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Becomes thee well--art grown wild beast thyself.
How darest thou, if lover, push me even

In fancy from thy side, and set me far
In the gray distance, half a life away,

Her to be loved no more? Unsay it, unswear!
Flatter me rather, seeing me so weak,

Broken with Mark and hate and solitude,
Thy marriage and mine own, that I should suck

Lies like sweet wines: lie to me: I believe.
Will ye not lie? not swear, as there ye kneel,

And solemnly as when ye sware to him,
The man of men, our King--My God, the power

Was once in vows when men believed the King!
They lied not then, who sware, and through their vows

The King prevailing made his realm:--I say,
Swear to me thou wilt love me even when old,

Gray-haired, and past desire, and in despair.'
Then Tristram, pacing moodily up and down,

'Vows! did you keep the vow you made to Mark
More than I mine? Lied, say ye? Nay, but learnt,

The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself--
My knighthood" target="_blank" title="n.骑士的地位(资格)">knighthood taught me this--ay, being snapt--

We run more counter to the soul thereof
Than had we never sworn. I swear no more.

I swore to the great King, and am forsworn.
For once--even to the height--I honoured him.

"Man, is he man at all?" methought, when first
I rode from our rough Lyonnesse, and beheld

That victor of the Pagan throned in hall--
His hair, a sun that rayed from off a brow

Like hillsnow high in heaven, the steel-blue eyes,
The golden beard that clothed his lips with light--

Moreover, that weird legend of his birth,
With Merlin's mysticbabble about his end

Amazed me; then, his foot was on a stool
Shaped as a dragon; he seemed to me no man,

But Michael trampling Satan; so I sware,
Being amazed: but this went by-- The vows!

O ay--the wholesomemadness of an hour--
They served their use, their time; for every knight

Believed himself a greater than himself,
And every follower eyed him as a God;

Till he, being lifted up beyond himself,
Did mightier deeds than elsewise he had done,

And so the realm was made; but then their vows--
First mainly through that sullying of our Queen--

Began to gall the knighthood" target="_blank" title="n.骑士的地位(资格)">knighthood, asking whence
Had Arthur right to bind them to himself?

Dropt down from heaven? washed up from out the deep?
They failed to trace him through the flesh and blood

Of our old kings: whence then? a doubtful lord
To bind them by inviolable vows,

Which flesh and blood perforce would violate:
For feel this arm of mine--the tide within

Red with free chase and heather-scented air,
Pulsing full man; can Arthur make me pure

As any maiden child? lock up my tongue
From uttering freely what I freely hear?

Bind me to one? The wide world laughs at it.
And worldling of the world am I, and know

The ptarmigan that whitens ere his hour
Woos his own end; we are not angels here

Nor shall be: vows--I am woodman of the woods,
And hear the garnet-headed yaffingale

Mock them: my soul, we love but while we may;
And therefore is my love so large for thee,

Seeing it is not bounded save by love.'
Here ending, he moved toward her, and she said,

'Good: an I turned away my love for thee
To some one thrice as courteous as thyself--

For courtesy wins woman all as well
As valour may, but he that closes both

Is perfect, he is Lancelot--taller indeed,
Rosier and comelier, thou--but say I loved

This knightliest of all knights, and cast thee back
Thine own small saw, "We love but while we may,"

Well then, what answer?'
He that while she spake,

Mindful of what he brought to adorn her with,
The jewels, had let one finger lightly touch

The warm white apple of her throat, replied,
'Press this a little closer, sweet, until--

Come, I am hungered and half-angered--meat,
Wine, wine--and I will love thee to the death,

And out beyond into the dream to come.'
So then, when both were brought to full accord,

She rose, and set before him all he willed;
And after these had comforted the blood

With meats and wines, and satiated their hearts--
Now talking of their woodland paradise,

The deer, the dews, the fern, the founts, the lawns;
Now mocking at the much ungainliness,

And craven shifts, and long crane legs of Mark--
Then Tristram laughing caught the harp, and sang:

'Ay, ay, O ay--the winds that bend the brier!
A star in heaven, a star within the mere!

Ay, ay, O ay--a star was my desire,
And one was far apart, and one was near:

Ay, ay, O ay--the winds that bow the grass!
And one was water and one star was fire,

And one will ever shine and one will pass.
Ay, ay, O ay--the winds that move the mere.'

Then in the light's last glimmer Tristram showed
And swung the ruby carcanet. She cried,

'The collar of some Order, which our King
Hath newly founded, all for thee, my soul,

For thee, to yield thee grace beyond thy peers.'
'Not so, my Queen,' he said, 'but the red fruit

Grown on a magic oak-tree in mid-heaven,
And won by Tristram as a tourney-prize,

And hither brought by Tristram for his last
Love-offering and peace-offering unto thee.'

He spoke, he turned, then, flinging round her neck,
Claspt it, and cried, 'Thine Order, O my Queen!'

But, while he bowed to kiss the jewelled throat,
Out of the dark, just as the lips had touched,

Behind him rose a shadow and a shriek--
'Mark's way,' said Mark, and clove him through the brain.

That night came Arthur home, and while he climbed,
All in a death-dumb autumn-dripping gloom,

The stairway to the hall, and looked and saw
The great Queen's bower was dark,--about his feet

A voice clung sobbing till he questioned it,
'What art thou?' and the voice about his feet

Sent up an answer, sobbing, 'I am thy fool,
And I shall never make thee smile again.'

Guinevere
Queen Guinevere had fled the court, and sat

There in the holy house at Almesbury
Weeping, none with her save a little maid,

A novice: one low light betwixt them burned
Blurred by the creeping mist, for all abroad,

Beneath a moon unseenalbeit at full,
The white mist, like a face-cloth to the face,

Clung to the dead earth, and the land was still.
For hither had she fled, her cause of flight

Sir Modred; he that like a subtle beast
Lay couchant with his eyes upon the throne,

Ready to spring, waiting a chance: for this
He chilled the popular praises of the King

With silent smiles of slow disparagement;
And tampered with the Lords of the White Horse,

Heathen, the brood by Hengist left; and sought
To make disruption in the Table Round

Of Arthur, and to splinter it into feuds
Serving his traitorous end; and all his aims

Were sharpened by strong hate for Lancelot.
For thus it chanced one morn when all the court,

Green-suited, but with plumes that mocked the may,
Had been, their wont, a-maying and returned,

That Modred still in green, all ear and eye,
Climbed to the high top of the garden-wall

To spy some secret scandal if he might,
And saw the Queen who sat betwixt her best

Enid, and lissome Vivien, of her court
The wiliest and the worst; and more than this

He saw not, for Sir Lancelot passing by
Spied where he couched, and as the gardener's hand

Picks from the colewort a green caterpillar,
So from the high wall and the flowering grove

Of grasses Lancelot plucked him by the heel,
And cast him as a worm upon the way;

But when he knew the Prince though marred with dust,
He, reverencing king's blood in a bad man,

Made such excuses as he might, and these
Full knightly" target="_blank" title="a.&ad.骑士般的(地)">knightly without scorn; for in those days

No knight of Arthur's noblest dealt in scorn;
But, if a man were halt or hunched, in him

By those whom God had made full-limbed and tall,
Scorn was allowed as part of his defect,

And he was answered 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
Rankled in him and ruffled all his heart,

As the sharp wind that ruffles all day long
A little bitter pool about a stone

On the bare coast.
But when Sir Lancelot told

This matter to the Queen, at first she laughed
Lightly, to think of Modred's dusty fall,

Then shuddered, as the village wife who cries
'I shudder, some one steps across my grave;'

Then laughed 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--


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