In Arthur's house whileome was
When happily the time went
In midmost glory of his days.
He held his court then in a
Whereof ye shall not find the
In any story of his fame:
Caerliel good sooth men called it not,
Nor London Town, nor Camelot;
Yet therein had we bliss enow.—Ah, far off was the
Of all that Britain praised and loved;
And though among us lightly movedA love that could but lead to death,
Smooth-skinned he seemed, of rosy breath,
A fear to sting a lady's lip,
No ruin of goodly fellowship,
No shame and death of all things good.
Forgive the old carle's babbling mood;
As here I sit grey-haired and old,
My life gone as a story told,
Ye bid me tell a story too;
And then the evil days and few,
That yet were overlong for
Rise up so clear I may not
The pictures of my minstrel lore.
Well hearken! on a day of
From prime of morn the court did
Amidmost of the
To search the dwellings of the
Until the heat of noon was near;
Then slackening speed awhile they
Adown a ragged thorn-bushed
At whose feet grew a tangled
Of oak and holly nowise good:
But therethrough with some pain
And rending of the ladies'
They won at last, and after foundA space of green-sward grown
By oak and holly set full close;
And in the midst of it
Two goodly sycamores that madeA wide and little sun-pierced
About their high boles straight and green:
A fount was new-born there-between,
And running on as clear as glass,
Flowed winding on amid the
Until the thick wood swallowed it.
A place for happy folk to
While the hot day grew hotter
Till eve began to work his will.—So might those happy people
Who grudged to see the red sun
And end another day of
Although no joy tomorn should miss —They laughed for joy as they drew
The shade and fount: but lo, therebyA man beside the fountain
The while his horse 'twixt sun and
Cropped the sweet grass: but little
Had these of guile or giant's lair,
And scarce a foot before the
Rode Gawain o'er the daisied
To see what man his pleasure took;
Who rose up in meanwhile and
His tangled hair aback, as
Who e'en but now his sleep hath done.
Rough-head and yellow-haired was
Great-eyed, as folk have told to me,
And big and stout enow of limb:
As one who thinks no harm he smiled,
And cried out: "Well met in the wild,
Fair King and Queen; and ye
Sweet dames and damsels!
Well
This day, whereon I see thee nigh,
O Lancelot, before I die!
And surely shall my heart
Sir Gawain, when I hear thy voice!"Then Lancelot laughed: "Thou knowest us
Full well among a many men?""As quoth the lion to the mouse,"The man said; "in King Arthur's
Men are not names of men alone,
But coffers rather of deeds done."The Queen smiled blithe of heart, and spake:"Hast thou done deeds for ladies' sake?""Nay Dame," he said, "I am but young;
A little have I lived and
And seen thy face this happy noon."The King said: "May we hearken
Some merry tale of thee? for
Am skilled to know men low and
And deem thee neither churl nor fool."Said he, "My fathers went to
Where folk are taught a many things,
But not by bliss: men called them
In days when kings were near to seek;
But as a long thread waxeth weak,
So is it with our house; and nowI wend me home from oaken
Unto a stead where roof and
Shall not have over far to
When their last day comes."As he
He reddened: "Nathless for their sake,
Whom the world loved once, mock not meO King, if thence I bring to theeA morsel and a draught of wine,
Though nothing king-like here thou dine."Of some kind word King Arthur thought,
But ere he spake the woodman
His forest-nag and leapt thereon,
And through the tangled brake was gone.
Then leapt the King down, glad at heart,
Thinking,
This day shall not
Without some voice from days that were;
And lightly leapt down Guenevere,
And man and maid lay
Neath the bee-laden branches high,
And sweet the scent of trodden
Amid the blossoms' perfume was.
There long they lay, and little spake,
As folk right loth the calm to break;
Till lo upon the forest-breezeA noise of folk, and from the
They came: the first-seen forester,
A grizzled carle in such-like gear,
And then two maidens poorly
Though each a silver chaplet
And round her neck a golden chain:
And last two varlets led a
Drawn by white oxen well
With oaken boughs and lilies white;
Therein there lay a cask of
And baskets piled with bread full fine,
And flesh of hart and roe and hare;
And in the midst upon a
Done over with a cloth of
There sat a man exceeding
With long white locks: and clad was
No other than his
Save that a golden crown he
Full fairly fashioned as of yore,
And with a sword was girt
Such as few folk will see I doubt.
Right great it was: the scabbard
Was fashioned of a serpent's skin,
In every scale a stone of worth;
Of tooth of sea-lion of the
The cross was, and the blood-boot
That heals the hurt the blade hath
Hung down therefrom in silken purse:
The ruddy kin of Niblung's curseO'er tresses of a sea-wife's
Was wrapped about the handle fair;
And last a marvellous sapphire
Amidst of the great pommel shone,
A blue flame in the forest green.
And Arthur deemed he ne'er had
So fair a sword: nay not when
The wonder of the land-locked
Drew from the stone that Christmas-tide.
Now forth the forest youth did ride,
Leapt down beside the King, and spake:"King Arthur for thy greatness'
My grandsire comes to look on thee;
My father standeth here by me;
These maidens are my sisters twain;
My brethren draw out from the
Somewhat thy woodland cheer to mend."Thereat his sire the knee did
Before the King, who o'er the
Rough sleeve of the man's homespun
Beheld a goodly golden ring:
And fell to greater
When he beheld how fine and
The woodman's kneeling sisters were.
And all folk thereby deemed in
That (save indeed the first seen youth)These folk were nobler e'en than
Of Arthur's wonder of a house.
But now the elder drew anigh,
By half a head was he more
Than Arthur or than Lancelot,
Nor had eld bent him: he kneeled
Before the King, but smiling
His hands in hands that nowise shook;
And the King joyed as he who
One of his fathers'
Stand glad before him in a dream.
Then down beside the bubbling
They sat together, and the
Was loth to fall a questioning;
So first the elder spake and said:"It joys me of thy goodliheadO great king of our land; and
Our blood within thee doth not flow,
And I who was a king of
May scarcely kneel thy feet before,
Yet do I deem thy right the
Of all the kings who rule the West.
I love thy name and fame: behold,
King Arthur,
I am grown so
In guilelessness, the Gods have sent,
Be I content or uncontent,
This gift unto my latter
That I may see as through a
The lives and deeds of days to come:
I laugh for some,
I weep for some —I neither laugh nor weep for thee,
But trembling through the clouds I
Thy life and glory to the end;
And how the sweet and bitter
Within the cup that thou must drink.
Good is it that thou shalt not
From either: that the
Shall still win glory from thy
And scarce believe thee laid
When o'er thy deeds the days lie deep."He ceased but his old lips moved still,
As though they would the tale
His heart kept secret:
Arthur's
Gleamed with the pride that needs would
Up from his heart, and low he said:"I know the living by the deadI know the future by the past."Wise eyes and kind the elder
Upon him; while a nameless
Smote to the heart of Guenevere,
And, fainting there, was turned to love:
And thence a nameless pain did
The noble heart of Lancelot,
The store of longing unforgot.— And west a little moved the
And noon began, and noon was done.
But as the elder's grey eyes
On Guenevere's, her sweet face
With sweet shame; as though she
He read her story through and through.
Kindly he looked on her and said:"O Queen, the chief of goodlihead,
Be blithe and glad this day at
When in my fathers' house ye feast:
For surely in their ancient
Ye sit now: look, there went the
Where yon turf ridge runs west-away:
Time was I heard my grand-dame
She saw this stream run bubbling
The hall-floor shut in trench of stone;
Therein she washed her father's
That last eve e'er the fire went upO'er ridge and rafter and she
Betwixt the foeman's spears the
Of all the women, wrapping
This sword the gift of Odin's ground."He shook the weapon o'er his knee,
Thereon gazed Arthur eagerly."Draw it, my lord," quoth Guenevere,"Of such things have we little
In Arthur's house." And Lancelot
To look upon the treasure close.
But grimly smiled the ancient man:"E'en as the sun arising
In the black sky when Heimdall's
Screams out and the last day is born,
This blade to eyes of men shall
On that dread day I shall not see —"Fierce was his old face for a while:
But once again he 'gan to
And took the Queen's slim lily
And set it on the deadly
Then laughed and said: "Hold this,
O Queen,
Thine hand is where God's hands have been,
For this is Tyrfing: who knows
His blade was forged?
Belike ere
Had dwelling on the middle-earth.
At least a man's life is it
To draw it out once: so
These peace-strings wrought of pearl and
The scabbard to the cross that
Lest a rash hand and heart made
Should draw it forth unwittingly."Blithe laughed King Arthur: "Sir," said he,"We well may deem in days by
This sword, the blade of such an
As thou hast been, would seldom
Back to its sheath unsatisfied.
Lo now how fair a feast thy
Have dight for us and might we
Some tale of thee in Tyrfing's praise,
Some deed he wrought in greener days,
This were a blithesome hour indeed.""Sir," said the elder, "little
To pray me hereof.
Please ye
And drink a cup of woodman's wine,
Surely meantime some tale shall
Within my heart of days that were."Then to their meat they gat and
Feasted amid the woodland
The fairest folk of all the land.
Ah me when first the Queen's fair
Drew near the kneeling forest
New-wrought the whole world seemed in
And nothing left therein of ill.
So at the last the Queen did fillA cup of wine, and drank and said:"In memory of thy fathers deadI drink, fair lord, drink now with
And then bethink thee
Of deeds that once won prize and
The glory of thy fathers' days."He drank and laughed and said," Nay, nay,
Keep we the peace-strings whole today.
This draught from where thy lips have
Within mine old heart maketh
The memory of a love full true,
The first recorded deed that
My fathers' house from dark to light.
If thus my grandame told aright,
A rougher place our land was then,
Quoth she, than with us living men,
And other trees were in the
And folk of somewhat other
Than ours: then were the small-eyed
More plenty in the woodland
Than badgers now: no
It was to chase the wolves away,
Yea there were folk who had to
Of lyngworms lying on the fell,
And fearful things by lake and fen,
And manlike shapes that were not men.
Then fay-folk roamed the woods at noon,
And on the grave-mound in the
Faint gleamed the flickering treasure-flame.
Days of the world that won no fame,
Yet now, quoth she, folk looking
Across the tumult and the
And swelling up of windy
And dull fool-fashioned cruelties,
Deem that in those days God
On earth and shared ill times and
And right and wrong with that same
Their hands had fashioned for the yoke.
Quoth she, of such nought tells my tale,
Yet saith that such as should
In those days o'er the fears of
Must needs have been some deal of worth,
And saith that had ye seen a
Who dwelt these very woods
Them at the least ye would have
For cousins of the Gods of old.
Amongst all these it tells of one,
The goodman's last-begotten son,
Some twenty summers old: as
As any flower that blossomed
In sun and rain, and strong
And lissom as a willow withe.
Now through these woods amidst of
This youngling went until at
From out of the thicket his fair
Peered forth upon this very place;
For he had been a-hunting
And wearied thought a while to
Beside the freshness of the stream.
But lo as in a morning
The place was changed, for there was dightA fair pavilion blue and whiteE'en where we play, and all
Was talk of men and diverse sound,
Tinkling of bit and neigh of
Clashing of arms and iron weed.
For round about the painted
Armed folk a many came or went,
Or on the fresh grass lay about.
Surely our youth at first had
If 'twere not better to be
Than meet these stranger folk alone —But wot ye well such things as
Were new to him born mid the
And wild things: and he thought,
The household of the Gods I see:
Who for as many tales as
Have heard of them,
I ne'er saw nigh.
If they be men,
I wotted
That such fair raiment men had got;
They will be glad to show them then.
For one thing taught these woodland
Whatever wisdom they let
Men since have won Fear nought at all.
So from the holly brake he
Shouldering the while his hunter's load,
A new slain roe; but there
To meet him half a score of
Whom in fair words he greeted well.
Now was he clad in a sheep's fell And at his back his quiver hung,
His woodknife on his thigh:
His bow he held in a staff's stead.
An oaken wreath was round his
From whence his crispy locks of
Well nigh unto his belt hung down,
And howso frank his eyes might beA half-frown soothly might you
As these men handled sword or
And cried out, "Hold, what dost thou here?""Ah," said he, "then no Gods ye are.
Fear not,
I shall not make you war."Therewith his hunting-knife he
And the long blade before them he threw.
Then loud they laughed; one sheathed his sword:"Thanks, army-leader, for that word!
We are not Gods e'en as thou say'st,
Nor thou a devil of the
But e'en a devil's a friend belike."Something [of] hate hereat did
Unto the woodsman's unused heart,
Yet he spake softly for his part:"What men are ye and where dwell ye?
What is the wondrous house I see?""In the fair southland is our
Yet from the north as now we come,"Said one: then with a mocking smile,"And in our house there dwells awhileA very Goddess of the north.
But lo you, take a thing of
For that thy quarry, and begone."But as he spake another
Spake softly in his ear: and
The word from this to that did go,
With laughing that seemed nowise
Unto the dweller of the wood,
Who saying nought moved toward the tent.
But they came round him as he
And said: "Nay, pagan, stay thy feet;
Thou art not one our dame to greet. . .
