I think she cloaks the wounds of loss with | A long, long weeping, not consolable. Then her false voice made way broken with sobs. lies; I do believe she tempted them and fail'd, She is so bitter: for fine plots may fail, Tho' harlots paint their talk as well as face With colors of the heart that are not theirs. I will not let her know: nine tithes of times Face-flatterers and backbiters are the same. And they, sweet soul, that most impute a crime Are pronest to it, and impute themselves, Wanting the mental range; or low desire Not to feel lowest makes them level all; Yea, they would pare the mountain to the plain, To leave an equal baseness; and in this Are harlots like the crowd, that if they find Some stain or blemish in a name of note, Not grieving that their greatest are so small, "O crueller than was ever told in tale, Or sung in song! O vainly lavish'd love ! Ocruel, there was nothing wild or strange, Or seeming shameful, for what shame in love, So love be true, and not as yours isnothing Poor Vivien had not done to win his trust Who call'd her what he call'd her-all her crime, All-all- the wish to prove him wholly hers." She mused a little, and then clapt her hands Together with a wailing shriek, and said: "Stabb'd through the heart's affections to the heart! Inflate themselves with some insane de- Seethed like the kid in its own mother's light, And judge all nature from her feet of clay, Without the will to lift their eyes, and see Her godlike head crown'd with spiritual fire, And touching other worlds. I am weary of her." He spoke in words part heard, in whispers part, Half-suffocated in the hoary fell And many-winter'd fleece of throat and chin. But Vivien, gathering somewhat of his mood, And hearing "harlot" mutter'd twice or thrice, Leapt from her session on his lap, and stood Stiff as a viper frozen; loathsome sight, How from the rosy lips of life and love, Flash'd the bare-grinning skeleton of death! White was her cheek; sharp breaths of anger puff'd Her fairy nostril out; her hand halfclench'd Went faltering sideways downward to her belt, And feeling; had she found a dagger there (For in a wink the false love turns to hate) She would have stabb'd him; but she found it not : His eye was calm, and suddenly she took To bitter weeping like a beaten child, What should be granted which your own gross heart Would reckon worth the taking? I will go. In truth, but one thing now- - better have died She shook from fear, and for her fault she wept Of petulancy; she call'd him lord and liege, Her seer, her bard, her silver star of eve, Thrice than have ask'd it once- could Her God, her Merlin, the one passionate love make me stay That proof of trust- - so often asked in Of her whole life; and ever overhead Bellow'd the tempest, and the rotten branch vain! How justly, after that vile term of yours, I find with grief! I might believe you then, Who knows? once more. O, what was Furrowing a giant oak, and javelining With darted spikes and splinters of the wood The dark earth round. He raised his eyes and saw The tree that shone white-listed thro' the gloom. But Vivien, fearing heaven had heard her oath, And dazzled by the livid-flickering fork, And deafen'd with the stammering cracks and claps That follow'd, flying back and crying out, "O Merlin, tho' you do not love me, save, Yet save me!" clung to him and hugg'd him close; And call'd him dear protector in her fright, Nor yet forgot her practice in her fright, But wrought upon his mood and hugg'd him close. Snapt in the rushing of the river rain Above them; and in change of glare and gloom Her eyes and neck glittering went and came; Till now the storm, its burst of passion spent, Moaning and calling out of other lands, Had left the ravaged woodland yet once more To peace; and what should not have been had been, For Merlin, overtalk'd and overworn, Had yielded, told her all the charm, and slept. Then, in one moment, she put forth the charm Of woven paces and of waving hands, And in the hollow oak he lay as dead, And lost to life and use and name and fame. Then crying "I have made his glory mine,' And shrieking out "O fool!" the harlot leapt Adown the forest, and the thicket closed Behind her, and the forest echo'd "fool." LANCELOT AND ELAINE. ELAINE the fair, Elaine the lovable, east Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot ; Which first she placed where morning's earliest ray Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam; Then fearing rust or soilure fashion'd for it And yellow-throated nestling in the nest. Nor rested thus content, but day by day Leaving her household and good father climb'd That eastern tower, and entering barr'd her door, Stript off the case, and read the naked shield, Now guess'd a hidden meaning in ris arms, Now made a pretty history to herself Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh ; That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle; That at Caerleon; this at Camelot : And ah God's mercy what a stroke was there! And here a thrust that might have kill'd, but God Broke the strong lance, and roll'd his enemy down, And saved him so she lived in fantasy. How came the lily maid by that good shield Of Lancelot, she that knew not ev'n his name? He left it with her, when he rode to tilt For the great diamond in the diamond jousts, Which Arthur had ordain'd, and by that And there they lay till all their bones were bleach'd, And lichen'd into color with the crags: And he, that once was king, had on a crown Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside. And Arthur came, and laboring up the pass All in a misty moonshine, unawares Had trodden that crown'd skeleton, and the skull Brake from the nape, and from the skull the crown Roll'd into light, and turning on its rims Fled like a glittering rivulet to the tarn: And down the shingly scaur he plunged, and caught, And set it on his head, and in his heart Heard murmurs "lo, thou likewise shalt be king." Thereafter, when a king, he had the gems Pluck'd from the crown, and show'd them to his knights, Saying "these jewels, whereupon I chanced Divinely, are the kingdom's not the king's For public use: henceforward let there be, Once every year, a joust for one of these: For so by nine years' proof we needs must learn Which is our mightiest, and ourselves shall grow In use of arms and manhood, till we drive The Heathen, who, some say, shall rule the land Hereafter, which God hinder." Thus he spoke : And eight years past, eight jousts had been, and still Had Lancelot won the diamond of the year, With purpose to present them to the Queen, When all were won; but meaning all at once To snare her royal fancy with a boon Worth half her realm, had never spoken word. Now for the central diamond and the last And largest, Arthur, holding then his court Hard on the river nigh the place which now Is this world's hugest, let proclaim a joust At Camelot, and when the time drew nigh | But now my loyal worship is allow'd Spake (for she had been sick) to Guine- Of all men many a bard, without offence, Has link'd our names together in his lay, Lancelot, the flower of bravery, Guinevere, vere “Are you so sick, my Queen, you cannot move To these fair jousts?" "Yea, lord," she said, "ye know it." "Then will ye miss," he answer'd, and say, "Sir King, mine ancient wound is hardly whole, And lets me from the saddle"; and the King Glanced first at him, then her, and went his way. No sooner gone than suddenly she began. "To blame, my lord Sir Lancelot, much to blame. Why go ye not to these fair jousts? the knights Are half of them our enemies, and the crowd Will murmur, lo the shameless ones, who take Their pastime now the trustful king is gone! Then Lancelot vext at having lied in vain: "Are ye so wise? ye were not once so wise, My Queen, that summer, when ye loved me first. Then of the crowd ye took no more ac The pearl of beauty: and our knights at feast Have pledged us in this union, while the king Would listen smiling. How then! is there more? Has Arthur spoken aught? or would yourself, Now weary of my service and devoir, Henceforth be truer to your faultless lord?" She broke into a little scornful laugh. "Arthur, my lord, Arthur, the faultless King, That passionate perfection, my good lord But who can gaze upon the Sun in heaven? He never spake word of reproach to me, He never had a glimpse of mine untruth, He cares not for me: only here to-day There gleam'd a vague suspicion in his |