Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

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by W. S. Merwin


  Forþi þis Зol ouerзede, and þe зere after, 500

  And vche sesoun serlepes sued after oþer:

  After Crystenmasse com þe crabbed lentoun,

  Þat fraystez flesch wyth þe fysche and fode more symple;

  Bot þenne þe weder of þe worlde wyth wynter hit þrepez,

  Colde clengez adoun, cloudez vplyften, 505

  Schyre schedez þe rayn in schowrez ful warme,

  Fallez vpon fayre flat, flowrez þere schewen,

  Boþe groundez and þe greuez grene ar her wedez,

  Bryddez busken to bylde, and bremlych syngen

  For solace of þe softe somer þat sues þerafter bi bonk; 510

  And blossumez bolne to blowe

  Bi rawez rych and ronk,

  Þen notez noble innoзe

  Ar herde in wod so wlonk.

  This wonder came as a gift to Arthur in the first

  Youth of the year, for he longed to hear of some bold adventure.

  Though their words were few when they first sat to table,

  Soon they had more to say than they had words for.

  Gawain was glad to begin those games in the hall,

  But if the mood grew heavy at last it was no wonder,

  For though after strong drink men may be merry in their minds,

  A year soon runs its length and never returns the same,

  And the end seldom seems to belong to the beginning.

  So this Christmas was over then, and the last of the year followed it,

  And the seasons went by in turn one after the other.

  After Christmas came crabbèd Lent

  That chastises the flesh with fish and plainer food.

  But then the weather of the world makes war on winter,

  Cold cringes downward, clouds lift,

  The shining rain comes down in warm showers,

  Falls on the fair meadow, flowers appear there,

  Both the open land and the groves are in green garments,

  Birds hurry to build, and they sing gloriously

  With the joy of the soft summer that arrives on all the hills,

  And blossoms are opening

  In thick hedgerows, and then the noblest

  Of all songs ring

  Through the lovely forest.

  After þe sesoun of somer wyth þe soft wyndez 516

  Quen Zeferus syflez hymself on sedez and erbez,

  Wela wynne is þe wort þat waxes þeroute,

  When þe donkande dewe dropez of þe leuez,

  To bide a blysful blusch of þe bryзt sunne. 520

  Bot þen hyзes heruest, and hardenes hym sone,

  Warnez hym for þe wynter to wax ful rype;

  He dryues wyth droзt þe dust for to ryse,

  Fro þe face of þe folde to flyзe ful hyзe;

  Wroþe wynde of þe welkyn wrastelez with þe sunne, 525

  Þe leuez lancen fro þe lynde and lyзten on þe grounde,

  And al grayes þe gres þat grene watz ere;

  Þenne al rypez and rotez þat ros vpon fyrst,

  And þus зirnez þe зere in зisterdayez mony,

  And wynter wyndez aзayn, as þe worlde askez, no fage, 530

  Til Meзelmas mone

  Watz cumen wyth wynter wage;

  Þen þenkkez Gawan ful sone

  Of his anious uyage. 535

  Зet quyl Al-hal-day with Arþer he lenges;

  And he made a fare on þat fest for þe frekez sake,

  With much reuel and ryche of þe Rounde Table.

  Knyзtez ful cortays and comlych ladies

  Al for luf of þat lede in longynge þay were, 540

  Bot neuer þe lece ne þe later þay neuened bot merþe:

  Mony ioylez for þat ientyle iapez þer maden.

  For aftter mete with mournyng he melez to his eme,

  And spekez of his passage, and pertly he sayde,

  ‘Now, lege lorde of my lyf, leue I yow ask; 545

  Зe knowe þe cost of þis cace, kepe I no more

  Then comes the season of summer with the soft winds,

  When Zephyrus breathes gently on the seeds and grasses.

  Happy is the green leaf that grows out of that time

  When the wet of the dew drips from the leaves

  Before the blissful radiance of the bright sun.

  But then comes harvest time to hearten them,

  Warning them to ripen well before winter.

  It brings drought until the dust rises,

  Flying up high off the face of the field,

  A fierce wind wrestles with the sun in the heavens,

  The leaves fly from the lime tree and light on the ground,

  And the grass is all withered that before was green.

  Then all that was growing at first ripens and decays,

  And thus in many yesterdays the year passes

  And winter comes back again as the world would have it, in the way of things.

  Until the Michaelmas moon

  When first the days feel wintry

  And Gawain is reminded then

  Of his dread journey.

  Still he stays until All Saints' Day with Arthur

  And kept that feast with them for the sake of the knights,

  With revelry and high spirits at the Round Table.

  Noble knights and beautiful ladies

  Were all grieving out of love for that knight,

  But nevertheless they gave words to nothing but mirth.

  Many made jests who were joyless because of that gentle knight.

  And after the meal he speaks sadly to his uncle

  About his journey, and in plain words he said,

  “Now, liege lord of my life, I must ask to take leave of you.

  You know the terms of this promise. I do not care

  To telle yow tenez þerof, neuer bot trifel;

  Bot I am boun to þe bur barely to-morne

  To sech þe gome of þe grene, as God wyl me wysse.'

  Þenne þe best of þe burз boзed togeder, 550

  Aywan, and Errik, and oþer ful mony,

  Sir Doddinaual de Sauage, þe duk of Clarence,

  Launcelot, and Lyonel, and Lucan þe gode,

  Sir Boos, and Sir Byduer, big men boþe,

  And mony oþer menskful, with Mador de la Port. 555

  Alle þis compayny of court com þe kyng nerre

  For to counseyl þe knyзt, with care at her hert.

  Þere watz much derue doel driuen in þe sale

  Þat so worthé as Wawan schulde wende on þat ernde,

  To dryзe a delful dynt, and dele no more wyth bronde. 560

  Þe knyзt mad ay god chere,

  And sayde, ‘Quat schuld I wonde?

  Of destinés derf and dere

  What may mon do bot fonde?' 565

  He dowellez þer al þat day, and dressez on þe morn,

  Askez erly hys armez, and alle were þay broзt.

  Fyrst a tulé tapit tyзt ouer þe flet,

  And miche watz þe gyld gere þat glent þeralofte;

  Þe stif mon steppez þeron, and þe stel hondelez, 570

  Dubbed in a dublet of a dere tars,

  And syþen a crafty capados, closed aloft,

  Þat wyth a bryзt blaunner was bounden withinne.

  Þenne set þay þe sabatounz vpon þe segge fotez,

  His legez lapped in stel with luflych greuez, 575

  With polaynez piched þerto, policed ful clene,

  Aboute his knez knaged wyth knotez of golde;

  To mention the trouble of it, not a word about that.

  But I am bound to set out for that stroke tomorrow without fail,

  To search for the Green Knight, as God may guide me.”

  Then the best of the knights gathered around:

  Ywain and Eric and many others,

  Sir Doddinaval de Savage, the Duke of Clarence,

  Lancelot and Lionel, and the good Lucan,

  Sir Bors and Sir Bedivere, big men both of the
m,

  And many other noble knights, with Mador of the Gate.

  All this company of the court crowded close to the King

  To counsel the knight, out of the care in their hearts.

  There was a great sharp grief passing through the hall

  At so noble a one as Gawain going on that errand

  To suffer a terrible blow and handle the sword no more.

  Still, the knight spoke cheerfully,

  Saying, “What should trouble me?

  In the face of harsh destiny

  What can a man do but try?”

  He stays there all that day and makes ready the next morning,

  Calls early for his arms and they were all brought to him.

  First a red silk tapestry was spread on the floor

  With a great mound of gilded armor gleaming on top of it.

  The brave knight steps onto it and picks up the steel,

  Dons a doublet of rich Tarsian silk,

  Then a leather tunic cleverly cut to close at the top,

  And all the inside lined with pure white fur.

  Then they set the broad steel shoes on the knight's feet,

  Elegant greaves encased his legs with steel

  With knee pieces buckled to them, burnished brightly

  And fastened with gold knots around his knees.

  Queme quyssewes þen, þat coyntlych closed

  His thik þrawen þyзez, with þwonges to tachched;

  And syþen þe brawden bryné of bryзt stel ryngez 580

  Vmbeweued þat wyз vpon wlonk stuffe,

  And wel bornyst brace vpon his boþe armes,

  With gode cowters and gay, and glouez of plate,

  And alle þe godlych gere þat hym gayn schulde þat tyde; 585

  Wyth ryche cote-armure,

  His gold sporez spend with pryde,

  Gurde wyth a bront ful sure

  With silk sayn vmbe his syde.

  When he watz hasped in armes, his harnays watz ryche:

  Þe lest lachet oþer loupe lemed of golde. 591

  So harnayst as he watz he herknez his masse,

  Offred and honoured at þe heзe auter.

  Syþen he comez to þe kyng and to his cort-ferez,

  Lachez lufly his leue at lordez and ladyez; 595

  And þay hym kyst and conueyed, bikende hym to Kryst.

  Bi þat watz Gryngolet grayth, and gurde with a sadel

  Þat glemed ful gayly with mony golde frenges,

  Ayquere naylet ful nwe, for þat note ryched;

  Þe brydel barred aboute, with bryзt golde bounden; 600

  Þe apparayl of þe payttrure and of þe proude skyrtez,

  Þe cropore and þe couertor, acorded wyth þe arsounez;

  And al watz rayled on red ryche golde naylez,

  Þat al glytered and glent as glem of þe sunne.

  Þenne hentes he þe helme, and hastily hit kysses, 605

  Þat watz stapled stifly, and stoffed wythinne.

  Hit watz hyзe on his hede, hasped bihynde,

  Then graceful thigh pieces, completely covering

  His thick-muscled thighs, were tied on with thongs,

  And then the linked mail shirt of bright steel rings

  All embedded in a noble fabric,

  And well-burnished pieces on both of his arms,

  With good, graceful elbow plates and gauntlets of silver,

  And all the fine gear that was to help him, whatever might happen,

  With splendid coat armor,

  Gold spurs fastened proudly on him,

  A sword of which he was sure

  Slung on a silk belt around him.

  When he was dressed in his armor his garments were a glory.

  The least latchet of its fastenings glittered with gold.

  Then, armored as he was, he went to hear Mass

  Offered and celebrated at the high altar.

  After that he comes to the King and to his companions,

  Takes his leave formally of lords and ladies,

  And they kissed him and walked with him and commended him to Christ.

  By then Gryngolet was ready, girt with a saddle

  Glittering merrily with many gold fringes

  And new studs everywhere, set for that journey.

  The bridle with stripes around it bound with bright gold,

  And the ornaments of the breast trappings and of the proud caparison,

  The crupper and the coverlet, were the color of the saddle bow,

  And all were set on a red ground with bright gold nails

  That flashed and glinted like the gleam of the sun.

  Then he takes up the helmet and quickly kisses it.

  It was stoutly stapled and was padded inside.

  It stood high on his head, fastened behind him,

  Wyth a lyзtly vrysoun ouer þe auentayle,

  Enbrawden and bounden wyth þe best gemmez

  On brode sylkyn borde, and bryddez on semez, 610

  As papiayez paynted peruyng bitwene,

  Tortors and trulofez entayled so þyk

  As mony burde þeraboute had ben seuen wynter in toune.

  Þe cercle watz more o prys 615

  Þat vmbeclypped hys croun,

  Of diamauntez a deuys

  Þat boþe were bryзt and broun.

  Then þay schewed hym þe schelde, þat was of schyr goulez

  Wyth þe pentangel depaynt of pure golde hwez. 620

  He braydez hit by þe bauderyk, aboute þe hals kestes,

  Þat bisemed þe segge semlyly fayre.

  And quy þe pentangel apendez to þat prynce noble

  I am in tent yow to telle, þof tary hyt me schulde:

  Hit is a syngne þat Salamon set sumquyle 625

  In bytoknyng of trawþe, bi tytle þat hit habbez,

  For hit is a figure þat haldez fyue poyntez,

  And vche lyne vmbelappez and loukez in oþer,

  And ayquere hit is endelez; and Englych hit callen

  Oueral, as I here, þe endeles knot. 630

  Forþy hit acordez to þis knyзt and to his cler armez,

  For ay faythful in fyue and sere fyue syþez

  Gawan watz for gode knawen, and as golde pured,

  Voyded of vche vylany, wyth vertuez ennourned in mote; 635

  Forþy þe pentangel nwe

  He ber in schelde and cote,

  And above the visor there was a bright scarf

  Embroidered and adorned with the finest of gems

  On a broad silk border, and birds along the seams,

  Even parrots painted preening among them,

  Turtle doves and true-love knots sewn there so densely,

  Many women must have been working on it, there at court, for seven winters.

  The circlet was still more precious

  Around his crown:

  As many diamonds as you please,

  And brightly they shone.

  Then they showed him the shield that was bright red

  With the pentangle painted on it in pure gold.

  He took it by the baldric and slung it around his neck,

  And it appeared to be perfectly suited to him.

  And why the pentangle was appropriate to that noble prince

  I mean to tell you, though it delay me.

  It is a sign that Solomon once established

  As a symbol of truth, which is what it stands for,

  For it is a figure that has five points,

  And each line overlaps and locks into another,

  And everywhere it is endless, and the English, whenever

  They speak of it, call it the endless knot, as I do here.

  And so it suits this knight and his bright heraldry,

  For he was faithful in five things always, and in five ways.

  Gawain was known as a good knight and as gold purified,

  Clear of every crudeness, graced and protected by virtues.

  So on shield and coat armor

  He bore the n
ew pentangle

  As tulk of tale most trwe

  And gentylest knyзt of lote.

  Fyrst he watz funden fautlez in his fyue wyttez, 640

  And efte fayled neuer þe freke in his fyue fyngres,

  And alle his afyaunce vpon folde watz in þe fyue woundez

  #x00DE;at Cryst kaзt on þe croys, as þe crede tellez;

  And quere-so-euer þys mon in melly watz stad,

  His þro þoзt watz in þat, þurз alle oþer þyngez, 645

  Þat alle his forsnes he feng at þe fyue joyez

  Þat þe hende heuen-quene had of hir chylde;

  At þis cause þe knyзt comlyche hade

  In þe inore half of his schelde hir ymage depaynted,

  Þat quen he blusched þerto his belde neuer payred. 650

  Þe fyft fyue þat I finde þat þe frek vsed

  Watz fraunchyse and felaзschyp forbe al þyng,

  His clannes and his cortaysye croked were neuer,

  And pité, þat passez alle poyntez, þyse pure fyue

  Were harder happed on þat haþel þen on any oþer. 655

  Now alle þese fyue syþez, for soþe, were fetled on þis knyзt,

  And vchone halched in oþer, þat non ende hade,

  And fyched vpon fyue poyntez, þat fayld neuer,

  Ne samned neuer in no syde, ne sundred nouþer,

  Withouten ende at any noke I oquere fynde, 660

  Whereeuer þe gomen bygan, or glod to an ende.

  Þerfore on his schene schelde schapen watz þe knot

  Ryally wyth red golde vpon rede gowlez, Þat is þe pure pentaungel wyth þe peple called with lore. 665

  Now grayþed is Gawan gay,

  And laзt his launce ryзt þore,

  That meant no one's speech could be truer,

  No one's word more noble.

  First he was found faultless in all his five senses,

  And second, the knight's five fingers never failed him,

  And all his faith upon earth was in the five wounds

  Christ received on the cross, as the creed tells us,

  And wherever this man found himself in the fighting,

  His whole thought held to those through everything else,

  And then all his courage came from the five joys

  That the high Queen of Heaven had from her Child.

  For this reason the knight had her portrait

  Painted on the inside of his shield,

  So that when his glance fell on it his heart never faltered.

  The fifth five that the knight practiced, I find,

  Were generosity, and fellowship especially,

  Purity of heart and courtesy were never wanting in him,

 

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