He dash’d the pummel at the foremost face,
Beneath a low door dipt, and made his feet
Wings thro’ a glimmering gallery, till he mark’d
The portal of King Pellam’s chapel wide
400 And inward to the wall; he stept behind;
Thence in a moment heard them pass like wolves
Howling; but while he started about the shrine,
In which he scarce could spy the Christ for Saints,
Beheld before a golden altar lie
405 The longest lance his eyes had ever seen,
Point-painted red; and seizing thereupon
Push’d thro’ an open casement down, lean’d on it,
Leapt in a semicircle, and lit on earth;
Then hand at ear, and harkening from what side
410 The blindfold rummage buried in the walls
Might echo, ran the counter path, and found
His charger, mounted on him and away.
An arrow whizz’d to the right, one to the left,
One overhead; and Pellam’s feeble cry
415 ‘Stay, stay him! he defileth heavenly things
With earthly uses’ – made him quickly dive
Beneath the boughs, and race thro’ many a mile
Of dense and open, till his goodly horse,
Arising wearily at a fallen oak,
420 Stumbled headlong, and cast him face to ground.
Half-wroth he had not ended, but all glad,
Knightlike, to find his charger yet unlamed,
Sir Balin drew the shield from off his neck,
Stared at the priceless cognizance, and thought
425 ‘I have shamed thee so that now thou shamest me,
Thee will I bear no more,’ high on a branch
Hung it, and turn’d aside into the woods,
And there in gloom cast himself all along,
Moaning ‘My violences, my violences!’
430 But now the wholesome music of the wood
Was dumb’d by one from out the hall of Mark,
A damsel-errant, warbling, as she rode
The woodland alleys, Vivien, with her Squire.
‘The fire of Heaven has kill’d the barren cold,
435 And kindled all the plain and all the wold.
The new leaf ever pushes off the old.
The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell.
‘Old priest, who mumble worship in your quire –
Old monk and nun, ye scorn the world’s desire,
440 Yet in your frosty cells ye feel the fire!
The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell.
‘The fire of Heaven is on the dusty ways.
The wayside blossoms open to the blaze.
The whole wood-world is one full peal of praise.
445 The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell.
‘The fire of Heaven is lord of all things good,
And starve not thou this fire within thy blood,
But follow Vivien thro’ the fiery flood!
The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell!’
450 Then turning to her Squire ‘This fire of Heaven,
This old sun-worship, boy, will rise again,
And beat the cross to earth, and break the King
And all his Table.’
Then they reach’d a glade,
Where under one long lane of cloudless air
455 Before another wood, the royal crown
Sparkled, and swaying upon a restless elm
Drew the vague glance of Vivien, and her Squire;
Amazed were these; ‘Lo there’ she cried – ‘a crown –
Borne by some high lord-prince of Arthur’s hall,
460 And there a horse! the rider? where is he?
See, yonder lies one dead within the wood.
Not dead; he stirs! – but sleeping. I will speak.
Hail, royal knight, we break on thy sweet rest,
Not, doubtless, all unearn’d by noble deeds.
465 But bounden art thou, if from Arthur’s hall,
To help the weak. Behold, I fly from shame,
A lustful King, who sought to win my love
Thro’ evil ways: the knight, with whom I rode,
Hath sufler’d misadventure, and my squire
470 Hath in him small defence; but thou, Sir Prince,
Wilt surely guide me to the warrior King,
Arthur the blameless, pure as any maid,
To get me shelter for my maidenhood.
I charge thee by that crown upon thy shield,
475 And by the great Queen’s name, arise and hence.’
And Balin rose, ‘Thither no more! nor Prince
Nor knight am I, but one that hath defamed
The cognizance she gave me: here I dwell
Savage among the savage woods, here die –
480 Die: let the wolves’ black maws ensepulchre
Their brother beast, whose anger was his lord.
O me, that such a name as Guinevere’s,
Which our high Lancelot hath so lifted up,
And been thereby uplifted, should thro’ me,
485 My violence, and my villainy, come to shame.’
Thereat she suddenly laugh’d and shrill, anon
Sigh’d all as suddenly. Said Balin to her
‘Is this thy courtesy – to mock me, ha?
Hence, for I will not with thee.’ Again she sigh’d
490 ‘Pardon, sweet lord! we maidens often laugh
When sick at heart, when rather we should weep.
I knew thee wrong’d. I brake upon thy rest,
And now full loth am I to break thy dream,
But thou art man, and canst abide a truth,
495 Tho’ bitter. Hither, boy – and mark me well.
Dost thou remember at Caerleon once –
A year ago – nay, then I love thee not –
Ay, thou rememberest well – one summer dawn –
By the great tower – Caerleon upon Usk –
500 Nay, truly we were hidden: this fair lord,
The flower of all their vestal knighthood, knelt
In amorous homage – knelt – what else? – O ay
Knelt, and drew down from out his night-black hair
And mumbled that white hand whose ring’d caress
505 Had wander’d from her own King’s golden head,
And lost itself in darkness, till she cried –
I thought the great tower would crash down on both –
“Rise, my sweet King, and kiss me on the lips,
Thou art my King.” This lad, whose lightest word
510 Is mere white truth in simple nakedness,
Saw them embrace: he reddens, cannot speak,
So bashful, he! but all the maiden Saints,
The deathless mother-maidenhood of Heaven
Cry out upon her. Up then, ride with me!
515 Talk not of shame! thou canst not, an thou would’st,
Do these more shame than these have done themselves.’
She lied with ease; but horror-stricken he,
Remembering that dark bower at Camelot,
Breathed in a dismal whisper ‘It is truth.’
520 Sunnily she smiled ‘And even in this lone wood,
Sweet lord, ye do right well to whisper this.
Fools prate, and perish traitors. Woods have tongues,
As walls have ears: but thou shalt go with me,
And we will speak at first exceeding low.
525 Meet is it the good King be not deceived.
See now, I set thee high on vantage ground,
From whence to watch the time, and eagle-like
Stoop at thy will on Lancelot and the Queen.’
She ceased; his evil spirit upon him leapt,
530 He ground his teeth together, sprang with a yell,
Tore from the branch, and cast on earth, the shield,
Drove his mail’d heel athwar
t the royal crown,
Stampt all into defacement, hurl’d it from him
Among the forest weeds, and cursed the tale,
The told-of, and the teller.
535 That weird yell,
Unearthlier than all shriek of bird or beast,
Thrill’d thro’ the woods; and Balan lurking there
(His quest was unaccomplish’d) heard and thought
‘The scream of that Wood-devil I came to quell!’
540 Then nearing ‘Lo! he hath slain some brother-knight,
And tramples on the goodly shield to show
His loathing of our Order and the Queen.
My quest, meseems, is here. Or devil or man
Guard thou thine head.’ Sir Balin spake not word,
545 But snatch’d a sudden buckler from the Squire,
And vaulted on his horse, and so they crash’d
In onset, and King Pellam’s holy spear,
Reputed to be red with sinless blood,
Redden’d at once with sinful, for the point
550 Across the maiden shield of Balan prick’d
The hauberk to the flesh; and Balin’s horse
Was wearied to the death, and, when they clash’d,
Rolling back upon Balin, crush’d the man
Inward, and either fell, and swoon’d away.
555 Then to her Squire mutter’d the damsel ‘Fools!
This fellow hath wrought some foulness with his Queen:
Else never had he borne her crown, nor raved
And thus foam’d over at a rival name:
But thou, Sir Chick, that scarce hast broken shell,
560 Art yet half-yolk, not even come to down –
Who never sawest Caerleon upon Usk –
And yet hast often pleaded for my love –
See what I see, be thou where I have been,
Or else Sir Chick – dismount and loose their casques
565 I fain would know what manner of men they be.’
And when the Squire had loosed them, ‘Goodly! – look!
They might have cropt the myriad flower of May,
And butt each other here, like brainless bulls,
Dead for one heifer!’
Then the gentle Squire
570 ‘I hold them happy, so they died for love:
And, Vivien, tho’ ye beat me like your dog,
I too could die, as now I live, for thee.’
‘Live on, Sir Boy,’ she cried. ‘I better prize
The living dog than the dead lion: away!
575 I cannot brook to gaze upon the dead.’
Then leapt her palfrey o’er the fallen oak,
And bounding forward ‘Leave them to the wolves.’
But when their foreheads felt the cooling air,
Balin first woke, and seeing that true face,
580 Familiar up from cradle-time, so wan,
Crawl’d slowly with low moans to where he lay,
And on his dying brother cast himself
Dying; and he lifted faint eyes; he felt
One near him; all at once they found the world,
585 Staring wild-wide; then with a childlike wail,
And drawing down the dim disastrous brow
That o’er him hung, he kiss’d it, moan’d and spake;
‘O Balin, Balin, I that fain had died
To save thy life, have brought thee to thy death.
590 Why had ye not the shield I knew? and why
Trampled ye thus on that which bare the Crown?’
Then Balin told him brokenly, and in gasps,
All that had chanced, and Balan moan’d again.
‘Brother, I dwelt a day in Pellam’s hall:
595 This Garlon mock’d me, but I heeded not.
And one said “Eat in peace! a liar is he,
And hates thee for the tribute!” this good knight
Told me, that twice a wanton damsel came,
And sought for Garlon at the castle-gates,
600 Whom Pellam drove away with holy heat.
I well believe this damsel, and the one
Who stood beside thee even now, the same.
“She dwells among the woods” he said “and meets
And dallies with him in the Mouth of Hell.”
605 Foul are their lives; foul are their lips; they lied.
Pure as our own true Mother is our Queen.’
‘O brother’ answer’d Balin ‘woe is me!
My madness all thy life has been thy doom,
Thy curse, and darken’d all thy day; and now
610 The night has come. I scarce can see thee now.
Goodnight! for we shall never bid again
Goodmorrow – Dark my doom was here, and dark
It will be there. I see thee now no more.
I would not mine again should darken thine,
Goodnight, true brother.’
615 Balan answer’d low
‘Goodnight, true brother here! goodmorrow there!
We two were born together, and we die
Together by one doom:’ and while he spoke
Closed his death-drowsing eyes, and slept the sleep
620 With Balin, either lock’d in either’s arm.
Merlin and Vivien
A storm was coming, but the winds were still,
And in the wild woods of Broceliande,
Before an oak, so hollow, huge and old
It look’d a tower of ivied masonwork,
5 At Merlin’s feet the wily Vivien lay.
For he that always bare in bitter grudge
The slights of Arthur and his Table, Mark
The Cornish King, had heard a wandering voice,
A minstrel of Caerleon by strong storm
10 Blown into shelter at Tintagil, say
That out of naked knightlike purity
Sir Lancelot worshipt no unmarried girl
But the great Queen herself, fought in her name,
Sware by her – vows like theirs, that high in heaven
15 Love most, but neither marry, nor are given
In marriage, angels of our Lord’s report.
He ceased, and then – for Vivien sweetly said
(She sat beside the banquet nearest Mark),
‘And is the fair example follow’d, Sir,
20 In Arthur’s household?’ – answer’d innocently:
‘Ay, by some few – ay, truly – youths that hold
It more beseems the perfect virgin knight
To worship woman as true wife beyond
All hopes of gaining, than as maiden girl.
25 They place their pride in Lancelot and the Queen.
So passionate for an utter purity
Beyond the limit of their bond, are these,
For Arthur bound them not to singleness.
Brave hearts and clean! and yet – God guide them – young.’
30 Then Mark was half in heart to hurl his cup
Straight at the speaker, but forbore: he rose
To leave the hall, and, Vivien following him,
Turn’d to her: ‘Here are snakes within the grass;
And you methinks, O Vivien, save ye fear
35 The monkish manhood, and the mask of pure
Worn by this court, can stir them till they sting.’
And Vivien answer’d, smiling scornfully,
‘Why fear? because that foster’d at thy court
I savour of thy – virtues? fear them? no.
40 As Love, if Love be perfect, casts out fear,
So Hate, if Hate be perfect, casts out fear.
My father died in battle against the King,
My mother on his corpse in open field;
She bore me there, for born from death was I
45 Among the dead and sown upon the wind –
And then on thee! and shown the truth betimes,
That old true filth, and bottom of the well,
Where Truth is hidden. Gracious lessons th
ine
And maxims of the mud! “This Arthur pure!
50 Great Nature thro’ the flesh herself hath made
Gives him the lie! There is no being pure,
My cherub; saith not Holy Writ the same?”–
If I were Arthur, I would have thy blood.
Thy blessing, stainless King! I bring thee back,
55 When I have ferreted out their burrowings,
The hearts of all this Order in mine hand –
Ay – so that fate and craft and folly close,
Perchance, one curl of Arthur’s golden beard.
To me this narrow grizzled fork of thine
60 Is cleaner-fashion’d – Well, I loved thee first,
That warps the wit.’
Loud laugh’d the graceless Mark
But Vivien, into Camelot stealing, lodged
Low in the city, and on a festal day
When Guinevere was crossing the great hall
65 Cast herself down, knelt to the Queen, and wail’d.
‘Why kneel ye there? What evil have ye wrought?
Rise!’ and the damsel bidden rise arose
And stood with folded hands and downward eyes
Of glancing corner, and all meekly said,
70 ‘None wrought, but suffer’d much, an orphan maid!
My father died in battle for thy King,
My mother on his corpse – in open field,
The sad sea-sounding wastes of Lyonnesse –
Poor wretch – no friend! – and now by Mark the King
75 For that small charm of feature mine, pursued –
If any such be mine – I fly to thee.
Save, save me thou – Woman of women – thine
The wreath of beauty, thine the crown of power,
Be thine the balm of pity, O Heaven’s own white
80 Earth-angel, stainless bride of stainless King –
Help, for he follows! take me to thyself!
O yield me shelter for mine innocency
Among thy maidens!’
Here her slow sweet eyes
85 Fear-tremulous, but humbly hopeful, rose
Fixt on her hearer’s, while the Queen who stood
All glittering like May sunshine on May leaves
In green and gold, and plumed with green replied,
‘Peace, child! of overpraise and overblame
90 We choose the last. Our noble Arthur, him
Ye scarce can overpraise, will hear and know.
Nay – we believe all evil of thy Mark –
Well, we shall test thee farther; but this hour
We ride a-hawking with Sir Lancelot.
Idylls of the King Page 15