But snatch'd a sudden buckler from the Squire, crash'd 'Live on, Sir Boy,' she cried. 'I better prize And vaulted on his horse, and so they | The living dog than the dead lion: away! 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.' In onset, and King Pellam's holy spear, Reputed to be red with sinless blood, Redden'd at once with sinful, for the point 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. But when their foreheads felt the cool ing air, Balin first woke, and seeing that true face, 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, 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. Who never sawest Caerleon upon Usk- Why had ye not the shield I knew? and And yet hast often pleaded for my loveSee what I see, be thou where I have been, Or else Sir Chick-dismount and loose their casques 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 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: 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 'I hold them happy, so they died for Told me, that twice a wanton damsel I well believe this damsel, and the one same. For he that always bare in bitter grudge The slights of Arthur and his Table, Mark The Cornish King, had heard a wandering voice, "She dwells among the woods" he said they lied. Pure as our own true Mother is our "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 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.' 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 With Balin, either lock'd in either's arm. MERLIN AND VIVIEN. A STORM was coming, but the winds And in the wild woods of Broceliande, 'Ay, by some few-ay, truly-youths It more beseems the perfect virgin knight So passionate for an utter purity Beyond the limit of their bond, are these Then Mark was half in heart to hurl rose To leave the hall, and, Vivien following him, Turn'd to her: Here are snakes within And you methinks, O Vivien, save ye fear pure Worn by this court, can stir them till they sting.' And Vivien answer'd, smiling scornfully, court 'Why kneel ye there? What evil have ye wrought? 'Why fear? because that foster'd at thy Rise!' and the damsel bidden rise arose And stood with folded hands and downward eyes Of glancing corner, and all meekly said, 'None wrought, but suffer'd much, an orphan maid! I savour of thy-virtues? fear them? no. 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 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 thine And maxims of the mud ! "This Arthur pure ! My father died in battle for thy King, My mother on his corpse-in open field, The sad sea-sounding wastes of LyonessePoor wretch-no friend!-and now by Mark the King For that small charm of feature mine, pursued If any such be mine-I fly to thee. Save, save me thou-Woman of womenthine The wreath of beauty, thine the crown of power, Be thine the balm of pity, O Heaven's own white Great Nature thro' the flesh herself hath | Earth-angel, stainless bride of stainless made King Gives him the lie! There is no being Help, for he follows! take me to thyself! same?" If I were Arthur, I would have thy blood. Thy blessing, stainless King! I bring thee back, 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. Here her slow sweet eyes 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 To me this narrow grizzled fork of thine We choose the last. Our noble Arthur, 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 Cast herself down, knelt to the Queen, and wail'd. him Ye scarce can overpraise, will hear and know. Nay-we believe all evil of thy MarkWell, we shall test thee farther; but this hour We ride a-hawking with Sir Lancelot. 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.' arch 'She is too noble' he said 'to check at pies, Then thro' the portal- Nor will she rake: there is no baseness Peering askance, and muttering brokenwise, As one that labours with an evil dream, 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! 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, 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 Let go at last!—they ride away-to hawk As once-of old-among the flowers me! wake-to they rode. 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, 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. Thereafter as an enemy that has left Then, narrow court and lubber King, Death in the living waters, and with farewell! drawn, 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. For once, when Arthur walking all alone, Had gazed upon her blankly and gone by: 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 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 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, Him, the most famous man of all those And the high purpose broken by the worm. 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, 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 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 ever more, 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, |