Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

by W. S. Merwin

  “Mary,” said the other man, “now that you spell it all out

  And have made up your mind to bring harm upon yourself

  And mean to lose your life, I will not stand in your way.

  Here is the helmet for your head, your spear in your hand.

  And ryde me doun þis ilk rake bi зon rokke syde,

  Til þou be broзt to þe boþem of þe brem valay; 2145

  Þenne loke a littel on þe launde, on þi lyfte honde,

  And þou schal se in þat slade þe self chapel,

  And þe borelych burne on bent þat hit kepez.

  Now farez wel, on Godez half, Gawayn þe noble!

  For alle þe golde vpon grounde I nolde go wyth þe, 2150

  Ne bere þe felaзschip þurз þis fryth on fote fyrre.’

  Bi þat þe wyзe in þe wod wendez his brydel,

  Hit þe hors with þe helez as harde as he myзt,

  Lepez hym ouer þe launde, and leuez þe knyзt þere al one. 2155

  ‘Bi Goddez self,’ quoþ Gawayn,

  ‘I wyl nauþer grete ne grone;

  To Goddez wylle I am ful bayn,

  And to hym I haf me tone.’

  Thenne gyrdez he to Gryngolet, and gederez þe rake,

  Schowuez in bi a schore at a schaзe syde, 2161

  Ridez þurз þe roзe bonk ryзt to þe dale;

  And þenne he wayted hym aboute, and wylde hit hym þoзt,

  And seзe no syngne of resette bisydez nowhere,

  Bot hyзe bonkkez and brent vpon boþe halue, 2165

  And ruзe knokled knarrez with knorned stonez; Þe skwez of

  þe scowtes skayned hym þoзt.

  Þenne he houed, and wythhylde his hors at þat tyde,

  And ofte chaunged his cher þe chapel to seche:

  He seз non suche in no syde, and selly hym þoзt, 2170

  Saue, a lyttel on a launde, a lawe as hit were;

  A balз berз bi a bonke þe brymme bysyde,

  Bi a forз of a flode þat ferked þare;

  Þe borne blubred þerinne as hit boyled hade.

  Now ride down this same path around the side of the rock there

  Until you come out at the bottom of the wild valley.

  Then look a little way off across the meadow on your left

  And you will see the Green Chapel in the hollow there,

  And the giant who guards it, out in the field.

  Now farewell, in God's name, noble Gawain!

  For all the gold in the world I would not go with you,

  Nor keep you company through this forest one foot farther.”

  At that the knight in the woods picked up his bridle,

  Hit his horse with his heels as hard as he could,

  And he leapt across the ground, leaving the other knight there alone.

  “By God's self,” Gawain said,

  “I will neither wail nor groan.

  I bow to the will of God,

  To whom I have gone.”

  Then he puts spur to Gryngolet and picks up the path,

  Follows along a cliffside at the edge of a small wood,

  Rides over the rough hill all the way to the hollow,

  And then he looked around him and saw it was a wild place

  With no sign of a shelter to be seen anywhere,

  But steep banks high above him on both sides,

  And rough jagged crags with splintered stones.

  He thought the high rocks must be grazing the clouds.

  Then he halted, and reined in his horse at that time,

  And looked around him everywhere for the chapel.

  He saw no such thing and it seemed strange to him.

  Then off in an open glade he saw what might be a mound,

  A rise like a little hill, on a slope by the water's edge

  Where the stream overflowed in a waterfall.

  The brook bubbled at the base as though it were boiling.

  Þe knyзt kachez his caple, and com to þe lawe, 2175

  Liзtez doun luflyly, and at a lynde tachez

  Þe rayne and his riche with a roзe braunche.

  Þenne he boзez to þe berзe, aboute hit he walkez,

  Debatande with hymself quat hit be myзt.

  Hit hade a hole on þe ende and on ayþer syde, 2180

  And ouergrowen with gresse in glodes anywhere,

  And al watz holз inwith, nobot an olde caue,

  Or a creuisse of an olde cragge, he couþe hit noзt deme with spelle.

  ‘We! Lorde,’ quoþ þe gentyle knyзt, 2185

  ‘Wheþer þis be þe grene chapelle?

  Here myзt aboute mydnyзt

  Þe dele his matynnes telle!

  ‘Now iwysse,’ quoþ Wowayn, ‘wysty is here;

  Þis oritore is vgly, with erbez ouergrowen; 2190

  Wel bisemez þe wyзe wruxled in grene

  Dele here his deuocioun on þe deuelez wyse.

  Now I fele hit is þe fende, in my fyue wyttez,

  Þat hatz stoken me þis steuen to strye me here.

  Þis is a chapel of meschaunce, þat chekke hit bytyde! 2195

  Hit is þe corsedest kyrk þat euer I com inne!'

  With heзe helme on his hede, his launce in his honde,

  He romez vp to þe roffe of þe roз wonez.

  Þene herde he of þat hyзe hil, in a harde roche

  Biзonde þe broke, in a bonk, a wonder breme noyse, 2200

  Quat! hit clatered in þe clyff, as hit cleue schulde,

  As one vpon a gryndelston hade grounden a syþe.

  What! hit wharred and whette, as water at a mulne;

  What! hit rusched and ronge, rawþe to here.

  The knight urges his horse on and comes to the mound,

  Alights gracefully and hitches the reins

  o a linden, tying his horse to a thick branch.

  Then he turns to the mound and walks around it,

  Wondering to himself what it might be.

  It had a hole at the end and on either side,

  And thick matted grass had grown all over it.

  And inside it was all hollow, only an old cave

  Or a crevice of an old crag, he could not be sure.

  “Oh Lord,” said the noble knight,

  “Is this the Green Chapel, then?

  Here I might find, around midnight,

  The devil saying his matins.”

  “Indeed,” Gawain said, “this is a desolate spot.

  This oratory is ugly with the weeds all over it.

  It seems the right place for that knight in green

  To perform his devotions in the devil's fashion.

  Now in my five wits I feel it is the fiend

  Who has trapped me with this tryst to destroy me here.

  This is a chapel of ill omen, may an ill fate befall it!

  It is the most cursèd church that ever I came into!”

  With his helmet on his head, his lance in his hand,

  He makes his way up to the wall of that rough lodging.

  Then he heard from that high hill, from around a crag

  Beyond the brook, on the cliffside, a loud, strange sound.

  What! It echoed in the cliff as though it would break it apart,

  Like the sound of someone grinding a scythe on a grindstone.

  What! It whirred and ground like water turning a mill.

  What! It rushed and rang and was painful to hear.

  Þenne ‘Bi Godde,’ quoþ Gawayn, ‘þat gere, as I trowe, 2205

  Is ryched at þe reuerence me, renk, to mete bi rote.

  Let God worche! “We loo”—

  Hit helppez me not a mote.

  My lif þaз I forgoo, 2210

  Drede dotz me no lote.’

  Thenne þe knyзt con calle ful hyзe:

  ‘Who stiзtlez in þis sted me steuen to holde?

  For now is gode Gawayn goande ryзt here.

  If any wyзe oзt wyl, wynne hider fast, 2215

  Oþer now oþer neuer, his ned
ez to spede.’

  ‘Abyde', quoþ on on þe bonke abouen ouer his hede,

  ‘And þou schal haf al in hast þat I þe hyзt ones.’

  Зet he rusched on þat rurde rapely a þrowe,

  And wyth quettyng awharf, er he wolde lyзt; 2220

  And syþen he keuerez bi a cragge, and comez of a hole,

  Whyrlande out of a wro wyth a felle weppen,

  A denez ax nwe dyзt, þe dynt with to зelde,

  With a borelych bytte bende by þe halme,

  Fyled in a fylor, fowre fote large— 2225

  Hit watz no lasse bi þat lace þat lemed ful bryзt—

  And þe gome in þe grene gered as fyrst,

  Boþe þe lyre and þe leggez, lokkez and berde,

  Saue þat fayre on his fote he foundez on þe erþe,

  Sette þe stele to þe stone, and stalked bysyde. 2230

  When he wan to þe watter, þer he wade nolde,

  He hypped ouer on hys ax, and orpedly strydez,

  Bremly broþe on a bent þat brode watz aboute, on snawe.

  Then “By God,” Gawain said, “that din, I suppose,

  Was arranged in my honor as a kind of greeting.

  Well, God's will be done.

  Nothing will help me.

  I must give up my life, then.

  But noise will not frighten me.”

  Then the knight calls at the top of his voice,

  “Who is the lord of this place whom I am to meet here?

  For now good Gawain is walking right here.

  If anyone wants something of him, let him come here at once

  Or never after, to get on with what he wants.”

  “Wait there,” someone said on the hill above his head,

  “And you shall soon have what I once promised you.”

  Yet he went on with that rushing noise for a while

  And the sound of sharpening, before he would come down.

  Then from behind a crag he comes, out of a cave,

  Whirling from his hiding place with a gruesome weapon,

  A Danish ax, new-made, for dealing the blow,

  With a massive blade curving back toward the shaft,

  Filed with a whetstone, four feet long, no less,

  To judge by the length of its shining thong.

  And the knight was dressed as before, all in green,

  Green his face and legs, his long hair and his beard,

  But now he strides forward, setting his feet down hard.

  He held the handle toward the ground and stalked beside it.

  When he came to the water he would not wade across.

  He vaulted over on his ax and strode on without a break,

  His manner menacing, to a broad open space covered with snow.

  Sir Gawayn þe kynзt con mete,

  He ne lutte hym noþyng lowe; 2236

  Þat oþer sayde, ‘Now, sir swete,

  Of steuen mon may þe trowe.’

  ‘Gawayn,’ quoþ þat grene gome, ‘God þe mot loke!

  Iwysse þou art welcom, wyзe, to my place, 2240

  And þou hatz tymed þi trauayl as truee mon schulde,

  And þou knowez þe couenauntez kest vus bytwene:

  At þis tyme twelmonyth þou toke þat þe falled,

  And I schulde at þis Nwe Зere зeply þe quyte.

  And we ar in þis valay verayly oure one; 2245

  Here ar no renkes vs to rydde, rele as vus likez.

  Haf þy helme of þy hede, and haf here þy pay.

  Busk no more debate þen I þe bede þenne

  When þou wypped of my hede at a wap one.’

  ‘Nay, bi God,’ quoþ Gawayn, ‘þat me gost lante, 2250

  I schal gruch þe no grwe for grem þat fallez.

  Bot styзtel þe vpon on strok, and I schal stonde stylle

  And warp þe no wernyng to worch as þe lykez, nowhare.’

  He lened with þe nek, and lutte, 2255

  And schewed þat schyre al bare,

  And lette as he noзt dutte;

  For drede he wolde not dare.

  Then þe gome in þe grene grayþed hym swyþe,

  Gederez vp hys grymme tole Gawayn to smyte; 2260

  With alle þe bur in his body he ber hit on lofte,

  Munt as maзtyly as marre hym he wolde;

  Hade hit dryuen adoun as dreз as he atled,

  Þer hade ben ded of his dynt þat doзty watz euer.

  Sir Gawain went to meet him

  And bowed, but not low.

  “Now, sweet sir,” the other said to him,

  “You have come as you promised to.”

  “Gawain,” that Green Knight said, “God save you!

  You are welcome indeed, man, to my place,

  And you have timed your journey as a true man should,

  And you know the agreement that we both made:

  At this time twelve months ago you took what fell to you

  And I was to repay you promptly at this New Year.

  And we are all by ourselves in this valley.

  There are no knights to part us here. We may fight as we please.

  Take your helmet off your head and receive your payment

  With no more resistance than I made to you

  When you struck my head off with a single blow.”

  “No, by God,” Gawain said, “who gave me my soul,

  I shall grudge you not a grain of the harm to come.

  But have your one stroke and I will stay still

  And offer you no resistance of any kind, work as you will.”

  He bent his neck and bowed,

  Baring it, white and naked.

  No sign of fear he showed,

  No cowering with dread.

  Then at once the knight in green got ready,

  Grasping his grim tool to strike Gawain.

  With all the brawn in his body he swung it up high,

  Aimed a mighty stroke that would surely be the end of him.

  If it had slashed down as hard as he started it,

  Gawain would have died of the blow, however bravely.

  Bot Gawayn on þat giserne glyfte hym bysyde, 2265

  As hit com glydande adoun on glode hym to schende,

  And schranke a lytel with þe schulderes for þe scharp yrne. Þat oþer schalk wyth a schunt þe schene wythhaldez,

  And þenne repreued he þe prynce with mony prowde wordez:

  Þou art not Gawayn,’ quoþ þe gome, ‘þat is so goud halden, 2270

  Þat neuer arзed for no here by hylle ne be vale,

  And now þou fles for ferde er þou fele harmez!

  Such cowardise of þat knyзt cowþe I neuer here.

  Nawþer fyked I ne flaзe, freke, quen þou myntest,

  Ne kest no kauelacion in kyngez hous Arthor. 2275

  My hede flaз to my fote, and зet flaз I neuer;

  And þou, er any harme hent, arзez in hert;

  Wherfore þe better burne me burde be called þerfore.’

  Quoþ Gawayn, ‘I schunt onez, 2280

  And so wyl I no more;

  Bot þaз my hede falle on þe stonez,

  I con not hit restore.

  ‘Bot busk, burne, bi þi fayth, and bryng me to þe poynt.

  Dele to me my destiné, and do hit out of honde, 2285

  For I schal stonde þe a strok, and start no more

  Til þyn ax haue me hitte: haf here my trawþe.’

  ‘Haf at þe þenne!' quoþ þat oþer, and heuez hit alofte,

  And waytez as wroþely as he wode were.

  He myntez at hym maзtyly, bot not þe mon rynez, 2290

  Withhelde heterly his honde, er hit hurt myзt.

  Gawayn grayþely hit bydez, and glent with no membre,

  Bot stode stylle as þe ston, oþer a stubbe auþer

  Þat raþeled is in roché grounde with rotez a hundreth.

  Þen muryly efte con he mele, þe mon in þe grene: 2295

  But with the side of his eye Gawain saw the ax coming,
>
  Hurtling on its way toward the ground to destroy him,

  And his shoulders shrank a little from the sharp edge.

  The other swerved in his stroke and held back the blade.

  And then he rebuked the prince with a round of proud words.

  “You are not Gawain,” the knight said, “whom they praise so highly,

  Whom no army ever alarmed on hill or in hollow.

  Now you flinch with fear before you feel any hurt.

  No one ever told me that knight was such a coward.

  I neither flinched nor shrank, man, from your stroke,

  Nor offered any objections in King Arthur's house.

  My head flew to my feet and yet I never flinched,

  And you turn faint-hearted before hurt comes to you,

  And so it seems clear that I must be called the better knight.”

  Gawain said, “I flinched once And I will not again.

  But if my head falls on the stones

  I cannot put it back on.

  But have at it, knight, by your faith, and bring me to the point.

  Deal me my destiny, and do it out of hand,

  For I shall stand for your stroke and not flinch again

  Until your ax strikes me, here is my word upon it.”

  “Have at you, then,” the other said, and heaves it up high,

  His face as fierce as that of a madman.

  He aims a heavy blow at him but never touches him,

  Withheld his hand suddenly before harm was done.

  Gawain stood waiting for the blow, no part of him moving,

  Still as a stone or as the stump of a tree

  Which a hundred roots have anchored in rocky ground.

  Then merrily the man in green says to him,

  ‘So, now þou hatz þi hert holle, hitte me bihous.

  Halde þe now þe hyзe hode þat Arþur þe raзt,

  And kepe þy kanel at þis kest, зif hit keuer may.’

  Gawayn ful gryndelly with greme þenne sayde:

  ‘Wy! þresch on, þou þro mon, þou þretez to longe; 2300

  I hope þat þi hert arзe wyth þyn awen seluen.’

  ‘For soþe,’ quoþ þat oþer freke,

  ‘so felly þou spekez,

  I wyl no lenger on lyte lette þin ernde riзt nowe.’

  Þenne tas he hym stryþe to stryke, 2305

  And frounsez boþe lyppe and browe;

  No meruayle þaз hym myslyke

  Þat hoped of no rescowe.

  He lyftes lyзtly his lome, and let hit doun fayre

  With þe barbe of þe bitte bi þe bare nek;

  Þaз he homered heterly, hurt hym no more 2311