But I my sons and little daughter fled From bonds or death, and dwelt among the woods

By the great river in a boatman's hut. Dull days were those, till ourgood Arthur broke

The Pagan yet once more on Badon hill."

"O there, great Lord, doubtless," Lavaine said, rapt

By all the sweet and sudden passion of youth

Toward greatness in its elder, "you have fought.

O tell us for we live apart - you know Of Arthur's glorious wars." And Lancelot spoke

And answer'd him at full, as having been With Arthur in the fight which all day long Rang by the white mouth of the violent Glem;

And in the four wild battles by the shore
Of Duglas; that on Bassa; then the war
That thunder'd in and out the gloomy
skirts

Of Celidon the forest; and again
By castle Gurnion where the glorious King
Had on his cuirass worn our Lady's Head,
Carved of one emerald, center'd in a sun
Of silver rays, that lighten'd as he
breathed;

And at Caerleon had he help'd his lord, When the strong neighings of the wild white Horse

Set every gilded parapet shuddering;
And up in Agned Cathregonion too,
And down the waste sand-shores of Trath
Treroit,

Where many a heathen fell;
the mount

"and on

Of Badon I myself beheld the King Charge at the head of all his Table Round, And all his legions crying Christ and him, And break them; and I saw him, after, stand

High on a heap of slain, from spur to plume Red as the rising sun with heathen blood, And seeing me, with a great voice he cried They are broken, they are broken' for

the King, However mild he seems at home, nor cares For triumph in our mimic wars, the jousts

laughs

Saying, his knights are better men than

he

Yet in this heathen war the fire of God Fills him: Inever saw his like: there lives No greater leader." While he utter'd this, Low to her own heart said the lily maid "Save your great self, fair lord"; and when he fell

From talk of war to traits of pleasantryBeing mirthful he but in a stately kind. She still took note that when the living smile

Died from his lips, across him came a cloud Of melancholy severe, from which again, Whenever in her hovering to and fro The lily maid had striven to make him cheer,

There brake a sudden-beaming tender

ness

Of manners and of nature and she thought That all was nature, all, perchance, for her. And all night long his face before her lived, As when a painter, poring on a face, Divinely thro' all hindrance finds the man Behind it, and so paints him that his face, The shape and color of a mind and life, Lives for his children, ever at its best And fullest ; so the face before her lived, Dark-splendid, speaking in the silence, full

Of noble things, and held her from her sleep.

Till rathe she rose, half-cheated in the thought

She needs must bid farewell to sweet Lavaine.

First as in fear, step after step, she stole Down the long tower-stairs, hesitating: Anon, she heard Sir Lancelot cry in the court,

"This shield, my friend, where is it?" and Lavaine

Past inward, as she came from out the tower.

There to his proud horse Lancelot turn'd,

and smooth'd

The glossy shoulder, humming to himself. Half-envious of the flattering hand, she drew

Nearer and stood. He look'd, and more

amazed

Than if seven men had set upon him, saw The maiden standing in the dewy light. He had not dream'd she was so beautiful