A storm was coming,but the winds were still,And in the wild woods of Broceliande,Before an oak,so hollow,huge and old It looked a tower of ivied masonwork,At Merlin's feet the wily Vivien lay.
For he that always bare in bitter grudge The slights of Arthur and his Table,Mark The Cornish King,had heard a wandering voice,A minstrel of Caerlon by strong storm Blown into shelter at Tintagil,say That out of naked knightlike purity Sir Lancelot worshipt no unmarried girl But the great Queen herself,fought in her name,Sware by her--vows like theirs,that high in heaven Love most,but neither marry,nor are given In marriage,angels of our Lord's report.
He ceased,and then--for Vivien sweetly said (She sat beside the banquet nearest Mark),'And is the fair example followed,Sir,In Arthur's household?'--answered innocently:
'Ay,by some few--ay,truly--youths that hold It more beseems the perfect virgin knight To worship woman as true wife beyond All hopes of gaining,than as maiden girl.
They place their pride in Lancelot and the Queen.
So passionate for an utter purity Beyond the limit of their bond,are these,For Arthur bound them not to singleness.
Brave hearts and clean!and yet--God guide them--young.'
Then Mark was half in heart to hurl his cup Straight at the speaker,but forbore:he rose To leave the hall,and,Vivien following him,Turned to her:'Here are snakes within the grass;And you methinks,O Vivien,save ye fear The monkish manhood,and the mask of pure Worn by this court,can stir them till they sting.'
And Vivien answered,smiling scornfully,'Why fear?because that fostered at thy court I savour of thy--virtues?fear them?no.
As Love,if Love is perfect,casts out fear,So Hate,if Hate is perfect,casts out fear.
My father died in battle against the King,My mother on his corpse in open field;She bore me there,for born from death was I
Among the dead and sown upon the wind--
And then on thee!and shown the truth betimes,That old true filth,and bottom of the well Where Truth is hidden.Gracious lessons thine And maxims of the mud!"This Arthur pure!
Great Nature through the flesh herself hath made Gives him the lie!There is no being pure,My cherub;saith not Holy Writ the same?"--If I were Arthur,I would have thy blood.
Thy blessing,stainless King!I bring thee back,When I have ferreted out their burrowings,The hearts of all this Order in mine hand--Ay--so that fate and craft and folly close,Perchance,one curl of Arthur's golden beard.
To me this narrow grizzled fork of thine Is cleaner-fashioned--Well,I loved thee first,That warps the wit.'
Loud laughed the graceless Mark,But Vivien,into Camelot stealing,lodged Low in the city,and on a festal day When Guinevere was crossing the great hall Cast herself down,knelt to the Queen,and wailed.
'Why kneel ye there?What evil hath ye wrought?
Rise!'and the damsel bidden rise arose And stood with folded hands and downward eyes Of glancing corner,and all meekly said,'None wrought,but suffered much,an orphan maid!
My father died in battle for thy King,My mother on his corpse--in open field,The sad sea-sounding wastes of Lyonnesse--Poor wretch--no friend!--and now by Mark the King For that small charm of feature mine,pursued--If any such be mine--I fly to thee.
Save,save me thou--Woman of women--thine The wreath of beauty,thine the crown of power,Be thine the balm of pity,O Heaven's own white Earth-angel,stainless bride of stainless King--Help,for he follows!take me to thyself!
O yield me shelter for mine innocency Among thy maidens!
Here her slow sweet eyes Fear-tremulous,but humbly hopeful,rose Fixt on her hearer's,while the Queen who stood All glittering like May sunshine on May leaves In green and gold,and plumed with green replied,'Peace,child!of overpraise and overblame We choose the last.Our noble Arthur,him Ye scarce can overpraise,will hear and know.
Nay--we believe all evil of thy Mark--
Well,we shall test thee farther;but this hour We ride a-hawking with Sir Lancelot.
He hath given us a fair falcon which he trained;We go to prove it.Bide ye here the while.'
She past;and Vivien murmured after 'Go!
I bide the while.'Then through the portal-arch Peering askance,and muttering broken-wise,As one that labours with an evil dream,Beheld the Queen and Lancelot get to horse.
'Is that the Lancelot?goodly--ay,but gaunt:
Courteous--amends for gauntness--takes her hand--That glance of theirs,but for the street,had been A clinging kiss--how hand lingers in hand!
Let go at last!--they ride away--to hawk For waterfowl.Royaller game is mine.
For such a supersensual sensual bond As that gray cricket chirpt of at our hearth--Touch flax with flame--a glance will serve--the liars!
Ah little rat that borest in the dyke Thy hole by night to let the boundless deep Down upon far-off cities while they dance--Or dream--of thee they dreamed not--nor of me These--ay,but each of either:ride,and dream The mortal dream that never yet was mine--Ride,ride and dream until ye wake--to me!
Then,narrow court and lubber King,farewell!
For Lancelot will be gracious to the rat,And our wise Queen,if knowing that I know,Will hate,loathe,fear--but honour me the more.'
Yet while they rode together down the plain,Their talk was all of training,terms of art,Diet and seeling,jesses,leash and lure.
'She is too noble'he said 'to check at pies,Nor will she rake:there is no baseness in her.'
Here when the Queen demanded as by chance 'Know ye the stranger woman?''Let her be,'
Said Lancelot and unhooded casting off The goodly falcon free;she towered;her bells,Tone under tone,shrilled;and they lifted up Their eager faces,wondering at the strength,Boldness and royal knighthood of the bird Who pounced her quarry and slew it.Many a time As once--of old--among the flowers--they rode.
