Lancelot and Elaine by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Author:Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Electronic Text Center. University of Virginia Library.
Published: 2000-08-01T05:00:00+00:00

But far away the maid in Astolat,

Her guiltless rival, she that ever kept

The one-day-seen Sir Lancelot in her heart,

Crept to her father, while he mused alone,

Sat on his knee, stroked his gray face and said,

'Father, you call me wilful, and the fault

Is yours who let me have my will, and now,

Sweet father, will you let me lose my wits?'

`Nay,' said he, 'surely.' 'Wherefore, let me hence,'

She answer'd, 'and find out our dear Lavaine.'

'Ye will not lose your wits for dear Lavaine:

Bide,' answer'd he: 'we needs must hear anon

Of him, and of that other.' 'Ay,' she said,

'And of that other, for I needs must hence

And find that other, wheresoe'er he be,

And with mine own hand give his diamond to him,

Lest I be found as faithless in the quest

As yon proud Prince who left the quest to me.

Sweet father, I behold him in my dreams

Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself,

Death-pale, for lack of gentle maiden's aid.

The gentler-born the maiden, the more bound,

My father, to be sweet and serviceable

To noble knights in sickness, as ye know

When these have worn their tokens: let me hence

I pray you.' Then her father nodding said,

'Ay, ay, the diamond: wit ye well, my child,

Right fain were I to learn this knight were whole,

Being our greatest: yea, and you must give it --

And sure I think this fruit is hung too high

For any mouth to gape for save a Queen's --

Nay, I mean nothing: so then, get you gone,

Being so very wilful you must go.'

Lightly, her suit allow'd, she slipt away,

And while she made her ready for her ride,

Her father's latest word humm'd in her ear,

'Being so very wilful you must go,'

And changed itself and echo'd in her heart,

'Being so very wilful you must die.'

But she was happy enough and shook it off,

As we shake off the bee that buzzes at us;

And in her heart she answer'd it and said,

'What matter, so I help him back to life?'

Then far away with good Sir Torre for guide

Rode o'er the long backs of the bushless downs

To Camelot, and before the city-gates

Came on her brother with a happy face

Making a roan horse caper and curvet

For pleasure all about a field of flowers:

Whom when she saw, 'Lavaine,' she cried, 'Lavaine,

How fares my lord Sir Lancelot? ' He amazed,

'Torre and Elaine! why here? Sir Lancelot!

How know ye my lord's name is Lancelot?'

But when the maid had told him all her tale,

Then turn'd Sir Torre, and being in his moods

Left them, and under the strange-statued gate,

Where Arthur's wars were render'd mystically,

Past up the still rich city to his kin,

His own far blood, which dwelt at Camelot;

And her, Lavaine across the poplar grove

Led to the caves: there first she saw the casque

of Lancelot on the wall: her scarlet sleeve,

Tho' carved and cut, and half the pearls away,

Stream'd from it still; and in her heart she laugh'd,

Because he had not loosed it from his helm,

But meant once more perchance to tourney in it.

And when they gain'd the cell wherein he slept,

His battle-writhen arms and mighty hands

Lay naked on the wolfskin, and a dream

Of dragging down his enemy made them move.

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