Hard by, Sir Launcelot, whom you will meet
In some short space upon that ship: first, though,
Will come here presently that lady sweet,

Sister of Percival, whom you well know,

And with her Bors and Percival: stand now,
These ladies will to arm you.

FIRST LADY, putting on the hauberk.
Galahad,

That I may stand so close beneath your brow,
I, Margaret of Antioch, am glad.

SECOND LADY, girding him with the sword. That I may stand and touch you with my hand, O Galahad, I, Cecily, am glad.

THIRD LADY, buckling on the spurs.

That I may kneel while up above you stand,
And gaze at me, O holy Galahad,

I, Lucy, am most glad.

FOURTH LADY, putting on the basnet.
O gentle knight,

That you bow down to us in reverence,
We are most glad, I, Katherine, with delight
Must needs fall trembling.

ANGEL, putting on the crossed surcoat.
Galahad, we go hence,

For here, amid the straying of the snow,
Come Percival's sister, Bors, and Percival.

[The Four Ladies carry out the bed,
and all go but Galahad.

GALAHAD.

How still and quiet everything seems now:
They come, too, for I hear the horsehoofs fall.

Enter Sir Bors, Sir Percival, and his Sister.
Fair friends and gentle lady, God you save!
A many marvels have been here to-night;
Tell me what news of Launcelot you have,
And has God's body ever been in sight?

SIR BORS.

Why, as for seeing that same holy thing,
As we were riding slowly side by side,
An hour ago, we heard a sweet voice sing,
And through the bare twigs saw a great light glide,

With many-colour'd raiment, but far off;

And so pass'd quickly: from the court nought good; Poor merry Dinadan, that with jape and scoff Kept us all merry, in a little wood

Was found all hack'd and dead: Sir Lionel

And Gauwaine have come back from the great quest, Just merely shamed; and Lauvaine, who loved well Your father Launcelot, at the king's behest

Went out to seek him, but was almost slain,
Perhaps is dead now; everywhere

The knights come foil'd from the great quest, in vain;
In vain they struggle for the vision fair.

THE CHAPEL IN LYONESS.

SIR OZANA LE CURE HARDY. SIR GALAHAD.
SIR BORS DE GANYS.

[The Oxford and Cambridge Magazine 1856; darauf im GuenevereBande 1858.]

SIR OZANA.

ALL day long and every day,
From Christmas-Eve to Whit-Sunday,
Within that Chapel-aisle I lay,

And no man came a-near.

Naked to the waist was I,
And deep within my breast did lie,
Though no man any blood could spy,
The truncheon of a spear.

No meat did ever pass my lips
Those days. Alas! the sunlight slips
From off the gilded parclose, dips,
And night comes on apace.

My arms lay back behind my head;
Over my raised-up knees was spread
A samite cloth of white and red;
A rose lay on my face.

Many a time I tried to shout;
But as in dream of battle-rout,
My frozen speech would not well out;

I could not even weep.

With inward sigh I see the sun
Fade off the pillars one by one,
My heart faints when the day is done,
Because I cannot sleep.

Sometimes strange thoughts pass through my head;
Not like a tomb is this my bed,
Yet oft I think that I am dead;
That round my tomb is writ,

"Ozana of the hardy heart,

Knight of the Table Round,
Pray for his soul, lords, of your part;

A true knight he was found."

Ah! me, I cannot fathom it.

SIR GALAHAD.

All day long and every day,
Till his madness pass'd away,
I watch'd Ozana as he lay
Within the gilded screen.

All my singing moved him not;
As I sung my heart grew hot,
With the thought of Launcelot
Far away, I ween.

So I went a little space

From out the chapel, bathed my face

In the stream that runs apace

By the churchyard wall.

There I pluck'd a faint wild rose,
Hard by where the linden grows,
Sighing over silver rows

Of the lilies tall.

I laid the flower across his mouth;

[He sleeps.

The sparkling drops seem'd good for drouth;
He smiled, turn'd round toward the south,
Held up a golden tress.

The light smote on it from the west;
He drew the covering from his breast,
Against his heart that hair he prest;
Death him soon will bless.

SIR BORS.

I enter'd by the western door;
I saw a knight's helm lying there:
I raised my eyes from off the floor,
And caught the gleaming of his hair.
I stept full softly up to him;

I laid my chin upon his head;
I felt him smile; my eyes did swim,
I was so glad he was not dead.

I heard Ozana murmur low,

"There comes no sleep nor any love." But Galahad stoop'd and kiss'd his brow: He shiver'd; I saw his pale lips move.

SIR OZANA.

There comes no sleep nor any love;
Ah me! I shiver with delight.

I am so weak I cannot move;

God move me to thee, dear, to-night!
Christ help! I have but little wit:
My life went wrong; I see it writ,

"Ozana of the hardy heart,

Knight of the Table Round,

Pray for his soul, lords, on your part;
A good knight he was found."

Now I begin to fathom it.

[He dies.