by W. S. Merwin
Clung fast to his calf, and shining spurs below
Of bright gold, on silk bands enriched with stripes,
And so the knight rides with slippers on his feet
And all that he was wearing was indeed pure verdure
But the crossbars of his belt and the shining stones set
Resplendent here and there in his gleaming garments
All around him and his saddle, in silk embroidery—
It would be too hard to tell half of the details
That were there in fine stitches, with birds and butterflies
In a high green radiance with gold running through it.
The tassels of his horse's trappings and the handsome crupper,
The studs on the enameled bit and all the other metal,
And the stirrups that he stood in were of the same color,
And his saddle bow also and the rest of the fastenings,
It all kept glimmering and glinting with green stones.
The horse that he was riding resplendent with the same hue as all the rest.
A green horse, hard to handle,
A strong steed, huge and massive,
In brawden brydel quik—
To þe gome he watz ful gayn.
Wel gay watz þis gome gered in grene,
And þe here of his hed of his hors swete. 180
Fayre fannand fax vmbefoldes his schulderes;
A much berd as a busk ouer his brest henges,
Þat wyth his hiзlich here þat of his hed reches
Watz euesed al vmbetorne abof his elbowes,
Þat half his armes þer-vnder were halched in þe wyse 185
Of a kyngez capados þat closes his swyre;
Þe mane of þat mayn hors much to hit lyke,
Wel cresped and cemmed, wyth knottes ful mony
Folden in wyth fildore aboute þe fayre grene,
Ay a herle of þe here, an oþer of golde; 190
Þe tayl and his toppyng twynnen of a sute,
And bounden boþe wyth a bande of a bryзt grene,
Dubbed wyth ful dere stonez, as þe dok lasted,
Syþen þrawen wyth a þwong a þwarle knot alofte,
Þer mony bellez ful bryзt of brende golde rungen. 195
Such a fole vpon folde, ne freke þat hym rydes,
Watz neuer sene in þat sale wyth syзt er þat tyme, with yзe.
He loked as layt so lyзt,
So sayd al þat hym syзe; 200
Hit semed as no mon myзt
Vnder his dynttez dryзe.
Wheþer hade he no helme ne hawbergh nauþer,
Ne no pysan ne no plate þat pented to armes,
Ne no schafte ne no schelde to schwue ne to smyte, 205
Bot in his on honde he hade a holyn bobbe,
Tossing the embroidered bridle,
The right horse for that knight to have.
How splendid he looked, this knight in the green apparel,
And his horse's hair was as lovely as his own.
Fair waving locks tumbled around his shoulders,
A beard big as a bush flowing over his breast,
And the full length of the noble hair of his head
Had been cut in a circle above his elbows
So that his arms were half hidden under it
As by the tunic that covers a king's neck.
The mane of that mighty horse looked much like that,
Its curls well combed and caught into many knots
With gold cord wound around the bright green,
For every strand of hair another of gold.
His tail and his forelocks were enwound the same way,
And both were bound with a band of bright green
And precious stones adorning them to the tip of his tail,
Then laced up tightly in a twirled knot.
There many bright shining bells of fine gold were ringing.
No knight rides a horse like that anywhere on earth.
Never before had one been seen in that hall by anyone.
Bright as lightning he shone,
So they all said who saw him.
It seemed that no man
Could stand against him.
Yet he wore no helmet and no chain mail either,
Nor any breastplate, nor brassarts on his arms,
He had no spear and no shield for thrusting and striking,
But in his hand he held a branch of holly
Þat is grattest in grene when greuez ar bare,
And an ax in his oþer, a hoge and vnmete,
A spetos sparþe to expoun in spelle, quoso myзt.
Þe lenkþe of an elnзerde þe large hede hade, 210
Þe grayn al of grene stele and of golde hewen,
Þe bit burnyst bryзt, with a brod egge
As wel schapen to schere as scharp rasores,
Þe stele of a stif staf þe sturne hit bi grypte,
Þat watz wounden wyth yrn to þe wandez ende,
And al bigrauen with grene in gracios werkes; 216
A lace lapped aboute, þat louked at þe hede,
And so after þe halme halched ful ofte,
Wyth tryed tasselez þerto tacched innoghe
On botounz of þe bryзt grene brayden ful ryche. 220
Þis haþel heldez hym in and þe halle entres,
Driuande to þe heзe dece, dut he no woþe,
Haylsed he neuer one, bot heзe he ouer loked.
Þe fyrst word þat he warp, ‘Wher is’, he sayd,
‘Þe gouernour of þis gyng? Gladly I wolde 225
Se þat segg in syзt, and with hymself speke raysoun.'
To knyзtez he kest his yзe,
And reled hym vp and doun;
He stemmed, and con studie 230
Quo walt þer most renoun.
Ther watz lokyng on lenþe þe lude to beholde,
For vch mon had meruayle quat hit mene myзt
Þat a haþel and a horse myзt such a hwe lach,
As growe grene as þe gres and grener hit semed, 235
Þen grene aumayl on golde glowande bryзter.
Al studied þat þer stod, and stalked hym nerre
That is greenest of all when the groves are bare,
And an ax in the other hand, huge and monstrous,
A fearsome battle-ax to find words to tell of.
The length of its head was at least a yard and a half,
The point all hammered out of green steel and gold,
The blade brightly burnished, with a broad edge,
Shaped for shearing as well as sharp razors.
The grim knight gripped the stout handle of the weapon.
It was wrapped with iron to the shaft's end
And all engraved with green in graceful designs.
A lace was wound around it, fastened at the head,
Twining in many turns around the handle
With a fringe of fine tassels attached to it,
Rich embroidery above buttons of bright green.
This knight rides straight ahead into the hall,
Making for the high dais, undaunted by anything,
With no greeting to anyone, but his eyes high above them.
The first sound from him: “Where,” he asked, “is
The head of this gathering? I would be glad
To set eyes on that knight, and I have something to say to him.”
Over the knights he cast his eye
Riding up and down,
Stopping and looking hard to see
Who might have most renown.
They went on staring at the knight for some time,
Everyone wondering what it might mean
For a man and a horse to acquire such a color,
As green as the grass grows, and greener still, it seemed,
The green enamel glowing brighter on the gold.
All of them standing there stared and crept closer to him
Wyth al þe wonder of þe worlde what he worch schulde.
&nb
sp; For fele sellyez had þay sen, bot such neuer are;
Forþi for fantoum and fayryзe þe folk þere hit demed. 240
Þerfore to answare watz arзe mony aþel freke,
And al stouned at his steuen and stonstil seten
In a swoghe sylence þurз þe sale riche;
As al were slypped vpon slepe so slaked hor lotez in hyзe— 245
I deme hit not al for doute,
Bot sum for cortaysye—
Bot let hym þat al schulde loute
Cast vnto þat wyзe.
Þenn Arþour bifore þe hiз dece þat auenture byholdez, 250
And rekenly hym reuerenced, for rad was he neuer,
And sayde, ‘Wyзe, welcum iwys to þis place,
Þe hede of þis ostel Arthour I hat;
Liзt luflych adoun and lenge, I þe praye,
And quat-so þy wylle is we schal wyt after.' 255
‘Nay, as help me,’ quoþ þe haþel, ‘he þat on hyзe syttes,
To wone any quyle in þis won, hit watz not myn ernde;
Bot for þe los of þe, lede, is lyft vp so hyзe,
And þy burз and þy burnes best ar holden,
Stifest vnder stel-gere on stedes to ryde, 260
Þe wyзtest and þe worþyest of þe worldes kynde,
Preue for to play wyth in oþer pure laykez,
And here is kydde cortaysye, as I haf herd carp,
And þat hatz wayned me hider, iwyis, at þis tyme.
Зe may be seker bi þis braunch þat I bere here 265
Þat I passe as in pes, and no plyзt seche;
For had I founded in fere in feзtyng wyse,
With all the wonder in the world, to see what he would do.
For they had seen many marvels but never any like this,
So they all thought it might be a phantom or trick of magic,
So that many of the noble knights were afraid to answer,
And all were struck by his voice and stayed stone still,
And there was a silence like death through the great hall.
Not a sound rose out of them, as though they had all fallen asleep.
Not, I think, from fear only,
But some waiting for
Their King, out of courtesy,
To let him answer.
Then Arthur, addressing this wonder before the high dais,
Greeted him courteously, for nothing ever frightened him,
And said, “Knight, you are welcome indeed in this place.
My name is Arthur. I am the head of this house.
I pray you to have the grace to dismount and stay with us
And whatever you want we shall learn later.”
“No, as I hope for help,” the knight said, “from Him who sits on high,
It was never my mission to stay long in this house.
But because your fame, sire, is so exalted
And your castles and your knights are said to be
The best and strongest who ride in armor on horses,
The bravest and most noble anywhere in the world,
Worthy to contend with for the pure play of it,
And I have heard of the famous chivalry of this place,
All of that, I may tell you, brought me here at this time.
You may be assured by this branch that I bear here
That I am passing through in peace and not looking for enemies,
For if I had set out intent upon fighting
I haue a hauberghe at home and a helme boþe,
A schelde and a scharp spere, schinande bryзt,
Ande oþer weppenes to welde, I wene wel, als; 270
Bot for I wolde no were, my wedez ar softer.
Bot if þou be so bold as alle burnez tellen,
Þou wyl grant me godly þe gomen þat I ask bi ryзt.'
Arthour con onsware, 275
And sayd, ‘Sir cortays knyзt,
If þou craue batayl bare,
Here faylez þou not to fyзt.'
‘Nay, frayst I no fyзt, in fayth I þe telle,
Hit arn aboute on þis bench bot berdlez chylder. 280
If I were hasped in armes on a heзe stede,
Here is no mon me to mach, for myзtez so wayke.
Forþy I craue in þis court a Crystemas gomen,
For hit is Зol and Nwe Зer, and here ar зep mony:
If any so hardy in þis hous holdez hymseluen, 285
Be so bolde in his blod, brayn in hys hede,
Þat dar stifly strike a strok for an oþer,
I schal gif hym of my gyft þys giserne ryche,
Þis ax, þat is heué innogh, to hondele as hym lykes,
And I schal bide þe fyrst bur as bare as I sitte.
If any freke be so felle to fonde þat I telle, 291
Lepe lyзtly me to, and lach þis weppen,
I quit-clayme hit for euer, kepe hit as his auen,
And I schal stonde hym a strok, stif on þis flet,
Ellez þou wyl diзt me þe dom to dele hym an oþer barlay, 295
And зet gif hym respite,
A twelmonyth and a day;
I have chain mail at home, and helmet too,
A shield and a sharp spear shining brightly,
And other weapons to wield also, to be sure.
But since I did not come for fighting, my clothes are softer.
But if you are as bold as knights everywhere say you are,
You will be so good as to grant me the request that I have the right to ask.”
Arthur gave the knight
This answer: “Courteous sir,
Whatever sport or fight
You came for, you will find here.”
“No, I tell you in good faith, it is not a fight I have come for.
These are nothing but beardless boys around this bench.
If I were buckled in armor on a big horse,
There is no man here strong enough to be worth riding against.
And so in this court I call for a Christmas game,
Since it is Yuletide and the New Year and all these brave men are here:
If anyone in this house thinks he has the courage
And is so bold in his blood and wild in his way of thinking
That he dares to exchange one heavy blow for another,
I shall make him a gift of this great battle-ax,
And a heavy one it is, this ax, to handle as he pleases,
And I shall await the first blow without armor, just as I sit here.
If any knight is brave enough to test my word,
Run up to me right now and take hold of this weapon.
I give it up for good, he can keep it as his own,
And I shall take a stroke from him on this floor, without flinching.
Then you must grant me the right to give him one in return without resisting,
But for that one he
May wait a year and a day.
Now hyзe, and let se tite
Dar any herinne oзt say.' 300
If he hem stowned vpon fyrst, stiller were þanne
Alle þe heredmen in halle, þe hyз and þe loзe.
Þe renk on his rouncé hym ruched in his sadel,
And runischly his rede yзen he reled aboute,
Bende his bresed broзez, blycande grene, 305
Wayued his berde for to wayte quo-so wolde ryse.
When non wolde kepe hym with carp he coзed ful hyзe,
Ande rimed hym ful richely, and ryзt hym to speke:
‘What, is þis Arþures hous,’ quoþ þe haþel þenne,
‘Þat al þe rous rennes of þurз ryalmes so mony? 310
Where is now your sourquydrye and your conquestes,
Your gryndellayk and your greme, and your grete wordes?
Now is þe reuel and þe renoun of þe Rounde Table
Ouerwalt wyth a worde of on wyзes speche,
For al dares for drede withoute dynt schewed!' 315
Wyth þis he laзes so loude þat þe lorde greued;
Þe blod schot for scham into his schyre face and lere;
He wex as wroth as wynde,
So did alle þat þer were. 320
Þe kyng as kene bi kynde
Þen stod þat stif mon nere,
Ande sayde, ‘Haþel, by heuen, þyn askyng is nys,
And as þou foly hatz frayst, fynde þe behoues.
I know no gome þat is gast of þy grete wordes; 325
Gif me now þy geserne, vpon Godez halue,
And I schal bayþen þy bone þat þou boden habbes.'
Lyзtly lepez he hym to, and laзt at his honde.
Now let me see
What anyone here has to say.”
If he had stunned them at first, then they were even more still,
All the courtiers in the hall, the high and the low.
The knight on his horse turned in his saddle,
And wildly he flashed his red eyes around,
Arched his bristling bright-green eyebrows,
And waved his beard, waiting to see who would stand up.
When no one would answer him, he gave a loud cough
And stretched as a lord might, and made ready to speak.
“Well, is this Arthur's house,” the knight said then,
“That all the talk runs on through so many kingdoms?
Where is your haughtiness now, where are your triumphs,
Your belligerence and your wrath and your big words?
Now the revel and the renown of the Round Table
Are overturned by a word of one man alone,
All cowering in dread before a blow has been struck.”
With this he roars with such laughter that the lord was angry.
Shame shot the blood into his white face and his cheeks.
Like the wind was his anger.
It swept through everyone.
The King, bold by nature,
Went up to that huge man
And said, “Knight, by heaven, your request is senseless.
What you ask is such madness you deserve to have it granted.
No knight I know is afraid of your great words.
Give me your ax now, in the name of God,
And I shall grant the boon that you have requested.”
He strides toward him and grasps him by the hand.
Þen feersly þat oþer freke vpon fote lyзtis.
Now hatz Arthure his axe, and þe halme grypez, 330
And sturnely sturez hit aboute, þat stryke wyth hit þoзt.
Þe stif mon hym bifore stod vpon hyзt,
Herre þen ani in þe hous by þe hede and more.
Wyth sturne schere þer he stod he stroked his berde,