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And that she now perforce must violate it,

More near by many a rood than yestermorn, Held commune with herself, and while she held It wellnigh made her cheerful: till Geraint He fell asleep, and Enid had no heart

Waving an angry hand as who should say To wake him, but hung o'er him, wholly pleased “You watch me," saddened all her heart again. To find him yet unwounded after fight,

But while the suu yet beat a dewy blade, And hear him breathing low and equally.

The sound of many a heavily-galloping hoof Anon she rose, and stepping lightly, heap'd

Smote on her ear, and turning round she saw The pieces of his armor in one place,

Dust, and the points of lances bicker in it. All to be there against a sudden need;

Then not to disobey her lord's behest, Then dozed awhile herself, but overtoil'd

And yet to give him warning, for he rode By that day's grief and travel, evermore

As if he heard not, moving back she held Seem'd catching at a rootless thorn, and then Her finger up, and pointed to the dust. Went slipping down horrible precipices,

At which the warrior in his obstinacy, And strongly striking out her iimbs awoke;

Because she kept the letter of his word Then thought she heard the wild Earl at the door, Was in a manner pleased, and turning, stood. With all his rout of random followers,

And in the moment after, wild Limours, Sound ou a dreadful trumpet, summoning her; Borne on a black horse, like a thunder-cloud Which was the red cock shouting to the light, Whose skirts are loosen'd by the breaking storm, As the gray dawn stole o'er the dewy world, Half ridden off with by the thing he rode, And glimmer'd on his armor in the room.

And all in passion uttering a dry shriek, And once again she rose to look at it,

Dash'd on Geraint, who closed with him and bore But touch'd it unawares: jangling, the casque Down by the length of lance and arm beyond Fell, and he started up and stared at her.

The crupper, and so left him stunn'd or dead, Then breaking his command of silence given, And overthrew the next that follow'd him, She told him all that Earl Limours had said, And blindly rush'd on all the rout behind. Except the passage that he loved her not ;

But at the flash and motion of the man Nor left untold the craft herself had used;

They vanish'd panic-stricken, like a shoal
But ended with apology so sweet,

Of darting fish, that on a summer morn
Low-spoken, and of so few words, and seem'd Adown the crystal dikes at Camelot
So justified by that necessity,

Come slipping o'er their shadows on the sand,
That tho' he thought "was it for him she wept But if a man who stands upon the brink
In Devon ?” he but gave a wrathful groan,

But lift a shining hand against the sun,
Saying “your sweet faces make good fellows fools There is not left the twinkle of a fin
And traitors. Call the host and bid him bring Betwixt the cressy islets white in flower;
Charger and palfrey." So she glided out

So, scared but at the motion of the man,
Among the heavy breathings of the house,

Fled all the boon companions of the Earl,
And like a household Spirit at the walls

And left him lying in the public way:
Beat, till she woke the sleepers, and return'd: So vanish friendships only made in wine.
Then tending her rough lord, tho' all unask'd,
In silence, did him service as a squire;

Then like a stormy sunlight smiled Geraint, Till issuing arm'd he found the host and cried,

Who saw the chargers of the two that fell “Thy reckoning, friend ?” and ere he learnt it, “Take Start from their fallen lords, and wildly fly, Five horses and their armors;" and the host, Mixt with the flyers. “Horse and man,” he said, Suddenly honest, answer'd in amaze,

" All of one mind and all right-honest friends! "My lord, I scarce have spent the worth of one !" Not a hoof left; and I methinks till now “You will be all the wealthier,” said the Prince, Was honest-paid with horses and with arms: And then to Enid, “Forward ! and to-day

I cannot steal or plunder, no nor beg: I charge you, Enid, more especially,

And so what say you, shall we strip him there What thing soever you may hear or see,

Your lover ? has your palfrey heart enough Or fancy (tho' I count it of small use

To bear his armor ? shall we fast or dine ? To charge you), that you speak not but obey." No ?-then do you, being right honest, pray

That we may meet the horsemen of Earl Doorm, And Enid answer'd, “Yea, my lord, I know

I too would still be honest.” Thus he said: Your wish, and would obey: but riding first,

And sadly gazing on her bridle-reins, I hear the violent threats you do not hear,

And answering not one word, she led the way. I see the danger which you cannot see ; Then not to give you warning, that seems hard :

But as a man to whom a dreadful loss Almost beyond me: yet I would obey."

Falls in a far land and he knows it not, “Yea so," said he, “ do it: be not too wise;

But coming back he learns it, and the loss

So pains him that he sickens nigh to death ; Seeing that you are wedded to a man, Not quite mismated with a yawning clown,

So fared it with Geraint, who being prick'd

In combat with the follower of Limours,
But one with arms to guard his head and yours,

Bled underneath his armor secretly,
With eyes to find you out however far,
And ears to hear you even in his dreams."

And so rode on, nor told his gentle wife

What ail'd him, hardly knowing it himself, With that he turned and looked as keenly at her Till his eye darken’d and his helmet wagg'd; As careful robins eye the delver's toil ;

And at a sudden swerving of the road, Aud that within her which a wanton fool,

Tho' happily down on a bank of grass, Or hasty judger, would have called her guilt, The Prince, without a word, from his horse fell. Made her cheek burn and either eyelid fall. And Geraint look'd and was not satisfied.

And Enid heard the clashing of his fall,

Suddenly came, and at his side all pale Then forward by a way which, beaten broad, Dismounting, loosed the fastenings of his arms, Led from the territory of false Limours

Nor let her true hand falter, nor blue eye
To the waste earldom of another earl,

Moisten, till she had lighted on his wound,
Doorm, whom his shaking vassals call'd the Bull, And tearing off her veil of faded silk
Went Enid with her sullen follower on.

Had bared her forehead to the blistering sun,
Once she look'd back, and when she saw him ride And swathed the hurt that drain'd her dear lord's life,

Then after all was done that band could do,

But in the falling afternoon return'd She rested, and her desolation came

The huge Earl Doorm with plunder to the hall. Upon her, and she wept beside the way.

His lusty spearmen follow'd him with noise :

Each hurling down a heap of things that rang And many past, but none regarded her,

Against the pavement, cast his lance aside, For in that realm of lawless turbulence,

And doft'd his helm : and then there flutter'd in, A woman weeping for her murder'd mate

Half-bold, half-frighted, with dilated eyes, Was cared as much for as a summer shower: A tribe of women, dress'd in many hues, One took him for a victim of Earl Doorm,

And mingled with the spearmen: and Earl Doorm Nor dared to waste a perilous pity on him:

Struck with a knife's haft hard against the board, Another hurrying past, a man-at-arms,

And call'd for flesh and wine to feed his spears. Rode on a mission to the bandit Earl ;

And men brought in whole hogs and quarter beeves, Half whistling and half singing a coarse song, And all the hall was dim with steam of flesh : He drove the dust against her veilless eyes : And none spake word, but all sat down at once, Another, flying from the wrath of Doorm

And ate with tumult in the naked hall, Before an ever-fancied arrow, made

Feeding like horses when you hear them feed ; The long way smoke beneath him in his fear; Till Enid shrank far back into herself, At which her palfrey whinnying lifted heel,

To shún the wild ways of the lawless tribe. And scour'd into the coppices and was lost,

But when Earl Doorm had eaten all he would, While the great charger stood, grieved like a man. He roll'd his eyes about the hall, and found

A damsel drooping in a corner of it. But at the point of noon the huge Earl Doorm, Then he remember'd her, and how she wept ; Broad-faced with under-fringe of russet beard, And out of her there came a power upon him. Bound on a foray, rolling eyes of prey,

And rising on the sudden he said, “Eat! Came riding with a hundred lances up ;

I never yet beheld a thing so pale. But ere he came, like one that hails a ship,

God's curse, it makes me mad to see you weep. Cried out with a big voice, “What, is he dead?" Eat! Look yourself. Good luck had your good man, "No, no, not dead !" she answer'd in all haste. For were I dead who is it would weep for me? “Would some of your kind people take him up, Sweet lady, never since I first drew breath, And bear him hence out of this cruel sun;

Have I beheld a lily like yourself. Most sure am I, quite sure, he is not dead."

And so there lived some color in your cheek,

There is not one among my gentlewomen Then said Earl Doorm: “Well, if he be not dead, Were fit to wear your slipper for a glove. Why wail you for him thus ? you seem a child. But listen to me, and by me be ruled, And be he dead, I count you for a fool:

And I will do the thing I have not done, Your wailing will not quicken him: dead or not, For you shall share my earldom with me, girl, You mar a comely face with idiot tears.

And we will live like two birds in one nest,
Yet, since the face is comely—some of you,

And I will fetch you forage from all fields,
Here, take him up, and bear him to our hall: For I compel all creatures to my will."
And if he live, we will have him of our band;
And if he die, why earth has earth enough

He spoke: the brawny spearman let his cheek To hide him. See ye take the charger too,

Bulge with the unswallow'd piece, and turning, A noble one.'

stared ; He spake, and past away,

While some, whose souls the old serpent long had But left two brawny spearmen, who advanced,

drawn Each growling like a dog, when his good bone Down, as the worm draws in the wither'd leaf Seems to be pluck'd at by the village boys

And makes it earth, hiss'd each at other's ear Who love to vex him eating, and he fears

What shall not be recorded-women they, To lose his bone, and lays his foot upon it,

Women, or what had been those gracious things, Gnawing and growling; so the ruffians growl'd, But now desired the humbling of their best, Fearing to lose, and all for a dead man,

Yea, would have helped him to it; and all at once Their chance of booty from the morning's raid ; They hated her, who took no thought of them, Yet raised and laid him on a litter-bier,

But answerd in low voice, her meek head yet Such as they brought upon their forays out

Drooping, “I pray you of your courtesy,
For those that might be wounded ; laid him on it He being as he is, to let me be."
All in the hollow of his shield, and took
And bore him to the naked hall of Doorm,

She spake so low he hardly heard her speak, (His gentle charger following him unled)

But like a mighty patron, satisfied
And cast him and the bier in which he lay With what himself had done so graciously,
Down on an oaken settle in the hall,

Assumed that she had thanked him, adding, “Yea, And then departed, hot in haste to join

Eat and be glad, for I account you mine." Their luckier mates, but growling as before, And cursing their lost time, and the dead man, She answer'd meekly, “How should I be glad And their own Earl, and their own souls, and her. Henceforth in all the world at anything, They might as well have blest her: she was deaf Until my lord arise and look upon me?”. To blessing or to cursing save from one.

Here the huge Earl cried out upon her talk, So for long hours sat Enid by her lord,

As all but empty heart and weariness There in the naked hall, propping his head,

And sickly nothing ; suddenly seized on her, And chafing his pale hands, and calling to him. And bare her by main violence to the board, And at the last he waken'd from his swoon,

And thrust the dish before her, crying, “Eat." And found his own dear bride propping his head, And chafing his faint hands, and calling to him ; “No, no," said Enid, vext, “I will not eat, And felt the warm tears falling on his face ; Till yonder man upon the bier arise, And said to his own heart, “She weeps for me;" And eat with me.” “Drink, then," he answer'd. And yet lay still, and feign'd himself as dead,

"Here!" That he might prove her to the uttermost,

(And fill'd a horn with wine and held it to her), And say to his own heart, “She weeps for me." “Lo! I, myself, when flush'd with fight, or hot,

God's curse, with anger-often I myself,

Rose when they saw the dead man rise, and fled Before I well have drunken, scarce can eat:

Yelling as from a spectre, and the two Drink therefore, and the wine will change your will." Were left alone together, and he said :

“Not so," she cried, "by Heaven, I will not drink, “Enid, I have used you worse than that dead man; Till my dear lord arise and bid me do it,

Done you more wrong: we both have undergone And drink with me, and if he rise no more,

That trouble which has left me thrice your owu: I will not look at wine until I die."

Henceforward I will rather die than doubt.

And here I lay this penance on myself, At this he turn'd all red and paced his hall, Not, tho' mine own ears heard you yestermori)-Now gnaw'd his under, now his upper lip,

You thought me sleeping, but I heard you say, And coming up close to her, said at last:

I heard you say, that you were no true wife: “Girl, for I see you scorn my courtesies,

I swear I will not ask your meaning in it: Take warning: yonder man is surely dead;

I do believe yourself against yourself, And I compel all creatures to my will.

And will henceforward rather die than doubt.” Not eat nor drink? And wherefore wail for one, Who put your beauty to this flout and scorn

And Enid could not say one tender word, By dressing it in rags ? Amazed am I,

She felt so blunt and stupid at the heart: Beholding how you butt against my wish,

She only pray'd him, “Fly, they will return That I forbear you thus : cross me no more.

And slay you; fly, your charger is without, At least put off to please me this poor gown, My palfrey lost.” “ Then, Enid, shall you ride This silken rag, this beggar-woman's weed:

Behind me." "Yea," said Enid, “let us go.” I love that beauty should go beautifully :

And moving out they found the stately horse, For see you not my gentlewomen here,

Who now no more a vassal to the thief, How gay, how suited to the house of one,

But free to stretch his limbs in lawful fight, Who loves that beauty should go beautifully! Neigh'd with all gladness as they came, and stoop'd Rise therefore ; robe yourself in this: obey." With a low whinny toward the pair: and she

Kiss'd the white star upon his noble front, He spoke, and one among his gentlewomen Glad also ; then Geraint upon the horse Display'd a splendid silk of foreign loom,

Mounted, and reach'd a hand, and on his foot Where like a shoaling sea the lovely blue

She set her own and climb'd; he turn'd his face Play'd into green, and thicker down the front And kiss'd her climbing, and she cast her arms With jewels than the sward with drops of dew, About him, and at once they rode away. When all night long a cloud clings to the hill, And with the dawn ascending lets the day

And never yet, since high in Paradise Strike where it clung: so thickly shone the gems. O'er the four rivers the first roses blew,

Came purer pleasure unto mortal kind, But Enid answer'd, harder to be moved

Than lived thro’ her who, in that perilous hour Than hardest tyrants in their day of power,

Put hand to hand beneath her husband's heart, With life-long injuries burning anavenged,

And felt him hers again: she did not weep, And now their hour has come; and Enid said: But o'er her meek eyes came a happy mist

Like that which kept the heart of Eden green “In this poor gown my dear lord found me first, Before the useful trouble of the rain : And loved me serving in my father's hall :

Yet not so misty were her meek blue eyes In this poor gown I rode with him to court, As not to see before them on the path, And there the Queen array'd me like the sun: Right in the gateway of the bandit hold, In this poor gown he bade me clothe myself, A knight of Arthur's court, who laid his lance When now we rode upon this fatal quest

In rest, and made as if to fall upon him. Of honor, where no honor can be gain'd:

Then, fearing for his hurt and loss of blood, And this poor gown I will not cast aside

She, with her mind all full of what had chanced, Until himself arise a living man,

Shriek'd to the stranger, “Slay not a dead man !" And bid me cast it. I have griefs enough:

“ The voice of Enid," said the knight: but she, Pray you be gentle, pray you let me be:

Beholding it was Edyrn son of Nudd, I never loved, can never love but him:

Was moved so much the more, and shriek'd again, Yea, God, I pray you of your gentleness,

“O cousin, slay not him who gave you life.” He being as he is, to let me be.”

And Edyrn moving frankly forward spake :

“My lord Geraint, I greet you with all love; Then strode the brute Earl up and down his hall, I took you for a bandit knight of Doorm ; And took his russet beard between his teeth; And fear not, Enid, I should fall upon him, Last, coming up quite close, and in his mood Who love you, Prince, with something of the love Crying, “I count it of no more avail,

Wherewith we love the Heaven that chastens us. Dame, to be gentle than ungentle with you;

For once, when I was up so high in pride Take my salute," unknightly with flat hand, That I was half way down the slope to Hell, However lightly, smote her on the cheek.

By overthrowing me you threw me higher. Then Enid, in her utter helplessness,

Now, made a knight of Arthur's Table Round, And since she thought, “he had not dared to do it, | And since I knew this Earl, when I myself Except he surely knew my lord was dead,"

Was half a bandit in my lawless hour, Sent forth a sudden sharp and bitter cry,

I come the mouthpiece of our King to Doorm As of a wild thing taken in the trap,

(The King is close behind me) bidding him Which sees the trapper coming thro' the wood. Disband himself, and scatter all his powers,

Submit, and hear the judgment of the King." This heard Geraint, and grasping at his sword, (It lay beside him in the hollow shield,)

“He hears the judgment of the King of Kings," Made but a single bound, and with a sweep of it Cried the wan Prince: "and lo the powers of Doorm Shore thro' the swarthy neck, and like a ball Are scatter'd," and he pointed to the field The russet-bearded head rollid on the floor.

Where, huddled here and there on mound and knoll, So died Earl Doorm by him he counted dead. Were men and women staring and aghast, And all the men and women in the hall

While some yet fled; and then he plainlier told

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How the huge Earl lay slain within his hall. My nature's prideful sparkle in the blood
But when the knight besought him, “Follow me,

Break into furious flame; being repulsed
Prince, to the camp, and in the King's own ear By Yniol and yourself, I schemed and wrought
Speak what has chanced; you surely have endured Until I overturn'd him; then set up
Strange chances here alone;" that other flush'd, (With one main purpose ever at my heart)
And hung his head, and halted in reply,

My haughty jousts, and took a paramour; Fearing the mild face of the blameless King, Did her mock-honor as the fairest fair, And after madness acted question ask'd :

And, toppling over all antagonism, Till Edyrn crying, “If you will not go

So wax'd in pride, that I believed myself To Arthur, then will Arthur come to you,"

Unconquerable, for I was wellnigh mad: “Enough,

” he said, “I follow," and they went. And, but for my main purpose in these jousts, But Enid in their going had two fears,

I should have slain your father, seized yourself. One from the bandit scatter'd in the field,

I lived in hope that some time you would come And one from Edyrn. Every now and then,

To these my lists with him whom best you loved : When Edyrn rein'd his charger at her side,

And there, poor cousin, with your meek blue eyes, She shrank a little. In a hollow land,

The truest eyes that ever answer'd heaven, From which old fires have broken, men may fear Behold me overturn and trample on him. Fresh fire and ruin. He, perceiving, said :

Then, had you cried, or knelt, or pray'd to me,

I should not less have killed him. And you came,“Fair and dear cousin, you that most had cause But once you came,-and with your own true eyes To fear me, fear no longer, I am changed.

Beheld the man you loved (I speak as one Yourself were first the blameless cause to make Speaks of a service done him) overthrow

My proud self, and my purpose three years old, And Enid tended on him there; and there
And set his foot upon me, and give me life.

Her constant motion round him, and the breath
There was I broken down; there was I saved: Of her sweet tendance hovering over him,
Tho' thence I rode all-shamed, hating the life Fili'd all the genial courses of his blood
He gave me, meaning to be rid of it.

With deeper and with ever deeper love,
And all the penance the Queen laid upon me As the south-west that blowing Bala lake
Was but to rest awhile within her court;

Fills all the sacred Dee. So past the days.
Where first as sullen as a beast new-caged,
And waiting to be treated like a wolf,

But while Geraint lay healing of his hurt, Because I knew my deeds were known, I found, The blameless King went forth and cast his eyes Instead of scornful pity or pure scorn,

On whom his father Uther left in charge Such fine reserve and noble reticence,

Long since, to guard the justice of the King: Manners so kind, yet stately, such a grace

He look'd and found them wanting; and as now Of tenderest courtesy, that I began

Men weed the white horse on the Berkshire hills To glance behind me at my fornier life,

To keep him bright and clean as heretofore, And find that it had been the wolf's indeed :

He rooted out the slothful officer And oft I talk'd with Dubric, the high saint, Or guilty, which for bribe had wink'd at wrong, Who, with mild heat of holy oratory,

And in their chairs set up a stronger race Subdued me somewhat to that gentleness,

With hearts and hands, and sent a thousand men Which, when it weds with manhood, makes a man. To till the wastes, and moving everywhere And you were often there about the Queen,

Clear'd the dark places and let in the law, But saw me not, or marked not if you saw;

And broke the bandit holds and cleansed the land. Nor did I care or dare to speak with you. But kept myself aloof till I was changed;

Then, when Geraint was whole again, they past And fear not, cousin ; I am changed indeed.” With Arthur to Caerleon upon Usk.

There the great Queen once more embraced her friend, He spoke, and Enid easily believed,

And clothed her in apparel like the day. Like simple noble natures, credulous

And tho’ Geraint could never take again Of what they long for, good in friend or foe,

That comfort from their converse which he took There most in those who most have done them ill. Before the Queen's fair name was breathed upon, And when they reach'd the camp the king himself He rested well content that all was well. Advanced to greet them, and beholding her

Thence after tarrying for a space they rode, Tho' pale, yet happy, ask'd her not a word,

And fifty knights rode with them to the shores But went apart with Edyrn, whom he held

Of Severn, and they past to their own land. In converse for a little, and return’d,

And there he kept the justice of the King And, gravely smiling, lifted her from horse,

So vigorously yet mildly, that all hearts And kiss'd her with all pureness, brother-like, Applauded, and the spiteful whisper died : And show'd an empty tent allotted her,

And being ever foremost in the chase, And glancing for a minute, till he saw her

And victor at the tilt and tournament, Pass into it, turn'd to the Prince, and said:

They call'd him the great Prince and man of men.

But Enid, whom her ladies loved to call
“Prince, when of late you pray'd me for my leave Enid the Fair, a grateful people named
To move to your own land, and there defend Euid the Good; and in their halls arose
Your marches, I was prick'd with some reproof, The cry of children, Enids and Geraints
As one that let foul wrong stagnate and be,

Of times to be; nor did he doubt her more
By having look'd too much thro' alien eyes, But rested in her fealty, till he crown'd
And wrought too long with delegated hands, A happy life with a fair death, and fell
Not used mine own : but now behold me come Against the heathen of the Northern Sea
To cleanse this common sewer of all my realm, In battle, fighting for the blameless King.
With Edyrn and with others: have you look'd
At Edyrn ? have you seen how nobly changed ?
This work of his is great and wonderful.
His very face with change of heart is changed.
The world will not believe a man repents:

VIVIEN.
And this wise world of ours is mainly right.
Full seldom does a man repent, or use

A STORM was coming, but the winds were still,
Both grace and will to pick the vicious quitch And in the wild woods of Broceliande,
Of blood and custom wholly out of him,

Before an oak, so hollow huge and old And make all clean, and plant himself afresh.

It look'd a tower of ruin'd mason work,
Edyrn has done it, weeding all his heart

At Merlin's feet the wily Vivien lay.
As I will weed this land before I go.
I, therefore, made him of our Table Round,

The wily Vivien stole from Arthur's court:
Not rashly, but have proved him every way

She hated all the knights, and heard in thought One of our noblest, our most valorous,

Their lavish comment when her name was named. Sanest and most obedient: and indeed

when Arthur walking all alone, This work of Edyrn wrought upon himself

Vext at a rumor rife about the Queen, After a life of violence, seems to me

Had met her, Vivien, being greeted fair, A thousand-fold more great and wonderful

Would fain bave wrought upon his cloudy mood Than if some knight of mine, risking his life, With reverent eyes mock-loyal, shaken voice, My subject with my subjects under him,

And flutter'd adoration, and at last Should make an onslaught single on a realm With dark sweet hints of some who prized him more of robbers, tho' he slew them one by one,

Than who should prize him most; at which the King And were himself nigh wounded to the death." Had gazed upon her blankly and gone by:

But one had watch'd, and had not held his peace : So spake the King; low bow'd the Prince, and felt It made the laughter of an afternoon His work was neither great nor wonderful,

That Vivien should attempt the blameless King. And past to Enid's tent; and thither came

And after that, she set herself to gain The King's own leech to look into his hurt; Him, the most famous man of all those times,

For once,

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