He pausing, Arthur answered, "O my knight, It will be to thy worship, as my knight, And mine, as head of all our Table Round, To see that she be buried worshipfully."
So toward that shrine which then in all the realm Was richest, Arthur leading, slowly went The marshalled Order of their Table Round, And Lancelot sad beyond his wont, to see The maiden buried, not as one unknown, Nor meanly, but with gorgeous obsequies, And ma.s.s, and rolling music, like a queen.
And when the knights had laid her comely head Low in the dust of half-forgotten kings, Then Arthur spake among them, "Let her tomb Be costly, and her image thereupon, And let the shield of Lancelot at her feet Be carven, and her lily in her hand.
And let the story of her dolorous voyage For all true hearts be blazoned on her tomb In letters gold and azure!" which was wrought Thereafter; but when now the lords and dames And people, from the high door streaming, brake Disorderly, as homeward each, the Queen, Who marked Sir Lancelot where he moved apart, Drew near, and sighed in pa.s.sing, "Lancelot, Forgive me; mine was jealousy in love."
He answered with his eyes upon the ground, "That is love"s curse; pa.s.s on, my Queen, forgiven."
But Arthur, who beheld his cloudy brows, Approached him, and with full affection said,
"Lancelot, my Lancelot, thou in whom I have Most joy and most affiance, for I know What thou hast been in battle by my side, And many a time have watched thee at the tilt Strike down the l.u.s.ty and long practised knight, And let the younger and unskilled go by To win his honour and to make his name, And loved thy courtesies and thee, a man Made to be loved; but now I would to G.o.d, Seeing the homeless trouble in thine eyes, Thou couldst have loved this maiden, shaped, it seems, By G.o.d for thee alone, and from her face, If one may judge the living by the dead, Delicately pure and marvellously fair, Who might have brought thee, now a lonely man Wifeless and heirless, n.o.ble issue, sons Born to the glory of thine name and fame, My knight, the great Sir Lancelot of the Lake."
Then answered Lancelot, "Fair she was, my King, Pure, as you ever wish your knights to be.
To doubt her fairness were to want an eye, To doubt her pureness were to want a heart-- Yea, to be loved, if what is worthy love Could bind him, but free love will not be bound."
"Free love, so bound, were freest," said the King.
"Let love be free; free love is for the best: And, after heaven, on our dull side of death, What should be best, if not so pure a love Clothed in so pure a loveliness? yet thee She failed to bind, though being, as I think, Unbound as yet, and gentle, as I know."
And Lancelot answered nothing, but he went, And at the inrunning of a little brook Sat by the river in a cove, and watched The high reed wave, and lifted up his eyes And saw the barge that brought her moving down, Far-off, a blot upon the stream, and said Low in himself, "Ah simple heart and sweet, Ye loved me, damsel, surely with a love Far tenderer than my Queen"s. Pray for thy soul?
Ay, that will I. Farewell too--now at last-- Farewell, fair lily. "Jealousy in love?"
Not rather dead love"s harsh heir, jealous pride?
Queen, if I grant the jealousy as of love, May not your crescent fear for name and fame Speak, as it waxes, of a love that wanes?
Why did the King dwell on my name to me?
Mine own name shames me, seeming a reproach, Lancelot, whom the Lady of the Lake Caught from his mother"s arms--the wondrous one Who pa.s.ses through the vision of the night-- She chanted s.n.a.t.c.hes of mysterious hymns Heard on the winding waters, eve and morn She kissed me saying, "Thou art fair, my child, As a king"s son," and often in her arms She bare me, pacing on the dusky mere.
Would she had drowned me in it, where"er it be!
For what am I? what profits me my name Of greatest knight? I fought for it, and have it: Pleasure to have it, none; to lose it, pain; Now grown a part of me: but what use in it?
To make men worse by making my sin known?
Or sin seem less, the sinner seeming great?
Alas for Arthur"s greatest knight, a man Not after Arthur"s heart! I needs must break These bonds that so defame me: not without She wills it: would I, if she willed it? nay, Who knows? but if I would not, then may G.o.d, I pray him, send a sudden Angel down To seize me by the hair and bear me far, And fling me deep in that forgotten mere, Among the tumbled fragments of the hills."
So groaned Sir Lancelot in remorseful pain, Not knowing he should die a holy man.
The Holy Grail
From noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done In tournament or tilt, Sir Percivale, Whom Arthur and his knighthood called The Pure, Had pa.s.sed into the silent life of prayer, Praise, fast, and alms; and leaving for the cowl The helmet in an abbey far away From Camelot, there, and not long after, died.
And one, a fellow-monk among the rest, Ambrosius, loved him much beyond the rest, And honoured him, and wrought into his heart A way by love that wakened love within, To answer that which came: and as they sat Beneath a world-old yew-tree, darkening half The cloisters, on a gustful April morn That puffed the swaying branches into smoke Above them, ere the summer when he died The monk Ambrosius questioned Percivale:
"O brother, I have seen this yew-tree smoke, Spring after spring, for half a hundred years: For never have I known the world without, Nor ever strayed beyond the pale: but thee, When first thou camest--such a courtesy Spake through the limbs and in the voice--I knew For one of those who eat in Arthur"s hall; For good ye are and bad, and like to coins, Some true, some light, but every one of you Stamped with the image of the King; and now Tell me, what drove thee from the Table Round, My brother? was it earthly pa.s.sion crost?"
"Nay," said the knight; "for no such pa.s.sion mine.
But the sweet vision of the Holy Grail Drove me from all vainglories, rivalries, And earthly heats that spring and sparkle out Among us in the jousts, while women watch Who wins, who falls; and waste the spiritual strength Within us, better offered up to Heaven."
To whom the monk: "The Holy Grail!--I trust We are green in Heaven"s eyes; but here too much We moulder--as to things without I mean-- Yet one of your own knights, a guest of ours, Told us of this in our refectory, But spake with such a sadness and so low We heard not half of what he said. What is it?
The phantom of a cup that comes and goes?"
"Nay, monk! what phantom?" answered Percivale.
"The cup, the cup itself, from which our Lord Drank at the last sad supper with his own.
This, from the blessed land of Aromat-- After the day of darkness, when the dead Went wandering o"er Moriah--the good saint Arimathaean Joseph, journeying brought To Glas...o...b..ry, where the winter thorn Blossoms at Christmas, mindful of our Lord.
And there awhile it bode; and if a man Could touch or see it, he was healed at once, By faith, of all his ills. But then the times Grew to such evil that the holy cup Was caught away to Heaven, and disappeared."
To whom the monk: "From our old books I know That Joseph came of old to Glas...o...b..ry, And there the heathen Prince, Arviragus, Gave him an isle of marsh whereon to build; And there he built with wattles from the marsh A little lonely church in days of yore, For so they say, these books of ours, but seem Mute of this miracle, far as I have read.
But who first saw the holy thing today?"
"A woman," answered Percivale, "a nun, And one no further off in blood from me Than sister; and if ever holy maid With knees of adoration wore the stone, A holy maid; though never maiden glowed, But that was in her earlier maidenhood, With such a fervent flame of human love, Which being rudely blunted, glanced and shot Only to holy things; to prayer and praise She gave herself, to fast and alms. And yet, Nun as she was, the scandal of the Court, Sin against Arthur and the Table Round, And the strange sound of an adulterous race, Across the iron grating of her cell Beat, and she prayed and fasted all the more.
"And he to whom she told her sins, or what Her all but utter whiteness held for sin, A man wellnigh a hundred winters old, Spake often with her of the Holy Grail, A legend handed down through five or six, And each of these a hundred winters old, From our Lord"s time. And when King Arthur made His Table Round, and all men"s hearts became Clean for a season, surely he had thought That now the Holy Grail would come again; But sin broke out. Ah, Christ, that it would come, And heal the world of all their wickedness!
"O Father!" asked the maiden, "might it come To me by prayer and fasting?" "Nay," said he, "I know not, for thy heart is pure as snow."
And so she prayed and fasted, till the sun Shone, and the wind blew, through her, and I thought She might have risen and floated when I saw her.
"For on a day she sent to speak with me.
And when she came to speak, behold her eyes Beyond my knowing of them, beautiful, Beyond all knowing of them, wonderful, Beautiful in the light of holiness.
And "O my brother Percivale," she said, "Sweet brother, I have seen the Holy Grail: For, waked at dead of night, I heard a sound As of a silver horn from o"er the hills Blown, and I thought, "It is not Arthur"s use To hunt by moonlight;" and the slender sound As from a distance beyond distance grew Coming upon me--O never harp nor horn, Nor aught we blow with breath, or touch with hand, Was like that music as it came; and then Streamed through my cell a cold and silver beam, And down the long beam stole the Holy Grail, Rose-red with beatings in it, as if alive, Till all the white walls of my cell were dyed With rosy colours leaping on the wall; And then the music faded, and the Grail Past, and the beam decayed, and from the walls The rosy quiverings died into the night.
So now the Holy Thing is here again Among us, brother, fast thou too and pray, And tell thy brother knights to fast and pray, That so perchance the vision may be seen By thee and those, and all the world be healed."
"Then leaving the pale nun, I spake of this To all men; and myself fasted and prayed Always, and many among us many a week Fasted and prayed even to the uttermost, Expectant of the wonder that would be.
"And one there was among us, ever moved Among us in white armour, Galahad.
"G.o.d make thee good as thou art beautiful,"
Said Arthur, when he dubbed him knight; and none, In so young youth, was ever made a knight Till Galahad; and this Galahad, when he heard My sister"s vision, filled me with amaze; His eyes became so like her own, they seemed Hers, and himself her brother more than I.
"Sister or brother none had he; but some Called him a son of Lancelot, and some said Begotten by enchantment--chatterers they, Like birds of pa.s.sage piping up and down, That gape for flies--we know not whence they come; For when was Lancelot wanderingly lewd?
"But she, the wan sweet maiden, sh.o.r.e away Clean from her forehead all that wealth of hair Which made a silken mat-work for her feet; And out of this she plaited broad and long A strong sword-belt, and wove with silver thread And crimson in the belt a strange device, A crimson grail within a silver beam; And saw the bright boy-knight, and bound it on him, Saying, "My knight, my love, my knight of heaven, O thou, my love, whose love is one with mine, I, maiden, round thee, maiden, bind my belt.
Go forth, for thou shalt see what I have seen, And break through all, till one will crown thee king Far in the spiritual city:" and as she spake She sent the deathless pa.s.sion in her eyes Through him, and made him hers, and laid her mind On him, and he believed in her belief.
"Then came a year of miracle: O brother, In our great hall there stood a vacant chair, Fashioned by Merlin ere he past away, And carven with strange figures; and in and out The figures, like a serpent, ran a scroll Of letters in a tongue no man could read.
And Merlin called it "The Siege perilous,"
Perilous for good and ill; "for there," he said, "No man could sit but he should lose himself:"
And once by misadvertence Merlin sat In his own chair, and so was lost; but he, Galahad, when he heard of Merlin"s doom, Cried, "If I lose myself, I save myself!"
"Then on a summer night it came to pa.s.s, While the great banquet lay along the hall, That Galahad would sit down in Merlin"s chair.
"And all at once, as there we sat, we heard A cracking and a riving of the roofs, And rending, and a blast, and overhead Thunder, and in the thunder was a cry.
And in the blast there smote along the hall A beam of light seven times more clear than day: And down the long beam stole the Holy Grail All over covered with a luminous cloud.
And none might see who bare it, and it past.
But every knight beheld his fellow"s face As in a glory, and all the knights arose, And staring each at other like dumb men Stood, till I found a voice and sware a vow.
"I sware a vow before them all, that I, Because I had not seen the Grail, would ride A twelvemonth and a day in quest of it, Until I found and saw it, as the nun My sister saw it; and Galahad sware the vow, And good Sir Bors, our Lancelot"s cousin, sware, And Lancelot sware, and many among the knights, And Gawain sware, and louder than the rest."
Then spake the monk Ambrosius, asking him, "What said the King? Did Arthur take the vow?"
"Nay, for my lord," said Percivale, "the King, Was not in hall: for early that same day, Scaped through a cavern from a bandit hold, An outraged maiden sprang into the hall Crying on help: for all her shining hair Was smeared with earth, and either milky arm Red-rent with hooks of bramble, and all she wore Torn as a sail that leaves the rope is torn In tempest: so the King arose and went To smoke the scandalous hive of those wild bees That made such honey in his realm. Howbeit Some little of this marvel he too saw, Returning o"er the plain that then began To darken under Camelot; whence the King Looked up, calling aloud, "Lo, there! the roofs Of our great hall are rolled in thunder-smoke!
Pray Heaven, they be not smitten by the bolt."
For dear to Arthur was that hall of ours, As having there so oft with all his knights Feasted, and as the stateliest under heaven.
"O brother, had you known our mighty hall, Which Merlin built for Arthur long ago!
For all the sacred mount of Camelot, And all the dim rich city, roof by roof, Tower after tower, spire beyond spire, By grove, and garden-lawn, and rushing brook, Climbs to the mighty hall that Merlin built.
And four great zones of sculpture, set betwixt With many a mystic symbol, gird the hall: And in the lowest beasts are slaying men, And in the second men are slaying beasts, And on the third are warriors, perfect men, And on the fourth are men with growing wings, And over all one statue in the mould Of Arthur, made by Merlin, with a crown, And peaked wings pointed to the Northern Star.