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the wounded hero, in which "ever this faire maide Elaine did. her diligence and labour night and day unto Sir Launcelot, that there was never child more meeker unto the father, nor wife unto her husband than was that faire maide of Astolat;" and when Lancelot was ready again for jousts and battles, and was about to take his leave of the old baron, she thought it not unmaidenly to tell the knight her love, and pray that in his mercy he would suffer her not to die for it. Nor when she finds he cannot help her does she love him less; but always to the end of life, which now cannot be greatly distant, will she purely think upon him, sadly, indeed, but not less lovingly. And when "her ghostly father bad her leave such thoughts," she answers, innocently and meekly, that she cannot leave them while she lives and is "an earthly woman ;" and therewith she humbly prays to "the high Father of heaven" and to "our swete Saviour Jesu Christ," pleading that if she has sinned in loving Lancelot beyond all measure, she has also suffered and is suffering "innumerable paines." Thus, hoping that her sin may be forgiven, most piously and lovingly she dies. But even after death she went with a simple and most piteous appeal to Lancelot, asking humbly that, if he could not love her while she lived, he now would love, at least, her memory. And because she trusted that this last request of hers would be received and granted by the knight, she would go richly clothed, as fitted one with such a love for one she thought so noble; and thus it was that when she came to the king's palace she was clad in cloth of gold, and thus "shee lay as though she had smiled."

It is not difficult to see the beauty and the value of the poem in which Mr. Tennyson has given us this delightful story. It is a picture of a simple, pure, and maidenly affection, contrasted with the false and hateful love of Vivien, and the designing and selfish witcheries of her coquetry. It is the picture, too, of a love that meets with no return; but therein does the truth and faithfulness of it only appear the more conspicuous. That the poem means something is as certain as that Mr. Tennyson is its author; and what it means, we think, may be ex

pressed in words which Mr. Tennyson intended for another use, but the spirit of which pervades a great part of his poetry:

"I hold it true, what e'er befall;

I feel it when I sorrow most;

"Tis better to have loved and lost, Than never to have loved at all.”

The lesson is that, though the fruit of such a love be sorrow, and that sorrow irrepressible and even unto death, yet, if it brings also patience and a meek and holy resignation,-if it be also such as theirs

"Whose loves in higher love endure,"―

then, out of all this sorrow there may come a selflessness, and holy joy and peace, and such a quiet faith in the hereafter as was in the soul of that pure maid of Astolat when, in her death, "shee lay as though she had smiled."

We have purposely avoided, in our examination of this third Idyl, any close observation of the character of Lancelot,-a character strangely powerful and fascinating, and wonderfully pitiable too, and full of warning,-because it seemed better to delay it until we should come to Guinevere, with whom his story is inseperably connected. It was an evil day for Arthur when he married Guinevere, although it was true that men could say of her "as of her beautie and fairnesse she is one of the fairest that live." Merlin, his wise and faithful counselor, although he advised him "that ye take a wife, for a man of your bountie and noblenesse should not be without a wife," and although he recognized the surpassing beauty of this daughter of King Leodegrance, "warned the king privily that Guenever was not wholesome for him to take to wife, for he warned him that Lancelot should love her and shee him againe.” But finding that Arthur's heart was fully set upon the match, and having the sagacity to see that "there as a man's heart is set he will be loth to return," he forbore to torment him further with his prophecies, but glanced at happier things. It is this hint occurring in the old romances that Mr. Tennyson has seized upon, when he describes the wondrous

vision of a prophetic bard at the time when the great order of the round table was instituted:

"that night the bard

Sang Arthur's glorious wars, and sang the king
As well nigh more than man, and railed at those
Who called him the false son of Gorlois :
For there was no man knew from whence he came ;
But after tempest, when the long wave broke
All down the thundring shores of Bude and Boss,
There came a day as still as heaven, and then
They found a naked child upon the sands
Of wild Dundagil by the Cornish sea;
And that was Arthur; and they fostered him
Till he by miracle was approven king :

And that his grave should be a mystery

From all men, like his birth; and could he find

A woman in her womanhood as great

As he was in his manhood, then, he sang,

The twain together well might change the world.

But even in the middle of his song

He faltered, and his hand fell from the harp,

And pale he turned, and reeled, and would have fallen

But that they stayed him up; nor would he tell

His vision; but what doubt that he foresaw

This evil work of Lancelot and the Queen ?"

We quote the passage not only for its own exquisite beauty, and because it well illustrates some peculiar excellencies of Mr. Tennyson's poetry which we will notice presently, but also because it shows how much the merest hint in the romances can suggest to a mind of high poetic genius, like Mr. Tennyson's. It illustrates, moreover, the style in which he felt at liberty to treat the legends, expanding them and departing from them at his pleasure.

In spite, then, of Merlin's warning, Arthur in his willfulness must have his way. And so he marries Guinevere, in great pomp and "in the most honourablest wise that could be devised." It was not long before the prophetic warning of the wizard began to be fulfilled. For when Sir Lancelot arrived in Arthur's court, fresh from the tutelage of Vivien, his beauty of aspect and his bravery attracted the attention of all observers, and among others, of the queen. It further happened, that

on the day when he was admitted by King Arthur to "the high order of knighthood," an incident occurred which seems to have been the beginning of the great and guilty love which was, in after days, to make him so notorious. Lancelot himself shall tell the story, in a conversation which, a long time afterward, he had with Arthur,-only a little while before the infidelity of the queen was publicly discovered. "That same day yee made mee knight," he says, "through my hastinesse, I lost my sword, and my lady your queene found it and lapped it in her traine, and gave me my sword when I had neede thereof, or else had I beene shamed among all knights. And therefore, my lord King Arthur, I promised her, at that day, ever to bee her knight in right or in wrong." A fatal promise,—not for Lancelot alone, but for the king and all the realm, and fatally fulfilled! Soon after, in consideration of his wonderful bravery, he was appointed one of a select number of knights, who were known as the "queen's knights," whose business it was to be the special protectors of the queen, and without whose attendance Guinevere must never ride abroad. And fostered by these opportunities it was that there grew up between them that passionate and all absorbing attachment, in which they sank their self-respect, their purity, their honor, and at last their reputation. We have little need to trace the history of their crime, to note the constant jealousies and passionate anger of the queen, and the remorseful consciousness of guilt and bitter condemnation of himself which made Sir Lancelot always sorrowfully patient under all her reproaches, and only the more obedient to her slightest wish. All through the romances this story is implied rather than directly told. Like the sad and gloomy background of some varied picture, it lies behind the other legends and is seen continually through them. It gives to the character of Arthur a touching and pathetic beauty, and it makes the story of Elaine the purer and more lovely by the force of contrast.

Except for this great sin which fearfully disfigured him through all his manhood, Sir Lancelot might have been almost peerless among Arthur's knights. Even in spite of it he could boast that he had never been overcome in a fair fight, save

only by the pure Sir Galahad. Never had king a trustier and braver champion in battle and in tournament than Lancelot was to Arthur. Never had knight a firmer friend and nobler rival in all feats of arms than Lancelot was to Tristram. Never had vanquished foe a conqueror more gentle and more merciful than Lancelot was to those with whom he fought. Never had any wronged or suffering maiden a more prompt and courtly defender than was Lancelot to all who asked his aid. Never had any youthful warrior who was striving for an honorable name, a more generous and sympathizing friend than Lancelot was to Gareth and to many others. And yet, from his first manhood until he had come to full maturity, and was beginning to grow old,-for twenty-four dark, troubled years,he was in bondage to this shameful sin. Nor was this bondage wholly unresisted. Keen and bitter was his self-condemnation, and when, as was the case sometimes, there was added to it the jealous anger of the doubly faithless queen,— it tortured him even to madness. Often he chafed against the chains which bound him, but which he lacked the strength to break. The agony he suffered left its mark even upon his countenance and made him prematurely old.

"The great and guilty love he bare the queen,

In battle with the love he bare his lord,

Had marred his face and marked it ere his time.
Another sinning at such hight, with one,
The flower of all the West and all the world,

Had been the sleeker for it: but in him

His mood was often like a fiend, and rose
And drove him into wastes and solitudes
For agony, who was yet a living soul."

Mournful, indeed, was this long contested battle between his passion and his duty,-and yet more mournful the continued victory of passion. The warrior resistless in battle, the knight unmatched in tournaments, was powerless in the conflict with his own fierce selfishness. How true it is, and always has been, that "he that ruleth his spirit" is better than "he that taketh a city."

But it was not until all the brotherhood of the round table was dispersed upon the quest of the Sanc Greal,-a quest in

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