Alfred, Lord Tennyson - Delphi Poets Series

by Lord Tennyson Alfred

  The hoof of his horse slipt in the stream, the stream

  Descended, and the Sun was washed away.

  Then Gareth laid his lance athwart the ford;

  So drew him home; but he that fought no more,

  As being all bone-battered on the rock,

  Yielded; and Gareth sent him to the King,

  ‘Myself when I return will plead for thee.’

  ‘Lead, and I follow.’ Quietly she led.

  ‘Hath not the good wind, damsel, changed again?’

  ‘Nay, not a point: nor art thou victor here.

  There lies a ridge of slate across the ford;

  His horse thereon stumbled — ay, for I saw it.

  ‘“O Sun” (not this strong fool whom thou, Sir Knave,

  Hast overthrown through mere unhappiness),

  “O Sun, that wakenest all to bliss or pain,

  O moon, that layest all to sleep again,

  Shine sweetly: twice my love hath smiled on me.”

  What knowest thou of lovesong or of love?

  Nay, nay, God wot, so thou wert nobly born,

  Thou hast a pleasant presence. Yea, perchance, —

  ‘“O dewy flowers that open to the sun,

  O dewy flowers that close when day is done,

  Blow sweetly: twice my love hath smiled on me.”

  ‘What knowest thou of flowers, except, belike,

  To garnish meats with? hath not our good King

  Who lent me thee, the flower of kitchendom,

  A foolish love for flowers? what stick ye round

  The pasty? wherewithal deck the boar’s head?

  Flowers? nay, the boar hath rosemaries and bay.

  ‘“O birds, that warble to the morning sky,

  O birds that warble as the day goes by,

  Sing sweetly: twice my love hath smiled on me.”

  ‘What knowest thou of birds, lark, mavis, merle,

  Linnet? what dream ye when they utter forth

  May-music growing with the growing light,

  Their sweet sun-worship? these be for the snare

  (So runs thy fancy) these be for the spit,

  Larding and basting. See thou have not now

  Larded thy last, except thou turn and fly.

  There stands the third fool of their allegory.’

  For there beyond a bridge of treble bow,

  All in a rose-red from the west, and all

  Naked it seemed, and glowing in the broad

  Deep-dimpled current underneath, the knight,

  That named himself the Star of Evening, stood.

  And Gareth, ‘Wherefore waits the madman there

  Naked in open dayshine?’ ‘Nay,’ she cried,

  ‘Not naked, only wrapt in hardened skins

  That fit him like his own; and so ye cleave

  His armour off him, these will turn the blade.’

  Then the third brother shouted o’er the bridge,

  ‘O brother-star, why shine ye here so low?

  Thy ward is higher up: but have ye slain

  The damsel’s champion?’ and the damsel cried,

  ‘No star of thine, but shot from Arthur’s heaven

  With all disaster unto thine and thee!

  For both thy younger brethren have gone down

  Before this youth; and so wilt thou, Sir Star;

  Art thou not old?’

  ‘Old, damsel, old and hard,

  Old, with the might and breath of twenty boys.’

  Said Gareth, ‘Old, and over-bold in brag!

  But that same strength which threw the Morning Star

  Can throw the Evening.’

  Then that other blew

  A hard and deadly note upon the horn.

  ‘Approach and arm me!’ With slow steps from out

  An old storm-beaten, russet, many-stained

  Pavilion, forth a grizzled damsel came,

  And armed him in old arms, and brought a helm

  With but a drying evergreen for crest,

  And gave a shield whereon the Star of Even

  Half-tarnished and half-bright, his emblem, shone.

  But when it glittered o’er the saddle-bow,

  They madly hurled together on the bridge;

  And Gareth overthrew him, lighted, drew,

  There met him drawn, and overthrew him again,

  But up like fire he started: and as oft

  As Gareth brought him grovelling on his knees,

  So many a time he vaulted up again;

  Till Gareth panted hard, and his great heart,

  Foredooming all his trouble was in vain,

  Laboured within him, for he seemed as one

  That all in later, sadder age begins

  To war against ill uses of a life,

  But these from all his life arise, and cry,

  ‘Thou hast made us lords, and canst not put us down!’

  He half despairs; so Gareth seemed to strike

  Vainly, the damsel clamouring all the while,

  ‘Well done, knave-knight, well-stricken, O good knight-knave —

  O knave, as noble as any of all the knights —

  Shame me not, shame me not. I have prophesied —

  Strike, thou art worthy of the Table Round —

  His arms are old, he trusts the hardened skin —

  Strike — strike — the wind will never change again.’

  And Gareth hearing ever stronglier smote,

  And hewed great pieces of his armour off him,

  But lashed in vain against the hardened skin,

  And could not wholly bring him under, more

  Than loud Southwesterns, rolling ridge on ridge,

  The buoy that rides at sea, and dips and springs

  For ever; till at length Sir Gareth’s brand

  Clashed his, and brake it utterly to the hilt.

  ‘I have thee now;’ but forth that other sprang,

  And, all unknightlike, writhed his wiry arms

  Around him, till he felt, despite his mail,

  Strangled, but straining even his uttermost

  Cast, and so hurled him headlong o’er the bridge

  Down to the river, sink or swim, and cried,

  ‘Lead, and I follow.’

  But the damsel said,

  ‘I lead no longer; ride thou at my side;

  Thou art the kingliest of all kitchen-knaves.

  ‘“O trefoil, sparkling on the rainy plain,

  O rainbow with three colours after rain,

  Shine sweetly: thrice my love hath smiled on me.”

  ‘Sir, — and, good faith, I fain had added — Knight,

  But that I heard thee call thyself a knave, —

  Shamed am I that I so rebuked, reviled,

  Missaid thee; noble I am; and thought the King

  Scorned me and mine; and now thy pardon, friend,

  For thou hast ever answered courteously,

  And wholly bold thou art, and meek withal

  As any of Arthur’s best, but, being knave,

  Hast mazed my wit: I marvel what thou art.’

  ‘Damsel,’ he said, ‘you be not all to blame,

  Saving that you mistrusted our good King

  Would handle scorn, or yield you, asking, one

  Not fit to cope your quest. You said your say;

  Mine answer was my deed. Good sooth! I hold

  He scarce is knight, yea but half-man, nor meet

  To fight for gentle damsel, he, who lets

  His heart be stirred with any foolish heat

  At any gentle damsel’s waywardness.

  Shamed? care not! thy foul sayings fought for me:

  And seeing now thy words are fair, methinks

  There rides no knight, not Lancelot, his great self,

  Hath force to quell me.’

  Nigh upon that hour

  When the lone hern forgets his melancholy,

  Lets down his other leg, and stretching, dreams

  Of
goodly supper in the distant pool,

  Then turned the noble damsel smiling at him,

  And told him of a cavern hard at hand,

  Where bread and baken meats and good red wine

  Of Southland, which the Lady Lyonors

  Had sent her coming champion, waited him.

  Anon they past a narrow comb wherein

  Where slabs of rock with figures, knights on horse

  Sculptured, and deckt in slowly-waning hues.

  ‘Sir Knave, my knight, a hermit once was here,

  Whose holy hand hath fashioned on the rock

  The war of Time against the soul of man.

  And yon four fools have sucked their allegory

  From these damp walls, and taken but the form.

  Know ye not these?’ and Gareth lookt and read —

  In letters like to those the vexillary

  Hath left crag-carven o’er the streaming Gelt —

  ‘PHOSPHORUS,’ then ‘MERIDIES’—’HESPERUS’ —

  ‘NOX’—’MORS,’ beneath five figures, armed men,

  Slab after slab, their faces forward all,

  And running down the Soul, a Shape that fled

  With broken wings, torn raiment and loose hair,

  For help and shelter to the hermit’s cave.

  ‘Follow the faces, and we find it. Look,

  Who comes behind?’

  For one — delayed at first

  Through helping back the dislocated Kay

  To Camelot, then by what thereafter chanced,

  The damsel’s headlong error through the wood —

  Sir Lancelot, having swum the river-loops —

  His blue shield-lions covered — softly drew

  Behind the twain, and when he saw the star

  Gleam, on Sir Gareth’s turning to him, cried,

  ‘Stay, felon knight, I avenge me for my friend.’

  And Gareth crying pricked against the cry;

  But when they closed — in a moment — at one touch

  Of that skilled spear, the wonder of the world —

  Went sliding down so easily, and fell,

  That when he found the grass within his hands

  He laughed; the laughter jarred upon Lynette:

  Harshly she asked him, ‘Shamed and overthrown,

  And tumbled back into the kitchen-knave,

  Why laugh ye? that ye blew your boast in vain?’

  ‘Nay, noble damsel, but that I, the son

  Of old King Lot and good Queen Bellicent,

  And victor of the bridges and the ford,

  And knight of Arthur, here lie thrown by whom

  I know not, all through mere unhappiness —

  Device and sorcery and unhappiness —

  Out, sword; we are thrown!’ And Lancelot answered, ‘Prince,

  O Gareth — through the mere unhappiness

  Of one who came to help thee, not to harm,

  Lancelot, and all as glad to find thee whole,

  As on the day when Arthur knighted him.’

  Then Gareth, ‘Thou — Lancelot! — thine the hand

  That threw me? An some chance to mar the boast

  Thy brethren of thee make — which could not chance —

  Had sent thee down before a lesser spear,

  Shamed had I been, and sad — O Lancelot — thou!’

  Whereat the maiden, petulant, ‘Lancelot,

  Why came ye not, when called? and wherefore now

  Come ye, not called? I gloried in my knave,

  Who being still rebuked, would answer still

  Courteous as any knight — but now, if knight,

  The marvel dies, and leaves me fooled and tricked,

  And only wondering wherefore played upon:

  And doubtful whether I and mine be scorned.

  Where should be truth if not in Arthur’s hall,

  In Arthur’s presence? Knight, knave, prince and fool,

  I hate thee and for ever.’

  And Lancelot said,

  ‘Blessed be thou, Sir Gareth! knight art thou

  To the King’s best wish. O damsel, be you wise

  To call him shamed, who is but overthrown?

  Thrown have I been, nor once, but many a time.

  Victor from vanquished issues at the last,

  And overthrower from being overthrown.

  With sword we have not striven; and thy good horse

  And thou are weary; yet not less I felt

  Thy manhood through that wearied lance of thine.

  Well hast thou done; for all the stream is freed,

  And thou hast wreaked his justice on his foes,

  And when reviled, hast answered graciously,

  And makest merry when overthrown. Prince, Knight

  Hail, Knight and Prince, and of our Table Round!’

  And then when turning to Lynette he told

  The tale of Gareth, petulantly she said,

  ‘Ay well — ay well — for worse than being fooled

  Of others, is to fool one’s self. A cave,

  Sir Lancelot, is hard by, with meats and drinks

  And forage for the horse, and flint for fire.

  But all about it flies a honeysuckle.

  Seek, till we find.’ And when they sought and found,

  Sir Gareth drank and ate, and all his life

  Past into sleep; on whom the maiden gazed.

  ‘Sound sleep be thine! sound cause to sleep hast thou.

  Wake lusty! Seem I not as tender to him

  As any mother? Ay, but such a one

  As all day long hath rated at her child,

  And vext his day, but blesses him asleep —

  Good lord, how sweetly smells the honeysuckle

  In the hushed night, as if the world were one

  Of utter peace, and love, and gentleness!

  O Lancelot, Lancelot’ — and she clapt her hands —

  ‘Full merry am I to find my goodly knave

  Is knight and noble. See now, sworn have I,

  Else yon black felon had not let me pass,

  To bring thee back to do the battle with him.

  Thus an thou goest, he will fight thee first;

  Who doubts thee victor? so will my knight-knave

  Miss the full flower of this accomplishment.’

  Said Lancelot, ‘Peradventure he, you name,

  May know my shield. Let Gareth, an he will,

  Change his for mine, and take my charger, fresh,

  Not to be spurred, loving the battle as well

  As he that rides him.’ ‘Lancelot-like,’ she said,

  ‘Courteous in this, Lord Lancelot, as in all.’

  And Gareth, wakening, fiercely clutched the shield;

  ‘Ramp ye lance-splintering lions, on whom all spears

  Are rotten sticks! ye seem agape to roar!

  Yea, ramp and roar at leaving of your lord! —

  Care not, good beasts, so well I care for you.

  O noble Lancelot, from my hold on these

  Streams virtue — fire — through one that will not shame

  Even the shadow of Lancelot under shield.

  Hence: let us go.’

  Silent the silent field

  They traversed. Arthur’s harp though summer-wan,

  In counter motion to the clouds, allured

  The glance of Gareth dreaming on his liege.

  A star shot: ‘Lo,’ said Gareth, ‘the foe falls!’

  An owl whoopt: ‘Hark the victor pealing there!’

  Suddenly she that rode upon his left

  Clung to the shield that Lancelot lent him, crying,

  ‘Yield, yield him this again: ‘tis he must fight:

  I curse the tongue that all through yesterday

  Reviled thee, and hath wrought on Lancelot now

  To lend thee horse and shield: wonders ye have done;

  Miracles ye cannot: here is glory enow

  In having flung the three: I see thee maimed,<
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  Mangled: I swear thou canst not fling the fourth.’

  ‘And wherefore, damsel? tell me all ye know.

  You cannot scare me; nor rough face, or voice,

  Brute bulk of limb, or boundless savagery

  Appal me from the quest.’

  ‘Nay, Prince,’ she cried,

  ‘God wot, I never looked upon the face,

  Seeing he never rides abroad by day;

  But watched him have I like a phantom pass

  Chilling the night: nor have I heard the voice.

  Always he made his mouthpiece of a page

  Who came and went, and still reported him

  As closing in himself the strength of ten,

  And when his anger tare him, massacring

  Man, woman, lad and girl — yea, the soft babe!

  Some hold that he hath swallowed infant flesh,

  Monster! O Prince, I went for Lancelot first,

  The quest is Lancelot’s: give him back the shield.’

  Said Gareth laughing, ‘An he fight for this,

  Belike he wins it as the better man:

  Thus — and not else!’

  But Lancelot on him urged

  All the devisings of their chivalry

  When one might meet a mightier than himself;

  How best to manage horse, lance, sword and shield,

  And so fill up the gap where force might fail

  With skill and fineness. Instant were his words.

  Then Gareth, ‘Here be rules. I know but one —

  To dash against mine enemy and win.

  Yet have I seen thee victor in the joust,

  And seen thy way.’ ‘Heaven help thee,’ sighed Lynette.

  Then for a space, and under cloud that grew

  To thunder-gloom palling all stars, they rode

  In converse till she made her palfrey halt,

  Lifted an arm, and softly whispered, ‘There.’

  And all the three were silent seeing, pitched

  Beside the Castle Perilous on flat field,

  A huge pavilion like a mountain peak

  Sunder the glooming crimson on the marge,

  Black, with black banner, and a long black horn

  Beside it hanging; which Sir Gareth graspt,

  And so, before the two could hinder him,

  Sent all his heart and breath through all the horn.

  Echoed the walls; a light twinkled; anon

  Came lights and lights, and once again he blew;

  Whereon were hollow tramplings up and down

  And muffled voices heard, and shadows past;

  Till high above him, circled with her maids,

  The Lady Lyonors at a window stood,

  Beautiful among lights, and waving to him

  White hands, and courtesy; but when the Prince

  Three times had blown — after long hush — at last —

  The huge pavilion slowly yielded up,