Idylls of the King

by Alfred Tennyson

  95 He hath given us a fair falcon which he train’d;

  We go to prove it. Bide ye here the while.’

  She past; and Vivien murmur’d after ‘Go!

  I bide the while.’ Then thro’ the portal-arch

  Peering askance, and muttering broken-wise,

  As one that labours with an evil dream,

  100 Beheld the Queen and Lancelot get to horse.

  ‘Is that the Lancelot! goodly – ay, but gaunt:

  Courteous – amends for gauntness – takes her hand –

  That glance of theirs, but for the street, had been

  A clinging kiss – how hand lingers in hand!

  105 Let go at last! – they ride away – to hawk

  For waterfowl. Royaller game is mine.

  For such a supersensual sensual bond

  As that gray cricket chirpt of at our hearth –

  Touch flax with flame – a glance will serve – the liars!

  110 Ah little rat that borest in the dyke

  Thy hole by night to let the boundless deep

  Down upon far-off cities while they dance –

  Or dream – of thee they dream’d not – nor of me

  These – ay, but each of either: ride, and dream

  115 The mortal dream that never yet was mine –

  Ride, ride and dream until ye wake – to me!

  Then, narrow court and lubber King, farewell!

  For Lancelot will be gracious to the rat,

  And our wise Queen, if knowing that I know,

  120 Will hate, loathe, fear – but honour me the more.’

  Yet while they rode together down the plain,

  Their talk was all of training, terms of art,

  Diet and seeling, jesses, leash and lure.

  ‘She is too noble’ he said ‘to check at pies,

  125 Nor will she rake: there is no baseness in her.’

  Here when the Queen demanded as by chance

  ‘Know ye the stranger woman?’ ’Let her be,’

  Said Lancelot and unhooded casting off

  The goodly falcon free; she tower’d; her bells,

  130 Tone under tone, shrill’d; and they lifted up

  Their eager faces, wondering at the strength,

  Boldness and royal knighthood of the bird

  Who pounced her quarry and slew it. Many a time

  As once – of old – among the flowers – they rode.

  135 But Vivien half-forgotten of the Queen

  Among her damsels broidering sat, heard, watch’d

  And whisper’d: thro’ the peaceful court she crept

  And whisper’d: then as Arthur in the highest

  Leaven’d the world, so Vivien in the lowest,

  140 Arriving at a time of golden rest,

  And sowing one ill hint from ear to ear,

  While all the heathen lay at Arthur’s feet,

  And no quest came, but all was joust and play,

  Leaven’d his hall. They heard and let her be.

  145 Thereafter as an enemy that has left

  Death in the living waters, and withdrawn,

  The wily Vivien stole from Arthur’s court.

  She hated all the knights, and heard in thought

  Their lavish comment when her name was named.

  150 For once, when Arthur walking all alone,

  Vext at a rumour issued from herself

  Of some corruption crept among his knights,

  Had met her, Vivien, being greeted fair,

  Would fain have wrought upon his cloudy mood

  155 With reverent eyes mock-loyal, shaken voice,

  And flutter’d adoration, and at last

  With dark sweet hints of some who prized him more

  Than who should prize him most; at which the King

  Had gazed upon her blankly and gone by:

  160 But one had watch’d, and had not held his peace:

  It made the laughter of an afternoon

  That Vivien should attempt the blameless King

  And after that, she set herself to gain

  Him, the most famous man of all those times,

  165 Merlin, who knew the range of all their arts,

  Had built the King his havens, ships, and halls,

  Was also Bard, and knew the starry heavens;

  The people call’d him Wizard; whom at first

  She play’d about with slight and sprightly talk,

  170 And vivid smiles, and faintly-venom’d points

  Of slander, glancing here and grazing there;

  And yielding to his kindlier moods, the Seer

  Would watch her at her petulance, and play,

  Ev’n when they seem’d unloveable, and laugh

  175 As those that watch a kitten; thus he grew

  Tolerant of what he half disdain’d, and she,

  Perceiving that she was but half disdain’d,

  Began to break her sports with graver fits,

  Turn red or pale, would often when they met

  Sigh fully, or all-silent gaze upon him 180

  With such a fixt devotion, that the old man,

  Tho’ doubtful, felt the flattery, and at times

  Would flatter his own wish in age for love,

  And half believe her true: for thus at times

  185 He waver’d; but that other clung to him,

  Fixt in her will, and so the seasons went.

  Then fell on Merlin a great melancholy;

  He walk’d with dreams and darkness, and he found

  A doom that ever poised itself to fall,

  190 An ever-moaning battle in the mist,

  World-war of dying flesh against the life,

  Death in all life and lying in all love,

  The meanest having power upon the highest,

  And the high purpose broken by the worm.

  195 So leaving Arthur’s court he gain’d the beach;

  There found a little boat, and stept into it;

  And Vivien follow’d, but he mark’d her not.

  She took the helm and he the sail; the boat

  Drave with a sudden wind across the deeps,

  200 And touching Breton sands, they disembark’d.

  And then she follow’d Merlin all the way,

  Ev’n to the wild woods of Broceliande.

  For Merlin once had told her of a charm,

  The which if any wrought on anyone

  205 With woven paces and with waving arms,

  The man so wrought on ever seem’d to lie

  Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower,

  From which was no escape for evermore;

  And none could find that man for evermore,

  210 Nor could he see but him who wrought the charm

  Coming and going, and he lay as dead

  And lost to life and use and name and fame.

  And Vivien ever sought to work the charm

  Upon the great Enchanter of the Time,

  215 As fancying that her glory would be great

  According to his greatness whom she quench’d.

  There lay she all her length and kiss’d his feet,

  As if in deepest reverence and in love.

  A twist of gold was round her hair; a robe

  220 Of samite without price, that more exprest

  Than hid her, clung about her lissome limbs,

  In colour like the satin-shining palm

  On sallows in the windy gleams of March:

  And while she kiss’d them, crying, ‘Trample me,

  225 Dear feet, that I have follow’d thro’ the world,

  And I will pay you worship; tread me down

  And I will kiss you for it;’ he was mute:

  So dark a forethought roll’d about his brain,

  As on a dull day in an Ocean cave

  230 The blind wave feeling round his long sea-hall

  In silence: wherefore, when she lifted up

  A face of sad appeal, and spake and said,

>   ‘O Merlin, do ye love me?’ and again,

  ‘O Merlin, do ye love me?’ and once more,

  235 ‘Great Master, do ye love me?’ he was mute.

  And lissome Vivien, holding by his heel,

  Writhed toward him, slided up his knee and sat,

  Behind his ankle twined her hollow feet

  Together, curved an arm about his neck,

  240 Clung like a snake; and letting her left hand

  Droop from his mighty shoulder, as a leaf,

  Made with her right a comb of pearl to part

  The lists of such a beard as youth gone out

  Had left in ashes: then he spoke and said,

  245 Not looking at her, ‘Who are wise in love

  Love most, say least,’ and Vivien answer’d quick,

  ‘I saw the little elf-god eyeless once

  In Arthur’s arras hall at Camelot:

  But neither eyes nor tongue – O stupid child!

  250 Yet you are wise who say it; let me think

  Silence is wisdom: I am silent then,

  And ask no kiss;’ then adding all at once,

  ‘And lo, I clothe myself with wisdom,’ drew

  The vast and shaggy mantle of his beard

  255 Across her neck and bosom to her knee,

  And call’d herself a gilded summer fly

  Caught in a great old tyrant spider’s web,

  Who meant to eat her up in that wild wood

  Without one word. So Vivien call’d herself,

  260 But rather seem’d a lovely baleful star

  Veil’d in gray vapour; till he sadly smiled:

  ‘To what request for what strange boon,’ he said,

  ‘Are these your pretty tricks and fooleries,

  O Vivien, the preamble? yet my thanks,

  265 For these have broken up my melancholy.’

  And Vivien answer’d smiling saucily,

  ‘What, O my Master, have ye found your voice?

  I bid the stranger welcome. Thanks at last!

  But yesterday you never open’d lip,

  270 Except indeed to drink: no cup had we:

  In mine own lady palms I cull’d the spring

  That gather’d trickling dropwise from the cleft,

  And made a pretty cup of both my hands

  And offer’d you it kneeling: then you drank

  275 And knew no more, nor gave me one poor word;

  O no more thanks than might a goat have given

  With no more sign of reverence than a beard.

  And when we halted at that other well,

  And I was faint to swooning, and you lay

  280 Foot-gilt with all the blossom-dust of those

  Deep meadows we had traversed, did you know

  That Vivien bathed your feet before her own?

  And yet no thanks: and all thro’ this wild wood

  And all this morning when I fondled you:

  285 Boon, ay, there was a boon, one not so strange –

  How had I wrong’d you? surely ye are wise,

  But such a silence is more wise than kind.’

  And Merlin lock’d his hand in hers and said:

  ‘O did ye never lie upon the shore,

  290 And watch the curl’d white of the coming wave

  Glass’d in the slippery sand before it breaks?

  Ev’n such a wave, but not so pleasurable,

  Dark in the glass of some presageful mood,

  Had I for three days seen, ready to fall.

  295 And then I rose and fled from Arthur’s court

  To break the mood. You follow’d me unask’d;

  And when I look’d, and saw you following still,

  My mind involved yourself the nearest thing

  In that mind-mist: for shall I tell you truth?

  300 You seem’d that wave about to break upon me

  And sweep me from my hold upon the world,

  My use and name and fame. Your pardon, child.

  Your pretty sports have brighten’d all again.

  And ask your boon, for boon I owe you thrice,

  305 Once for wrong done you by confusion, next

  For thanks it seems till now neglected, last

  For these your dainty gambols: wherefore ask;

  And take this boon so strange and not so strange.’

  And Vivien answer’d smiling mournfully:

  310 ‘O not so strange as my long asking it,

  Not yet so strange as you yourself are strange,

  Nor half so strange as that dark mood of yours.

  I ever fear’d ye were not wholly mine;

  And see, yourself have own’d ye did me wrong.

  315 The people call you prophet: let it be:

  But not of those that can expound themselves.

  Take Vivien for expounder; she will call

  That three-days-long presageful gloom of yours

  No presage, but the same mistrustful mood

  320 That makes you seem less noble than yourself,

  Whenever I have ask’d this very boon,

  Now ask’d again: for see you not, dear love,

  That such a mood as that, which lately gloom’d

  Your fancy when ye saw me following you,

  325 Must make me fear still more you are not mine,

  Must make me yearn still more to prove you mine,

  And make me wish still more to learn this charm

  Of woven paces and of waving hands,

  As proof of trust. O Merlin, teach it me.

  330 The charm so taught will charm us both to rest.

  For, grant me some slight power upon your fate,

  I, feeling that you felt me worthy trust,

  Should rest and let you rest, knowing you mine.

  And therefore be as great as ye are named,

  335 Not muffled round with selfish reticence.

  How hard you look and how denyingly!

  O, if you think this wickedness in me,

  That I should prove it on you unawares,

  That makes me passing wrathful; then our bond

  340 Had best be loosed for ever: but think or not,

  By Heaven that hears I tell you the clean truth,

  As clean as blood of babes, as white as milk:

  O Merlin, may this earth, if ever I,

  If these unwitty wandering wits of mine,

  345 Ev’n in the jumbled rubbish of a dream,

  Have tript on such conjectural treachery –

  May this hard earth cleave to the Nadir hell

  Down, down, and close again, and nip me flat,

  If I be such a traitress. Yield my boon,

  350 Till which I scarce can yield you all I am;

  And grant my re-reiterated wish,

  The great proof of your love: because I think,

  However wise, ye hardly know me yet.’

  And Merlin loosed his hand from hers and said,

  355 ‘I never was less wise, however wise,

  Too curious Vivien, tho’ you talk of trust,

  Than when I told you first of such a charm.

  Yea, if ye talk of trust I tell you this,

  Too much I trusted when I told you that,

  360 And stirr’d this vice in you which ruin’d man

  Thro’ woman the first hour; for howsoe’er

  In children a great curiousness be well,

  Who have to learn themselves and all the world,

  In you, that are no child, for still I find

  365 Your face is practised when I spell the lines,

  I call it, – well, I will not call it vice:

  But since you name yourself the summer fly,

  I well could wish a cobweb for the gnat,

  That settles, beaten back, and beaten back

  370 Settles, till one could yield for weariness:

  But since I will not yield to give you power

  Upon my life and use and name and fame,

  Why will ye never ask some other
boon?

  Yea, by God’s rood, I trusted you too much.’

  375 And Vivien, like the tenderest-hearted maid

  That ever bided tryst at village stile,

  Made answer, either eyelid wet with tears:

  ‘Nay, Master, be not wrathful with your maid;

  Caress her: let her feel herself forgiven

  380 Who feels no heart to ask another boon.

  I think ye hardly know the tender ryme

  Of “trust me not at all or all in all.”

  I heard the great Sir Lancelot sing it once,

  And it shall answer for me. Listen to it.

  385 “In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours,

  Faith and unfaith can ne’er be equal powers:

  Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.

  “It is the little rift within the lute,

  That by and by will make the music mute,

  390 And ever widening slowly silence all.

  “The little rift within the lover’s lute

  Or little pitted speck in garner’d fruit,

  That rotting inward slowly moulders all.

  395 “It is not worth the keeping: let it go:

  But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no.

  And trust me not at all or all in all.”

  O Master, do ye love my tender rhyme?’

  And Merlin look’d and half believed her true,

  So tender was her voice, so fair her face,

  400 So sweetly gleam’d her eyes behind her tears

  Like sunlight on the plain behind a shower:

  And yet he answer’d half indignantly:

  ‘Far other was the song that once I heard

  By this huge oak, sung nearly where we sit:

  405 For here we met, some ten or twelve of us,

  To chase a creature that was current then

  In these wild woods, the hart with golden horns.

  It was the time when first the question rose

  About the founding of a Table Round,

  410 That was to be, for love of God and men

  And noble deeds, the flower of all the world.

  And each incited each to noble deeds.

  And while we waited, one, the youngest of us,

  We could not keep him silent, out he flash’d,

  415 And into such a song, such fire for fame,

  Such trumpet-blowings in it, coming down

  To such a stern and iron-clashing close,

  That when he stopt we long’d to hurl together,

  And should have done it; but the beauteous beast

  420 Scared by the noise upstarted at our feet,

  And like a silver shadow slipt away

  Thro’ the dim land; and all day long we rode

  Thro’ the dim land against a rushing wind,