him off, And all was still. is come, Then she, "The end And I am shamed for ever;" and he said: 66 Mine be the shame, mine was the sin; but rise, And fly to my strong castle over-seas. There will I hide thee till my life shall end, There hold thee with my life against the world." She answer'd: "Lancelot, wilt thou hold me so? Nay, friend, for we have taken our farewells. Would God that thou couldst hide me from myself! Mine is the shame, for I was wife, and thou Unwedded; yet rise now, and let us fly, Set her thereon, and mounted on his own, And then they rode to the divided way, There kiss'd, and parted weeping; for he passed, Love-loyal to the least wish of the Queen, Back to his land; but she to Almesbury Fled all night long by glimmering waste and weald, "Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill! Late, late, so late! but we can enter still. "No light had we; for that we do repent, And learning this, the bridegroom will relent. Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now. "No light so late! and dark and chill the night! O, let us in, that we may find the light! "Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet! O, let us in, tho' late, to kiss his feet! So sang the novice, while full passionately, Her head upon her hands, remembering Her thought when first she came, wept the sad Queen. Then said the little novice, prattling to her: |