And Gareth likewise on them fixt his eyes So long, that ev'n to him they seem'd to move. Out of the city a blast of music peal'd. Back from the gate started the three, to whom From out thereunder came an ancient man, Long-bearded, saying, "Who be ye, my sons ?"
Then Gareth, "We be tillers of the soil, Who leaving share in furrow come to see The glories of our King: but these, my men (Your city moved so weirdly in the mist), Doubt if the King be King at all, or come From Fairyland; and whether this be built By magic, and by fairy kings and queens; Or whether there be any city at all, Or all a vision: and this music now
At Arthur's ordinance, tipt with lessening peak
And pinnacle, and had made it spire to heaven.
And ever and anon a knight would pass
Outward, or inward to the hall: his arms
Clash'd; and the sound was good to Gareth's ear.
And out of bower and casement shyly glanced
Eyes of pure women, wholesome stars of love;
And all about a healthful people stept
As in the presence of a gracious king.
Then into hall Gareth ascending heard
A voice, the voice of Arthur, and beheld
Far over heads in that long-vaulted hall
The splendor of the presence of the King
Throned, and delivering doom-and look'd no more—
But felt his young heart hammering in his ears,
Hath scared them both, but tell thou these the truth." And thought, "For this half-shadow of a lie
Then that old Seer made answer, playing on him, And saying, "Son, I have seen the good ship sail Keel upward and mast downward in the heavens, And solid turrets topsy-turvy in air:
And here is truth; but an it please thee not,
Take thou the truth as thou hast told it me.
For truly, as thou sayest, a fairy king
And fairy queens have built the city, son;
They came from out a sacred mountain-cleft
Toward the sunrise, each with harp in hand,
And built it to the music of their harps.
And as thou sayest it is enchanted, son,
For there is nothing in it as it seems
Saving the King; tho' some there be that hold
The King a shadow, and the city real:
Yet take thou heed of him, for so thou pass
Beneath this archway, then wilt thou become
A thrall to his enchantments, for the King
Will bind thee by such vows, as is a shame
A man should not be bound by, yet the which
No man can keep; but, so thou dread to swear,
Pass not beneath this gateway, but abide
Without, among the cattle of the field.
For, au ye heard a music, like enow
They are building still, seeing the city is built
To music, therefore never built at all,
And therefore built for ever."
Anger'd, "Old Master, reverence thine own beard
That looks as white as utter truth, and seems
Wellnigh as long as thou art statured tall!
Why mockest thou the stranger that hath been
To thee fair-spoken ?"
"Know ye not then the Riddling of the Bards? 'Confusion, and illusion, and relation, Elusion, and occasion, and evasion?'
I mock thee not but as thou mockest me, And all that see thee, for thou art not who Thou seemest, but I know thee who thou art. And now thou goest up to mock the King, Who cannot brook the shadow of any lie."
Unmockingly the mocker ending here Turn'd to the right, and past along the plain; Whom Gareth looking after said, "My men, Our one white lie sits like a little ghost Here on the threshold of our enterprise. Let love be blamed for it, not she, nor I: Well, we will make amends."
With all good cheer He spake and laugh'd, then enter'd with his twain Camelot, a city of shadowy palaces And stately, rich in emblem and the work Of ancient kings who did their days in stone; Which Merlin's hand, the Mage at Arthur's court, Knowing all arts, had touch'd, and everywhere.
The truthful King will doom me when I speak.”
Yet pressing on, tho' all in fear to find
Sir Gawain or Sir Modred, saw nor one
Nor other, but in all the listening cyes
Of those tall knights, that ranged about the throne,
Clear honor shining like the dewy star
Of dawn, and faith in their great King, with pure Affection, and the light of victory,
And glory gain'd, and evermore to gain.
Then came a widow crying to the King,
"A boon, Sir King! Thy father, Uther, reft
From my dead lord a field with violence:
For howsoe'er at first he proffer'd gold,
Yet, for the field was pleasant in our eyes,
We yielded not; and then he reft us of it
Perforce, and left us neither gold nor field."
Said Arthur, "Whether would ye? gold or field "
To whom the woman weeping, "Nay, my lord,
The field was pleasant in any husband's eye."
And Arthur, "Have thy pleasant field again, And thrice the gold for Uther's use thereof, According to the years. No boon is here, But justice, so thy say be proven true. Accursed, who from the wrongs his father did Would shape himself a right!"
And while she past,
Came yet another widow crying to him,
"A boon, Sir King! Thine enemy, King, am I.
With thine own hand thou slewest my dear lord,
A knight of Uther in the Barons' war,
When Lot and many another rose and fought
Against thee, saying thou wert basely born.
I held with these, and loathe to ask thee anght.
Yet lo! my husband's brother had my son
Thrall'd in his castle, and hath starved him dead;
And standeth seized of that inheritance
Which thou that slewest the sire hast left the son.
So tho' I scarce can ask it thee for hate,
Grant me some knight to do the battle for me,
Kill the foul thief, and wreak me for my son."
Then strode a good knight forward, crying to him, "A boon, Sir King! I am her kinsman, I. Give me to right her wrong, and slay the mau.”
Then came Sir Kay, the seneschal, and cried, "A boon, Sir King! ev'n that thou grant her nona, This railer, that hath mock'd thee in full hall-None; or the wholesome boon of gyve and gag."
But Arthur, "We sit King, to help the wrong'd Thro' all our realm. The woman loves her lord. Peace to thee, woman, with thy loves and hates! The kings of old had doom'd thee to the flames, Aurelius Emrys would have scourged thee dead, And Uther slit thy tongue: but get thee henceLest that rough humor of the kings of old
Return upon me! Thou that art her kin,
Go likewise; lay him low and slay him not,
But bring him here, that I may judge the right,
According to the justice of the King:
Then, be he guilty, by that deathless King
Who lived and died for men, the man shall die."
Then came in hall the messenger of Mark,
A name of evil savor in the land,
The Cornish king. In either hand he bore
What dazzled all, and shone far-off as shines
A field of charlock in the sudden sun
Between two showers, a cloth of palest gold,
Which down he laid before the throne, and knelt,
Delivering, that his lord, the vassal king,
Was ev'n upon his way to Camelot;
For having heard that Arthur of his grace
Had made his goodly cousin, Tristram, knight,
And, for himself was of the greater state,
Being a king, he trusted his liege-lord
Would yield him this large honor all the more;
So pray'd him well to accept this cloth of gold,
In token of true heart and fealty.
Then Arthur cried to rend the cloth, to rend
In pieces, and so cast it on the hearth.
An oak-tree smoulder'd there. "The goodly knight!
What! shall the shield of Mark stand among these?"
For, midway down the side of that long hall
A stately pile-whereof along the front,
Some blazon'd, some but carven, and some blank,
There ran a treble range of stony shields-
Rose, and high-arching overbrow'd the hearth.
And under every shield a knight was named:
For this was Arthur's custom in his hall;
When some good knight had done one noble deed,
His arms were carven only; but if twain
His arms were blazon'd also; but if none
The shield was blank and bare, without a sign
Saving the name beneath; and Gareth saw
The shield of Gawain blazon'd rich and bright,
And Modred's blank as death; and Arthur cried
To rend the cloth and cast it on the hearth.
"More like are we to reave him of his crown Than make him knight because men call him king. The kings we found, ye know we stay'd their hands From war among themselves, but left them kings; Of whom were any bounteous, merciful,
But so thou wilt no goodlier, then must Kay,
The master of the meats and drinks, be thine."
He rose and past; then Kay, a man of mien
Wan-sallow as the plant that feels itself
Root-bitten by white lichen,
This fellow hath broken from some abbey, where,
God wot, he had not beef and brewis enow,
However that might chance! but an he work,
Like any pigeon will I cram his crop,
And sleeker shall he shine than any hog."
Then Lancelot standing near, "Sir Seneschal, Sleuth-hound thou knowest, and gray, and all the
A horse thou knowest, a man thon dost not know:
Broad brows and fair, a fluent hair and fine,
High nose, a nostril large and fine, and hands
Large, fair and fine!-Some young lad's mystery-
But, or from sheepcot or king's hall, the boy
Is noble-natured. Treat him with all grace,
Lest he should come to shame thy judging of him."
Then Kay, "What murmurest thon of mystery?
Think ye this fellow will poison the King's dish?
Nay, for he spake too fool-like: mystery!
Tut, an the lad were noble, he had ask'd
For horse and armor: fair and fine, forsooth!
Sir Fine-face, Sir Fair-hands? but see thou to it
That thine own fineness, Lancelot, some fine day
Undo thee not--and leave my man to me."
So Gareth all for glory underwent
The sooty yoke of kitchen-vassalage;
Ate with young lads his portion by the door,
And couch'd at night with grimy kitchen-knaves.
And Lancelot ever spake him pleasantly,
But Kay, the seneschal, who loved him not,
Would hustle and harry him, and labor him
Beyond his comrade of the hearth, and set
To turn the broach, draw water, or hew wood,
Or grosser tasks; and Gareth bow'd himself
With all obedience to the King, and wrought
All kind of service with a noble ense
That graced the lowliest act in doing it.
And when the thralls had talk among themselves,
And one would praise the love that linkt the King
Truth-speaking, brave, good livers, them we enroll'd And Lancelot-how the King had saved his life
Among ns, and they sit within our hall.
But Mark hath tarnish'd the great name of king,
As Mark would sully the low state of churl:
And, seeing he hath sent us cloth of gold,
Return, and meet, and hold him from our eyes,
Lest we should lap him up in cloth of lead,
Silenced for ever-craven-a man of plots,
Craft, poisonous counsels, wayside ambushings-
No fault of thine: let Kay, the seneschal,
Look to thy wants, and send thee satisfied-
Accursed, who strikes nor lets the hand be seen!"
And many another suppliant crying came
With noise of ravage wrought by beast and man,
And evermore a knight would ride away.
Last, Gareth leaning both hands heavily
Down on the shoulders of the twain, his men,
Approach'd between them toward the King, and ask'd,
"A boon, Sir King (his voice was all ashamed),
For see ye not how weak and hungerworn
I seem leaning on these? grant me to serve
For meat and drink among thy kitchen-knaves
A twelvemonth and a day, nor seek my name.
Hereafter I will fight."
To him the King, "A goodly youth and worth a goodlier boon!
In battle twice, and Lancelot once the King's-
For Lancelot was the first in tournament,
But Arthur mightiest on the battle-field-
Gareth was glad. Or if some other told,
How once the wandering forester at dawn,
Far over the blue tarus and hazy seas,
On Caer-Eryri's highest found the King,
A naked babe, of whom the Prophet spake,
"He passes to the Isle Avilion,
He passes and is heal'd and cannot die "-
Gareth was glad. But if their talk were foul,
Then would he whistle rapid as any lark,
Or carol some old roundelay, and so loud
That first they mock'd, but, after, reverenced him.
Or Gareth telling some prodigious tale
Of knights, who sliced a red life-bubbling way
Thro' twenty folds of twisted dragon, held
All in a gap-mouth'd circle his good mates
Lying or sitting round him, idle hands,
Charm'd; till Sir Kay, the seneschal, would come
Blustering upon them, like a sudden wind
Among dead leaves, and drive them all apart.
Or when the thralls had sport among themselves,
So there were any trial of mastery,
He, by two yards in casting bar or stone,
Was counted best; and if there chanced a joust,
So that Sir Kay nodded him leave to go,
Would hurry thither, and when he saw the knights
Clash like the coming and retiring wave,
And the spear spring, and good horse reel, the boy Tip-tilted like the petal of a flower;
Was half beyond himself for ecstasy.
Hawk-eyes; and lightly was her slender nose
She into hall past with her page and cried,
So for a month he wrought among the thralls;
But in the weeks that follow'd, the good Queen,
Repentant of the word she made him swear,
And saddening in her childless castle, sent,
Between the increscent and decrescent moon,
Arms for her son, and loosed him from his vow.
This, Gareth hearing from a squire of Lot
With whom he used to play at tourney once,
When both were children, and in lonely haunts
Would scratch a ragged oval on the sand,
And each at either dash from either end-
Shame never made girl redder than Gareth joy.
He laugh'd; he sprang. "Out of the smoke, at once
I leap from Satan's foot to Peter's knee-
These news be mine, none other's-nay, the King's-
Descend into the city:" whereon he sought
The King alone, and found, and told him all.
Then Gareth, lightly springing from his knees,
"My King, for hardihood I can promise thee.
For uttermost obedience make demand
Of whom ye gave me to, the Seneschal,
No mellow master of the meats and drinks!
And as for love, God wot, I love not yet,
But love I shall, God willing."
And the King-
"Make thee my knight in secret? yea, but he,
Our noblest brother, and our truest man,
And one with me in all, he needs must know."
"O King, for thou hast driven the foe without,
See to the foe within! bridge, ford, beset
By bandits, everyone that owns a tower
The Lord for half a league. Why sit ye there?
Rest would I not, Sir King, an I were king,
Till ev'n the lonest hold were all as free
From cursed bloodshed, as thine altar-cloth
From that blest blood it is a sin to spill."
"Comfort thyself," said Arthur, "I nor mine
Rest: so my knighthood keep the vows they swore,
The wastest moorland of our realm shall be
Safe, damsel, as the centre of this hall.
What is thy name? thy need?”
"My name?" she said"Lynette my name; noble; my need, a knight To combat for my sister, Lyonors,
A lady of high lineage, of great lands,
And comely, yea, and comelier than myself.
She lives in Castle Perilous: a river
Runs in three loops about her living-place;
And o'er it are three passings, and three knights
Defend the passings, brethren, and a fourth,
And of that four the mightiest, holds her stay'd
In her own castle, and so besieges her
To break her will, and make her wed with him:
And but delays his purport till thon send
To do the battle with him, thy chief man,
Sir Lancelot, whom he trusts to overthrow,
Then wed, with glory; but she will not wed
Save whom she loveth, or a holy life.
Now therefore have I come for Lancelot."
Then Arthur, mindful of Sir Gareth, ask'd,
"Damsel, ye know this Order lives to crush
All wrongers of the realm. But say, these four,
Who be they? What the fashion of the men ?"
"They be of foolish fashion, O Sir King,
The fashion of that old knight-errantry
Who ride abroad and do but what they will;
Courteous or bestial from the moment, such
As have nor law nor king; and three of these,
Proud in their fantasy, call themselves the Day,
Morning-star, and Noon-sun, and Evening-star,
Being strong fools; and never a whit more wise
The fourth, who alway rideth arm'd in black,
"Let Lancelot know, my King, let Lancelot know, A huge man-beast of boundless savagery. Thy noblest and thy truest."
"But wherefore would ye men should wonder at you?
Nay, rather for the sake of me, their King,
And the deed's sake my knighthood do the deed,
Than to be noised of."
Merrily Gareth ask'd,
"Have I not earn'd my cake in baking of it?
Let be my name until I make my name!
My deeds will speak: it is but for a day."
So with a kindly hand on Gareth's arm
Smiled the great King, and half-unwillingly,
Loving his lusty youthhood, yielded to him.
Then, after summoning Lancelot privily,
"I have given him the first quest: he is not proven.
Look therefore when he calls for this in hall,
Thou get to horse and follow him far away.
Cover the lions on thy shield, and sec
Far as thou mayest, he be nor ta'en nor slain."
Then that same day there past into the hall
A damsel of high lineage, and a brow
May-blossom, and a cheek of apple-blossom,
He names himself the Night and oftener Death,
And wears a helmet mounted with a skull,
And bears a skeleton figured on his arms,
To show that who may slay or scape the three
Slain by himself shall enter endless night.
And all these four be fools, but mighty men,
And therefore am I come for Lancelot."
Iereat Sir Gareth call'd from where he rose,
A head with kindling eyes above the throng,
"A boon, Sir King-this quest !" then-for he mark'd
Kay near him groaning like a wounded bull-
"Yea, King, thou knowest thy kitchen-kuave am I,
And mighty thro' thy meats and drinks am I,
And I can topple over a hundred such.
Thy promise, King,” and Arthur glancing at him,
Brought down a momentary brow. "Rough, sudden,
And pardonable, worthy to be knight-
Go therefore," and all hearers were amazed.
But on the damsel's forehead shame, pride, wrath,
Slew the May-white: she lifted either arm,
"Fie on thee, King! I ask'd for thy chief knight,
And thou hast given me but a kitchen-knave."
Then, ere a man in hall could stay her, turn'd,
Fled down the lane of access to the King,
Took horse, descended the slope street, and past
The weird white gate, and paused without, beside
The field of tourney, murmuring "kitchen-knave."
Now two great entries open'd from the hall,
At one end one, that gave upon a range
Of level pavement where the King would pace
At sunrise, gazing over plain and wood;
And down from this a lordly stairway sloped
Till lost in blowing trees and tops of towers;
And out by this main doorway past the King.
But one was counter to the hearth, and rose
High that the highest-crested helm could ride
Therethro' nor graze: and by this entry fled
The damsel in her wrath, and on to this
Sir Gareth strode, and saw without the door
King Arthur's gift, the worth of half a town,
A warhorse of the best, and near it stood
The two that out of north had follow'd him:
This bare a maiden shield, a casque; that held
The horse, the spear; whereat Sir Gareth loosed
A cloak that dropt from collar-bone to heel,
A cloth of roughest web, and cast it down,
And from it like a fuel-smother'd fire,
That lookt half dead, brake bright, and flash'd as those
Dull-coated things, that making slide apart
Their dusk wing-cases, all beneath there burus
A jewel'd harness, ere they pass and fly.
So Gareth ere he parted flash'd in arms.
Then, as he donn'd the helm, and took the shield
And mounted horse and graspt a spear, of grain
Storm-strengthen'd on a windy site, and tipt
With trenchant steel, around him slowly prest
The people, while from out of kitchen came
The thralls in throng, and seeing who had work'd
Lustier than any, and whom they could but love,
Mounted in arms, threw up their caps and cried,
"God bless the King, and all his fellowship!"
And on thro' lanes of shouting Gareth rode
Down the slope street, and past without the gate.
So Gareth past with joy; but as the cur Pluckt from the cur he fights with, ere his cause Be cool'd by fighting, follows, being named, His owner, but remembers all, and growls Remembering, so Sir Kay beside the door Mutter'd in scorn of Gareth whom he used To harry and to hustle.
"Bound upon a quest With horse and arms-the King hath past his timeMy scullion knave! Thralls, to your work again, For an your fire be low ye kindle mine! Will there be dawn in West and eve in East? Begone!-my knave!-belike and like enow Some old head-blow not heeded in his youth So shook his wits they wander in his primeCrazed! How the villain lifted up his voice, Nor shamed to bawl himself a kitchen-kuave. Tut: he was tame and meek enow with me, Till peacock'd up with Lancelot's noticing. Well-I will after my loud kuave, and learn Whether he know me for his master yet. Ont of the smoke he came, and so my lance Hold, by God's grace, he shall into the mireThence, if the King awaken from his craze, Into the smoke again."
"Kay, wherefore wilt thou go against the King,
For that did never he whereon ye rail,
But ever meekly served the King in thee?
Abide: take counsel; for this lad is great
And lusty, and knowing both of lance and sword."
"Tut, tell me not," said Kay, "ye are overfine
To mar stout knaves with foolish courtesies."
Then mounted, on thro' silent faces rode
Down the slope city, and out beyond the gate.
But by the field of tourney lingering yet Mutter'd the damsel, "Wherefore did the King Scorn me? for, were Sir Lancelot lackt, at least He might have yielded to me one of those Who tilt for lady's love and glory here, Rather than-O sweet heaven! O fie upon him!His kitchen-knave."
To whom Sir Gareth drew (And there were none but few goodlier than he) Shining in arms, "Damsel, the quest is mine. Lead, and I follow." She thereat, as one That smells a foul-flesh'd agaric in the holt, And deems it carrion of some woodland thing, Or shrew, or weasel, nipt her slender nose With petulant thumb and finger, shrilling, "Hence! Avoid, thou smellest all of kitchen-grease. And look who comes behind," for there was Kay. "Knowest thou not me? thy master? I am Kay We lack thee by the hearth."
"I shall assay," said Gareth with a smile That madden'd her, and away she flash'd again Down the long avenues of a boundless wood, And Gareth following was again bekuaved.
"Sir Kitchen-knave, I have miss'd the only way Where Arthur's men are set along the wood; The wood is nigh as full of thieves as leaves: If both be slain, I am rid of thee; but yet, Sir Scullion, canst thou nse that spit of thine? Fight, au thou caust: I have miss'd the only way."
So till the dusk that follow'd evensong Rode on the two, reviler and reviled; Then, after one long slope was mounted, saw, Bowl-shaped, thro' tops of many thousand pines A gloomy-gladed hollow slowly sink To westward-in the deeps whereof a mere, Round as the red eye of an eagle-owl, Under the half-dead sunset glared; and shouts
Ascended, and there brake a servingman Flying from out of the black wood, and crying, "They have bound my lord to cast him in the mere."
Then Gareth, "Bound am I to right the wrong'd,
But straitlier bound am I to bide with thee."
And when the damsel spake contemptuously,
"Lead, and I follow," Gareth cried again,
"Follow, I lead !" so down among the pines
He plunged; and there, blackshadow'd nigh the mere,
And mid-thigh-deep in bulrushes and reed,
Saw six tall men haling a seventh along,
A stone about his neck to drown him in it.
Three with good blows he quieted, but three
Fled thro' the pines; and Gareth loosed the stone
From off his neck, then in the mere beside
Tumbled it; oilily bubbled up the mere.
Last, Gareth loosed his bonds and on free feet
Set him, a stalwart Baron, Arthur's friend.
"Well that ye came, or else these caitiff rogues Had wreak'd themselves on me; good cause is theirs To hate me, for my wont hath ever been To catch my thief, and then like vermin here Drown him, and with a stone about his neck; And under this wan water many of them Lie rotting, but at night let go the stone, And rise, and flickering in a grimly light,
And, seating Gareth at another board,
Sat down beside him, ate and then began:
"Friend, whether thou be kitchen-knave, or not,
Or whether it be the maiden's fantasy,
And whether she be mad, or else the King,
Or both or neither, or thyself be mad,
I ask not: but thou strikest a strong stroke,
For strong thou art and goodly therewithal,
And saver of my life; and therefore now,
For here be mighty men to joust with, weigh
Whether thou wilt not with thy damsel back
To crave again Sir Lancelot of the King.
Thy pardon; I but speak for thine avail,
The saver of my life."
And Gareth said, "Full pardon, but I follow up the quest, Despite of Day and Night, and Death and Hell.”
So when, next morn, the lord whose life he saved Had, some brief space, convey'd them on their way And left them with God-speed, Sir Gareth spake, "Lead, and I follow." Haughtily she replied,
"I fly no more: I allow thee for an hour. Lion and stoat have isled together, knave, In time of flood. Nay, furthermore, methinks
Dance on the mere. Good now, ye have saved a life Some ruth is mine for thee. Back wilt thou, fool?
Worth somewhat as the cleanser of this wood.
And fain would I reward thee worshipfully.
What guerdon will ye?"
Whereat the Baron saying, "I well believe
You be of Arthur's Table," a light laugh
Broke from Lynette, "Ay, truly of a truth,
And in a sort, being Arthur's kitchen-kunave!-
But deem not I accept thee aught the more,
Scullion, for running sharply with thy spit
Down on a rout of craven foresters.
A thresher with his flail had scatter'd them.
Nay-for thou smellest of the kitchen still.
But an this lord will yield us harborage,
Well."
For hard by here is one will overthrow
And slay thee: then will I to court again,
And shame the King for only yielding me
My champion from the ashes of his hearth."
To whom Sir Gareth answer'd courteously,
"Say thou thy say, and I will do my deed.
Allow me for mine hour, and thon wilt find
My fortunes all as fair as hers, who lay
Among the ashes and wedded the King's son."
Then to the shore of one of those long loops Wherethro' the serpent river coil'd, they came. Rough-thicketed were the banks and steep; the
Full, narrow; this a bridge of single arc
Took at a leap; and on the further side
Arose a silk pavilion, gay with gold
In streaks and rays, and all Lent-lily in hue,
Save that the dome was purple, and above,
Crimson, a slender banneret fluttering.
So she spake. A league beyond the wood, And therebefore the lawless warrior paced All in a full-fair manor and a rich,
His towers where that day a feast had been
Held in high hall, and many a viand left,
And many a costly cate, received the three.
And there they placed a peacock in his pride
Before the damsel, and the Baron set
Gareth beside her, but at once she rose.
"Meseems, that here is much discourtesy, Setting this knave, Lord Baron, at my side. Hear me this morn I stood in Arthur's hall, And pray'd the King would grant me Lancelot To fight the brotherhood of Day and NightThe last a monster unsubduable
Of any save of him for whom I call'd-
Suddenly bawls this frontless kitchen-knave,
The quest is mine; thy kitchen-knave am I,
And mighty thro' thy meats and drinks am I.'
Then Arthur all at once gone mad replies,
'Go therefore,' and so gives the quest to him-
Him-here-a villain fitter to stick swine
Than ride abroad redressing women's wrong,
Or sit beside a noble gentlewoman."
Then half-ashamed and part-amazed, the lord Now look'd at one and now at other, left The damsel by the peacock in his pride,
Unarm'd, and calling, "Damsel, is this he,
The champion thou hast brought from Arthur's
For whom we let thee pass ?" "Nay, nay," she said,
"Sir Morning-star. The King in utter scorn
Of thee and thy much folly hath sent thee here
His kitchen-knave: and look thou to thyself:
See that he fall not on thee suddenly,
And slay thee unarm'd: he is not knight but knave.”
Then at his call, "O daughters of the Dawn, And servants of the Morning-star, approach, Arm me," from out the silken curtain-folds Bare-footed and bare-headed three fair girls In gilt and rosy raiment came: their feet In dewy grasses glisten'd: and the hair All over glanced with dewdrop or with gem Like sparkles in the stone Avanturine. These arm'd him in blue arms, and gave a shield Blue also, and thereon the morning-star. And Gareth silent gazed upon the knight, Who stood a moment, ere his horse was brought, Glorying; and in the stream beneath him, shone, Immingled with Heaven's azure waveringly, The gay pavilion and the naked feet, His arms, the rosy raiment, and the star.
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