Epic Poetry

"For me, I thank the saints, I am not great. For if there ever come a grief to me I cry my cry in silence, and have done. None knows it, and my tears have brought me good: But even were the griefs of little ones As great as those of great ones, yet this grief Is added to the griefs the great must bear, That howsoever much they may desire Silence, they cannot weep behind a cloud: As even here they talk at Almesbury About the good King and his wicked Queen, And were I such a King with such a Queen, Well might I wish to veil her wickedness, But were I such a King, it could not be."

"O pray you, noble lady, weep no more; But let my words, the words of one so small, Who knowing nothing knows but to obey, And if I do not there is penance given — Comfort your sorrows; for they do not flow From evil done; right sure am I of that, Who see your tender grace and stateliness. But weigh your sorrows with our lord the King's, And weighing find them less; for gone is he To wage grim war against Sir Lancelot there, Round that strong castle where he holds the Queen; And Modred whom he left in charge of all, The traitor — Ah sweet lady, the King's grief For his own self, and his own Queen, and realm, Must needs be thrice as great as any of ours."

"And when she came to Almesbury she spake There to the nuns, and said, "Mine enemies Pursue me, but, O peaceful Sisterhood, Receive, and yield me sanctuary, nor ask Her name to whom ye yield it, till her time To tell you:" and her beauty, grace and power, Wrought as a charm upon them, and they spared To ask it."

"And Lancelot ever promised, but remained, 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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"Queen Guinevere had fled the court, and sat There in the holy house at Almesbury Weeping… 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"

"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."

"So then, when both were brought to full accord, She rose, and set before him all he willed"

"I will love thee to the death, And out beyond into the dream to come."

"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?"

"We love but while we may; And therefore is my love so large for thee, Seeing it is not bounded save by love."

"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"

"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"

"I swore to the great King, and am forsworn. For once — even to the height — I honoured him. "Man, is he man at all?"… That weird legend of his birth, With Merlin's mystic babble about his end Amazed me; then, his foot was on a stool Shaped as a dragon; he seemed to me no man, But Michaël trampling Satan; so I sware, Being amazed"

"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 taught me this — ay, being snapt — We run more counter to the soul thereof Than had we never sworn. I swear no more."

"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."

"The greater man, the greater courtesy."

"Tristram, ever dallying with her hand, "May God be with thee, sweet, when old and gray, And past desire!" a saying that angered her."

"O my soul, be comforted! If this be sweet, to sin in leading-strings, If here be comfort, and if ours be sin, Crowned warrant had we for the crowning sin That made us happy: but how ye greet me — fear And fault and doubt — no word of that fond tale — Thy deep heart-yearnings, thy sweet memories Of Tristram in that year he was away."

"Softly laughed Isolt; "Flatter me not, for hath not our great Queen My dole of beauty trebled?" and he said, "Her beauty is her beauty, and thine thine, And thine is more to me — soft, gracious, kind —""

"What rights are his that dare not strike for them?"

"So all the ways were safe from shore to shore, But in the heart of Arthur pain was lord."

"My brother fool, the king of fools! Conceits himself as God that he can make Figs out of thistles, silk from bristles, milk From burning spurge, honey from hornet-combs, And men from beasts — Long live the king of fools!"

"I have had my day. The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fouled me — an I wallowed, then I washed — I have had my day and my philosophies — And thank the Lord I am King Arthur's fool. Swine, say ye? swine, goats, asses, rams and geese Trooped round a Paynim harper once, who thrummed On such a wire as musically as thou Some such fine song — but never a king's fool."

"When the King Had made thee fool, thy vanity so shot up It frighted all free fool from out thy heart; Which left thee less than fool, and less than swine, A naked aught — yet swine I hold thee still, For I have flung thee pearls and find thee swine."

"Harken if my music be not true. "Free love — free field — we love but while we may: The woods are hushed, their music is no more: The leaf is dead, the yearning past away: New leaf, new life — the days of frost are o'er: New life, new love, to suit the newer day: New loves are sweet as those that went before: Free love — free field — we love but while we may." "Ye might have moved slow-measure to my tune, Not stood stockstill. I made it in the woods, And heard it ring as true as tested gold.""

"I am but a fool to reason with a fool —"

"Lord, I was tending swine, and the Red Knight Brake in upon me and drave them to his tower; And when I called upon thy name as one That doest right by gentle and by churl, Maimed me and mauled, and would outright have slain, Save that he sware me to a message, saying, "Tell thou the King and all his liars, that I Have founded my Round Table in the North, And whatsoever his own knights have sworn My knights have sworn the counter to it — and say My tower is full of harlots, like his court, But mine are worthier, seeing they profess To be none other than themselves — and say My knights are all adulterers like his own, But mine are truer, seeing they profess To be none other; and say his hour is come, The heathen are upon him, his long lance Broken, and his Excalibur a straw.""

"Into the hall staggered, his visage ribbed From ear to ear with dogwhip-weals, his nose Bridge-broken, one eye out, and one hand off, And one with shattered fingers dangling lame, A churl, to whom indignantly the King, "My churl, for whom Christ died, what evil beast Hath drawn his claws athwart thy face? or fiend? Man was it who marred heaven's image in thee thus?""

"Strength of heart And might of limb, but mainly use and skill, Are winners in this pastime."

"O great and sane and simple race of brutes That own no lust because they have no law"

"Then a long silence came upon the hall, And Modred thought, "The time is hard at hand.""

""O young knight, Hath the great heart of knighthood in thee failed So far thou canst not bide, unfrowardly, A fall from HIM?" Then, for he answered not, "Or hast thou other griefs? If I, the Queen, May help them, loose thy tongue, and let me know." But Pelleas lifted up an eye so fierce She quailed; and he, hissing "I have no sword," Sprang from the door into the dark."

"Then fared it with Sir Pelleas as with one Who gets a wound in battle, and the sword That made it plunges through the wound again, And pricks it deeper: and he shrank and wailed, "Is the Queen false?" and Percivale was mute. "Have any of our Round Table held their vows?" And Percivale made answer not a word."

""Am I but false as Guinevere is pure? Or art thou mazed with dreams? or being one Of our free-spoken Table hast not heard That Lancelot" — there he checked himself and paused."

"She, that felt the cold touch on her throat, Awaking knew the sword, and turned herself To Gawain: "Liar, for thou hast not slain This Pelleas! here he stood, and might have slain Me and thyself." And he that tells the tale Says that her ever-veering fancy turned To Pelleas, as the one true knight on earth, And only lover; and through her love her life Wasted and pined, desiring him in vain."

"Let the fox bark, let the wolf yell. Who yells Here in the still sweet summer night, but I — I, the poor Pelleas whom she called her fool? Fool, beast — he, she, or I? myself most fool; Beast too, as lacking human wit — disgraced, Dishonoured all for trial of true love —"

"That which knows not, ruling that which knows To its own harm: the goal of this great world Lies beyond sight: yet — if our slowly-grown And crowned Republic's crowning common-sense, That saved her many times, not fail — their fears Are morning shadows huger than the shapes That cast them, not those gloomier which forego The darkness of that battle in the West, Where all of high and holy dies away."

"Then from the dawn it seemed there came, but faint As from beyond the limit of the world, Like the last echo born of a great cry, Sounds, as if some fair city were one voice Around a king returning from his wars."

"Farewell. I am going a long way With these thou seëst — if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) — To the island-valley of Avilion; Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound."

"The whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God."

"If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend?"

"The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world."

"My Lord Arthur, whither shall I go? Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? For now I see the true old times are dead, When every morning brought a noble chance, And every chance brought out a noble knight.… But now the whole Round Table is dissolved Which was an image of the mighty world, And I, the last, go forth companionless, And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds."

"Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems Should blind my purpose, for I never saw, Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die, Not though I live three lives of mortal men, So great a miracle as yonder hilt. Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him; But when I looked again, behold an arm, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, That caught him by the hilt, and brandished him Three times, and drew him under in the mere."

"Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. Speak out: what is it thou hast heard, or seen?"

"The great brand Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon, And flashing round and round, and whirled in an arch, Shot like a streamer of the northern morn,… So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur: But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, And caught him by the hilt, and brandished him Three times, and drew him under in the mere."

"Authority forgets a dying king, Laid widowed of the power in his eye That bowed the will. I see thee what thou art, For thou, the latest-left of all my knights, In whom should meet the offices of all, Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt; Either from lust of gold, or like a girl Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice, And the third time may prosper, get thee hence: But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur, I will arise and slay thee with my hands."