by W. S. Merwin
Such worchip he wolde hym weue.
Þen at þo ladyez wlonk
Þe knyзt hatz tan his leue.
With care and wyth kyssyng he carppez hem tille,
And fele þryuande þonkkez he þrat hom to haue, 1980
And þay зelden hym aзayn зeply þat ilk;
Þay bikende hym to Kryst with ful colde sykyngez.
Syþen fro þe meyny he menskly departes;
Vche mon þat he mette, he made hem a þonke
For his seruyse and his solace and his sere pyne, 1985
Þat þay wyth busynes had been aboute hym to serue;
And vche segge as soré to seuer with hym þere
As þay hade wonde worþyly with þat wlonk euer.
Þen with ledes and lyзt he watz ladde to his chambre
And blyþely broзt to his bedde to be at his rest. 1990
Зif he ne slepe soundyly say ne dar I,
For he hade muche on þe morn to mynne, зif he wolde, in þoзt.
Let hym lyзe þere stille,
He hatz nere þat he soзt; 1995
And зe wyl a whyle be stylle
I schal telle yow how þay wroзt.
For all the kindness he had been shown
The lord Gawain thanks and honors him.
He turns to the ladies then
And takes his leave of them.
They went on talking sadly, and kissing,
And he expressed his thanks to each one of them,
And they replied to him in the same vein.
Sighing with grief, they commended him to Christ.
Then gracefully he takes his leave of that company,
Thanking each of them once more as he came to him
For his service and kindness and each trouble he had taken,
For they had all gone to great lengths to care for him,
And each was as stricken there at parting with him
As though they had lived with that lord loyally all their lives.
Then he was led to his bedchamber by boys holding lights,
And brought happily to his bed to be at rest.
I cannot say whether he slept soundly,
For there was much about the morning that he might have had on his mind.
Let him lie there still
So close to what he came for.
If you listen for a while
I will tell you what they did later.
IV
Now neзez þe Nw Зere, and þe nyзt passez,
Þe day dryuez to þe derk, as Dryзtyn biddez;
Bot wylde wederez of þe worlde wakned þeroute, 2000
Clowdes kesten kenly þe colde to þe erþe,
Wyth nyзe innoghe of þe norþe, þe naked to tene; Þe snawe snitered ful snart, þat snayped þe wylde; Þe werbelande wynde wapped fro þe hyзe, And drof vche dale ful of dryftes ful grete. 2005
Þe leude lystened ful wel þat leз in his bedde,
Þaз he lowkez his liddez, ful lyttel he slepes;
Bi vch kok þat crue he knwe wel þe steuen.
Deliuerly he dressed vp, er þe day sprenged, For þere watz lyзt of a laumpe þat lemed in his chambre; 2010
He called to his chamberlayn, þat cofly hym swared,
And bede hym bryng hym his bruny and his blonk sadel; Þat oþer ferkez hym vp and fechez hym his wedez, And grayþez me Sir Gawayn vpon a grett wyse.
Fyrst he clad hym in his cloþez þe colde for to were, 2015
And syþen his oþer harnays, þat holdely watz keped, Boþe his paunce and his platez, piked ful clene,
Þe ryngez rokked of þe roust of his riche bruny;
And al watz fresch as vpon fyrst, and he watz fayn þenne to þonk; 2020
He hade vpon vche pece,
Wypped ful wel and wlonk;
Now the New Year comes near and the night passes.
At heaven's command the day presses hard on the darkness.
The wild weather of the world wakens outside,
Clouds casting fierce cold across the earth
With bitter blasts from the north to lash the naked.
The snow shivered down, freezing, stinging the wild creatures,
The shrieking wind came bursting out of the sky
And piled up high drifts in all the hollows.
The knight listens to it all, lying in his bed.
Though his eyelids are shut he barely sleeps.
Each time the cock crows he recalls what awaits him.
He got up quickly before the day began,
By the light of a lamp left burning in his bedchamber.
He called to his bedservant, who appeared before him,
And told him to bring his coat of mail and saddle his horse.
The man is brisk and brings him his clothes and his armor And gets Gawain ready in full splendor.
First he put his clothes on him to ward off the cold
And then the rest of his armor that had been well taken care of.
His body armor and each plate were brightly burnished,
The rust rubbed off the rings of his rich coat of mail,
And all was as clean as when it was new, and for this he was grateful.
He puts on each piece,
Well polished and lustrous.
Þe gayest into Grece,
Þe burne bede bryng his blonk.
Whyle þe wlonkest wedes he warp on hymseluen— 2025
His cote wyth þe conysaunce of þe clere werkez
Ennurned vpon veluet, vertuus stonez
Aboute beten and bounden, enbrauded semez,
And fayre furred withinne wyth fayre pelures—
Зet laft he not þe lace, þe ladiez gifte, 2030
Þat forgat not Gawayn for gode of hymseluen.
Bi he hade belted þe bronde vpon his balзe haunchez,
Þenn dressed he his drurye double hym aboute,
Swyþe sweþled vmbe his swange swetely þat knyзt
Þe gordel of þe grene silke, þat gay wel bisemed, 2035
Vpon þat ryol red cloþe þat ryche watz to schewe.
Bot wered not þis ilk wyзe for wele þis gordel,
For pryde of þe pendauntez, þaз polyst þay were,
And þaз þe glyterande golde glent vpon endez,
Bot for to sauen hymself, when suffer hym byhoued, 2040
To byde bale withoute dabate of bronde hym to were oþer knyffe.
Bi þat þe bolde mon boun
Wynnez þeroute bilyue,
Alle þe meyny of renoun 2045
He þonkkez ofte ful ryue.
Thenne watz Gryngolet grayþe, þat gret watz and huge,
And hade ben soiourned sauerly and in a siker wyse,
Hym lyst prik for poynt, þat proude hors þenne.
Þe wyзe wynnez hym to and wytez on his lyre, 2050
And sayde soberly hymself and by his soth swerez:
‘Here is a meyny in þis mote þat on menske þenkkez,
None finer from there to Greece.
He sends for his horse.
While he fastened on the finest pieces himself—
His tunic with its blazon in bright embroidery
Embellished upon velvet, with precious stones
Stitched and bound into it, and embroidered seams,
All artfully lined with the finest of furs—
He did not leave the belt behind, the lady's gift:
Gawain did not forget that, for his own good.
When he had buckled his sword over his hipbones
He drew the love token around him twice.
Quickly and with pleasure that knight bound his waist
In the girdle of green silk that became him well,
Standing out brightly against the rich red cloth.
But it was not for its worth that the knight wore that belt,
Nor the splendor of its pendants for all their flashing,
Though the glittering gold glinted at the ends of them,
But to save himself when his time
came to suffer
And wait for death with no sword to defend him or other blade.
After that, in full dress, the brave man
Strides out briskly
And thanks all those nobles again
Abundantly.
Then Gryngolet was made ready, and a huge horse he was,
And he had been stabled and cared for in comfort,
And was in high fettle then, that proud steed.
The knight goes up to him and looks him over
And says to himself soberly, swearing on his honor,
“There are men within this moat whose minds are noble.
Þe mon hem maynteines, ioy mot þay haue;
Þe leue lady on lyue luf hir bityde;
Зif þay for charyté cherysen a gest, 2055
And halden honour in her honde, þe haþel hem зelde
Þat haldez þe heuen vpon hyзe, and also yow alle!
And зif I myзt lyf vpon londe lede any quyle,
I schuld rech yow sum rewarde redyly, if I myзt.’
Þenn steppez he into stirop and strydez alofte; 2060
His schalk schewed hym his schelde, on schulder he hit laзt,
Gordez to Gryngolet with his gilt helez,
And he startez on þe ston, stod he no lenger to praunce.
His haþel on hors watz þenne, 2065
Þat bere his spere and launce.
‘Þis kastel to Kryst I kenne':
He gef hit ay god chaunce.
The brygge watz brayde doun, and þe brode зatez
Vnbarred and born open vpon boþe halue. 2070
Þe burne blessed hym bilyue, and þe bredez passed—
Prayses þe porter bifore þe prynce kneled,
Gef hym God and goud day, þat Gawayn he saue—
And went on his way with his wyзe one,
Þat schulde teche hym to tourne to þat tene place 2075
Þer þe ruful race he schulde resayue. Þay boзen bi bonkkez þer boзez ar bare,
Þay clomben bi clyffez þer clengez þe colde.
Þe heuen watz vphalt, bot vgly þer-vnder;
Mist muged on þe mor, malt on þe mountez, 2080
Vch hille hade a hatte, a myst-hakel huge.
Brokez byled and breke bi bonkkez aboute,
Schyre schaterande on schorez, þer þay doun schowued.
May joy come to the man who maintains them.
And may love be with the most delightful lady on earth.
If they entertained a guest this way out of charity,
With their hands full of honors, may the Lord repay them
Who holds the heavens high, and also each one of you!
And if I were to live in this land any longer
I would find some way to reward you, if I could.”
Then he puts his foot in the stirrup and mounts his horse.
His man gave him his shield and he slung it on his shoulder,
Gives Gryngolet a touch with his gilded heels,
And he sprang from the paving stones, not even staying to prance.
The knight on his steed,
Bearing his lance and spear,
Said, “I wish this castle good fortune
And leave it in Christ's care.”
The drawbridge was lowered and the broad gates
Were unbarred and they swung open on both sides.
The knight crossed himself quickly and passed over the planks,
Praised the porter who knelt before the prince,
Praying, “God give him a good day and save Gawain,”
And he went on his way with his one man
Who was to show him the turnings to that woeful place
Where he was to receive the deadly stroke.
They wind along hillsides where the trees are bare,
They climb among cliffs where the ice clings.
Under the high heaven the clouds were threatening.
Mist drizzled on moors, sliding over the mountains.
Each hill had a hat, a huge cloak of cloud.
Brooks boiled and broke their banks about them
Foaming white at the sides and running down in rapids.
Wela wylle watz þe way þer þay bi wod schulden,
Til hit watz sone sesoun þat þe sunne ryses 2085
þat tyde. Þay were on a hille ful hyзe,
Þe quyte snaw lay bisyde;
Þe burne þat rod hym by
Bede his mayster abide. 2090
‘For I haf wonnen yow hider, wyзe, at þis tyme,
And now nar зe not fer froþat note place
Þat зe han spied and spuryed so specially after;
Bot I schal say yow for soþe, syþen I yow knowe,
And зe ar a lede vpon lyue þat I wel louy, 2095
Wolde зe worch bi my wytte, зe worþed þe better.
Þe place þat зe prece to ful perelous is halden;
Þer wonez a wyзe in þat waste, þe worst vpon erþe,
For he is stiffe and sturne, and to strike louies,
And more he is þen any mon vpon myddelerde, 2100
And his body bigger þen þe best fowre
Þat ar in Arþurez hous, Hestor, oþer oþer.
He cheuez þat chaunce at þe chapel grene,
Þer passes non bi þat place so proude in his armes
Þat he ne dyngez hym to deþe with dynt of his honde; 2105
For he is a mon methles, and mercy non vses,
For be hit chorle oþer chaplayn þat bi þe chapel rydes,
Monk oþer masseprest, oþer any mon elles,
Hym þynk as queme hym to quelle as quyk go hymseluen.
Forþy I say þe, as soþe as зe in sadel sitte, 2110
Com зe þere, зe be kylled, may þe knyзt rede,
Trawe зe me þat trwely, þaз зe had twenty lyues to spende.
The way through the forest was hard to follow
Until the moment had come for the sun to rise, that time.
They were on a hill, and around them
The white snow everywhere.
The man who rode beside him
Told his master to stop there.
“For I have brought you here, sir, at this time,
And now you are not far from the place we spoke of
That you have looked for and asked about with such concern.
But I will tell you the truth, since I know you
And there is no man alive whom I love more.
If you take my advice it will be better for you.
The place you are hurrying toward is known for its peril.
In that wilderness lives the worst creature in the world,
And he is strong and gruesome and eager for a fight,
And he is more huge than any man on Middle Earth And his body is bigger than the best four
In Arthur's house, or Hector, or anyone anywhere.
He waits at the Green Chapel for what comes his way.
No one passes by that place, however proud in his arms,
Whom he does not strike dead with a blow of his hand.
For he is a wild monster with no use for mercy,
And whether it be churl or chaplain who rides past the chapel,
Monk or priest between masses, or any other man,
He would as soon kill him as go on living.
So I say to you as surely as you sit in your saddle,
Go there and you will be killed, you can be sure of that,
Take my word for it, even if you had twenty lives to spend.
He hatz wonyd here ful зore,
On bent much baret bende, 2115
Aзayn his dyntez sore
Зe may not yow defende.
‘Forþy, goude Sir Gawayn, let þe gome one,
And gotz away sum oþer gate, vpon Goddez halue!
Cayrez bi sum oþer kyth, þer Kryst mot yow spede, 2120
And I schal hyз me hom aзayn, and hete yow fyrre
Þat I schal swere bi God and alle his gode halзez,
Þat I schal lelly yow layne, and lance neuer tale
Þat euer зe fondet to fle for freke þat I wyst.' 2125
‘Grant merci', quoþ Gawayn, and gruchyng he sayde:
‘Wel worth þe, wyзe, þat woldez my gode,
And þat lelly me layne I leue wel þou woldez.
Bot helde þou hit neuer so holde, and I here passed,
Founded for ferde for to fle, in fourme þat þou tellez, 2130
I were a knyзt kowarde, I myзt not be excused.
Bot I wyl to þe chapel, for chaunce þat may falle,
And talk wyth þat ilk tulk þe tale þat me lyste,
Worþe hit wele oþer wo, as þe wyrde lykez hit hafe. 2135
Þaзe he be a sturn knape
To stiзtel, and stad with staue,
Ful wel con Dryзtyn schape
His seruauntez for to saue.’
‘Mary!' quoþ þat oþer mon, ‘now þou so much spellez, 2140
Þat þou wylt þyn awen nye nyme to þyseluen,
And þe lyst lese þy lyf, þe lette I ne kepe.
Haf here þi helme on þy hede, þi spere in þi honde,
A long time he has lived there
And with many has fought.
Do not hope to counter
A death blow like that.
So, good Gawain, let the creature alone,
And go away, in the name of God, by another road.
Ride through some other land, and may Christ take care of you,
And I shall take myself home again, and promise you besides
That I shall swear by God and all his good saints
As God may help me, and the holy relic, and any other oath,
That I shall keep your secret and never tell anyone
That you ever fled for fear of anyone that I know of.”
“My thanks to you,” Gawain said, and went on impatiently.
“Good fortune to you, man, for your concern about me,
And I believe you would keep my secret,
But though you never spoke of it, if I turned back now,
Running away out of fear, just as you say,
I would be a cowardly knight and nothing could excuse me.
But I will go to the chapel, whatever may happen there
And say what I have to say to that same man,
Whether it turns out well or ill, at the will of fate.
Grim fellow though he may be
To deal with, and his club, waiting,
God knows how to find a way
To save those who do his bidding.”