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Done in your muiden's person to yourself:

Harborage? truth, good truth, I know not, save,
And I will track this vermin to their earths: It may be, at Earl Yniol's, o'er the bridge
For tho' I ride unarm'd, I do not doubt

Yonder.” He spoke and fell to work again.
To find, at some place I shall come at, arms
On loan, or else for pledge; aud, being found,

Then rode Geraivt, a little splecoful yet, Then will I fight him, and will break his pride, Across the bridge that spaun'd the dry ravine. And on the third day will again be here,

There musing sat the hoary-headed Earl So that I be not fallin in tight. Farewell."

(His dress a suit of fray'd magniticence,

Once fit for feasts of ceremony), and said: "Farewell, fair Prince," answer'd the stately Queen.“ Whither, fair son ?" to whom Geraint replied, “Be prosperous in this journey, as in all;

“O friend, I seek a harborage for the night." And may yon light on all things that you love, Then Yniol, “Enter therefore and partake And live to wed with her whom first you love: The slender entertainment of a house But ere you wed with any, bring your bride, Once rich, now poor, but ever open-door'd.” And I, were she the daughter of a king,

“Thauks, venerable friend,” replied Geraint: Yea, tho' she were a beggar from the hedge, “So that ye do not serve me sparrow-hawks Will clothe ber for her bridals like the sun."

For supper, I will enter, I will cat

With all the passion of a twelve hours' fast." And Prince Geraint, now thinking that he heard Then sigh'd and smiled the hoary-headed Earl, The noble hart at bay, now the far horn,

And answer'd, “Graver cause than yonrs is mine A little vext at losing of the hunt,

To curse this hedgerow thief, the sparrow-hawk: A little at the vile occasion, rode,

But in, go in; for save yourself desire it,
By ups and downs, thro' many a grassy glade We will not touch upon him ev'n in jest."
And valley, with tixt eye following the three.
At last they issued from the world of wood,

Then rode Geraint into the castle court,
And climb'd upon a fair and even ridge,

His charger tramplivg many a prickly star And show'd themselves against the sky, and sank. of sprouted thistle on the broken stones. And thither came Geraint, and underneath

He look'd and saw that all was ruinous. Beheld the long street of a little town

Here stood a shatter'd archway plumed with fern; In a long valley, on one side whereof,

And here bad fallin a great part of a tower, White from the mason's hand, a fortress rose ; Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff, And on one side a castle in decay,

Aud like a crag was gay with wilding flowers : Beyond a bridge that spauu'd a dry ravine:

And high above a piece of turret stair, Aud ont of town and valley came a noise

Worn by the feet that now were silent, wound As of a broad brook o'er a shingly bed

Bare to the sun, and monetrons ivy-stems Brawling, or like a clamor of the rooks

Claspt the gray walls with hairy-fibred arms, At distance, ere they settle for the night.

And suck'd the joining of the stones, and look'd

A knot, beneath, of snakes, alost, a grove.
And onward to the fortress rode the three,
And enter'd, and were lost behind the walls.

And while he waited in the castle court, So,” thought Geraint, “I have track'd him to his The voice of Enid, Yniol's daugbter, rang earth."

Clear thro' the open casement of the ball, And down the long street riding wearily,

Singing; and as the sweet voice of a bird, Found every hostel full, and everywhere

Heard by the lavder in a lonely isle,
Was hammer laid to boof, and the hot hiss

Moves him to think what kind of bird it is
And bustling whistle or the yonth who scour'd That sings so delicately clear, and make
His master's armor; and of such a one

Conjecture of the plumage and the form ;
He ask'd, “What means the tumult in the town " So the sweet voice of Enid moved Geraint:
Who told him, scouring still, “The sparrow-hawk!" And made him like a man abroad at moru
Then riding close behind an ancient chur),

When first the liquid pote beloved of me. Who, smitten by the dusty sloping beam,

Comes flying over many a windy wave Went sweating underneath a sack of corn,

To Britain, and in April suddenly Ask'd yet once more what meant the hubbub here: Breaks from a coppice gemm'd with green and red, Who auswer'd gruflly, “Ugh! the sparrow-hawk." And he suspends his converse with a Irlenú, Then riding further past an armorer's,

Or it may be the labor of his hands, Who, with back turn'd, and bow'd above his work, To think or say, “There is the nightingale;" Sat riveting a helmet on his knee,

So fared it with Geraint, who thought and said, He put the self-same query, but the man

“Here, by God's grace, is the one voice for me." Not turuing round, por looking at him, said: “Frieud, he that labors for the sparrow-hawk

It chanced the song that Enid sang was one Has little time for idle questioners."

Of Fortune and her wheel, and Enid sang: Whereat Geraint flash'd into sudden spleen: “A thousand pips eat up your sparrow-hawk! 'Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the Tits, wrens, and all wing'd nothings peck him dead ! proud ; Ye think the rustic cackle of your bourg

Turn thy wild wheel thro' sunshine, storm, and The murmur of the world! What is it to me!

clond ; O wretched set of sparrows, one and all,

Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate. Who pipe of nothing but of sparrow-hawks ! Speak, if ye be not like the rest, hawk-mad,

“Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or Where can I get me harborage for the night?

frown; And arms, arms, arms to fight my enemy? Speak!" With that wild wheel we go not np or down ; Whereat the armoler turning all amazed

Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.
And seeing one so gay in purple silks,
Came forward with the helmet yet in hand

"Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands; And answer'd, “Pardon me, O stranger knight; Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands : We hold a tourney here to-morrow morn,

For man is man and master of his fate. And there is scantly time for half the work. Arms? truth! I know not: all are wanted here. “Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd •

Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud ; Felt ye were somewhat, yea, and by your state
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate." Aud presence might have guess'd you one of those

That eat in Arthur's hall at Camelot.
“ Hark, by the bird's song ye may learn the nest," Nor speak I now from foolish fattery;
Said Yuiol ; "enter quickly." Eutering then, For this dear child hath often heard me praise
Right o'er a mount of newly-fallen stones,

Your feats of arms, avd often when I paused The dusky-rafter'd many-cobwebb'd hall,

Hath ask'd again, and ever loved to hear;
He found an ancient dame in dim brocade;

So grateful is the noise of noble deeds
And near her, like a blossom vermeil-white, To noble hearts who see but acts of wrong:
That lightly breaks a faded flower-sheath,

O never yet had woman such a pair
Moved the fair Enid, all in faded silk,

or suitors as this maiden ; first Limours, Her daughter. In a moment thought Geraint, A creature wholly given to brawls and wine, " Here by God's rood is the one maid for me." Drunk even when he woo'd ; and be he dead But Dove spake word except the hoary Earl: I know not, but he past to the wild land. "Euid, the good knight's horse stands in the court: The second was your fve, the sparrow-hawk, Take him to stall, and give him corn, and then My curse, my nephew-I will not let his name Go to the town and buy ns flesh and wine ; Slip from my lips if I can help it-be, And we will make us merry as we may.

When I that kuew him fierce and turbulent
Our board is little, but our hearts are great." Refused her to him, then his pride awoke ;

And since the proud man often is the mean,
He spake: the Prince, as Enid past him, fain He sow'd a slauder in the common ear,
To follow, strode a stride, but Yniol caught

Affirming that his father left him gold,
His purple scarf, and held, and said, “ Forhear! And in my charge, which was not render'd to him ;
Rest! the good honse, tho' ruin'd, O my son, Bribed with large promises the men who served
Endures not that her guest should serve himself." About my person, the more easily
And reverencing the custom of the house,

Because my means were somewhat broken into Geraint, from utter courtesy, forbore.

Thro' open doors and hospitality;

Raised my own town against me in the night So Enid took his charger to the stall;

Before my Enid's birthday, sack'd my house ; And after went her way across the bridge,

From mine own earldom fonlly ousted me; And reach'd the town, and while the Prince and Earl Built that new fort to overawe my friends, Yet spoke together, came again with one,

For truly there are those who love me yet; A youth, that following with a costrel bore

And keeps me in this ruinous castle here, The means of goodly welcome, and wine. Where doubtless he would put me soon to death, And Enid bronght sweet cakes to make them cheer, But that his pride too much despises me: And in her veil enfolded, manchet bread.

And I myself sometimes despise myself; And then, becanse their hall must also serve For I have let men be, and have their way; For kitchen, boil'd the flesh, and spread the board, Am much too gentle, have not used my power: And stood behind, and waited on the three. Nor know I whether I be very base And seeing her so sweet and serviceable,

Or very manful, whether very wise Geraint had longing in him evermore

Or very foolish ; only this I know, To stoop and kiss the tender little thumb,

That whatsoever evil happen to me,
That crost the trencher as she laid it down: I seem to suffer nothing heart or limb,
But after all had enten, then Geraint,

But can endure it all most patiently."
For now the wine made summer in his veins,
Let his eye rove in following, or rest

“Well said, true heart,” replied Geraiut, “but On Enid at her lowly hand-maid-work,

arms, Now here, now there, about the dusky hall; That if the sparrow-hawk, this nephew, fight Then suddenly addrest the hoary Earl:

In next day's tourney I may break his pride."

“Fair host and earl, I pray yonr courtesy :
This sparrow-hawk, what is he? tell me of him.
His name! but no, good faith, I will not have it:
For if he be the knight whom late I saw
Ride into that new fortress by your town,
White from the mason's hand, then have I sworn
From his own lips to have it-I am Geraint
Of Devon-for this morning when the Queen
Sent ber own maiden to demand the name,
His dwarf, a vicious ander-shapen thing,
Struck at her with his whip, and she return'd
Indignant to the Queen ; and then I swore
That I would track this coitiff to his hold,
And fight and break his pride, and have it of him.
And all nnarm'd I rode, and thought to find
Arms in your town, where all the men are mad;
They take the rustic murmur of their bourg
For the great wave that echoes round the world ;
They would not hear me speak: but if ye know
Where I can light on arms, or if yourself
Should have them, tell me, seeing I have sworn
That I will break his pride and learn his name,
Avenging this great insult done the Queen."

And Yviol answer'd, “Arms, indeed, but old
And rusty, old and rusty, Prince Gernint,
Are mine, and therefore at thine asking, thive.
But in this tournament can no man tilt,
Except the lady he loves hest be there.
Two forks are fixt into the meadow ground,
And over these is placed a silver wand,
And over that a golden sparrow-hawk,
The prize of beauty for the fairest there.
And this, what knight soever be in field
Lay's claim to for the lady at his side,
And tilts with my good nephew thereupon,
Who being apt at arms and big of bone
Has "ever won it for the lady with him,
And toppling over all antagonism
Has earn'd himself the name of sparrow-hawk.
But thou, that hast no lady, canst not fight."

To whom Geraint with eyes all bright replied,
Leaning a little toward him, “Thy leave!
Let me lay lance in rest, O poble host,
For this dear child, because I never saw,
Tho' having seen all beauties of our time,
Nor can see elsewhere, anything so fair.
And if I fall her name will yet remain
Untarnish'd as before ; but if I live,
So aid me Heaven when at mine nttermost,
As I will make her truly my true wife.”

Then cried Earl Yniol, “Art thon he indeed,
Geraint, a name far-sounded among men
For noble deeds ? and truly I, when first
I saw you moving by me on the bridge,

Then, howsoever patient, Yviol's heart

My pride is broken : men have seen my fall." Danced in his bosom, seeing better days,

Then, Edyrn, son of Nudd," replied Geraint, And looking round he saw not Enid there

"These two things shalt thou do, or else thou diest. (Who hearing her own name bad slipt away), First, thou thysell, with damsel and with dwarf, But that old dame, to whom full teuderly

Shalt ride to Arthur's court, and coming there, And fondling all her hand in his he said,

Crave pardon for that insult done the Queen, * Mother, a maiden is a tender thing,

And shalt abide her judgment on it; next, And best by her that bore her understood.

Thou shalt give back their earldom to thy kin. Go thou to rest, but ere thou go to rest

These two things shalt thou do, or thou shalt die." Tell her, and prove her heart toward the Prince.” And Edyru answer'd, “ These things will I do,

For I have never yet been overthrown,
So spake the kindly-hearted Earl, and she And thou hast overthrown me, and my pride
With frequent smile and nod departing found, Is broken down, for Euid sees my fall !".
Half disarray'd as to her rest, the girl ;

And rising up, he rode to Arthur's court,
Whom first she kiss'd on either cheek, and then And there the Queen forgave him easily.
On either shining shoulder laid a hand,

Aud being young, he changed and came to loathe And kept her off and gazed upon her face,

His crime of traitor, slowly drew himself And told her all their converse in the hall,

Bright from his own dark life, and fell at last Proving her heart: but never light and shade In the great battle tighting for the King. Coursed one another more on open ground Beneath a troubled heaven, than and pale

But when the third day from the hunting-moru Across the face of Enid hearing her ;

Made a low splendor in the world, and wings While slowly falling as a scale that falls,

Moved in her ivy, Euid, for she lay When weight is added only graiu by grain,

With her fair head in the dim-yellow light, Sauk her sweet head upon her gentle breast; Among the dancing shadows of the birds, Nor did she list an eye por speak a word,

Woke aud bethought her of her promise giver Rapt in the fear and in the wonder of it;

No later than last eve to Prince GeraintSo moving withont answer to her rest

So bent he seemid on going the third day, She found no rest, and ever fail'd to draw

He would not leave her, till her promise givenThe quiet night into her blood, but lay

To ride with bim this morning to the court, Contemplating her own unworthivess;

And there be made known to the stately Queen, Aud when the pale and bloodless east began And there be wedded with all ceremony. To quicken to the sun, arose, and raised

At this she cast her eyes upon her dress, Her mother too, and hand in hand they moved And thonght it never yet had look'd so mean. Down to the meadow where the jousts were held, For as a leaf in mid-November is And waited there for Yniol aud Geraiut.

To what it was in mid-October, seem'd

The dress that now she look'd on to the dress And thither came the twain, and when Geraint She look'd on ere the coming of Geraint. Beheld her first in field, awaiting him,

Avd still she look'd, and still the terror grew He felt, were she the prize of bodily force,

of that strange bright and dreadful thing, a court, Himself beyond the rest pushing could muve All staring at her in her faded silk : The chair of Idris. Yviol's rusted arms

And softly to her own sweet heart sbe said : Were on his princely person, but thro' these Princelike his bearing shone; and errant knights “ This poble Prince who won our earldom back, And ladies came, and by and by the town

So splendid in his acts and his attire, Flowd in, and settling circled all the lists.

Sweet heaven, how much I shall discredit him ! And there they fixt the forks into the ground, Would he could tarry with us here awhile, Aud over these they placed the silver wand,

But being so beholder to the Prince, And over that the golden sparrow-hawk.

It were but little grace in any of us, Then Yniol's nephew, after trumpet-blown,

Bent as he seem'd on going this third day, Spake to the lady with him and proclaim'd,

To seek a second favor at his hands. "Advance and take as fairest of the fair,

Yet if he could but tarry a day or two, For I these two years past have won it for thee, Myself would work eye dim, and tinger lame, The prize of beanty." Loudly spake the Prince, Far liefer than so much discredit him." “Forbear: there is a worthier," and the knight With some surprise and thrice as much disdain And Enid fell in longing for a dress Turn'd, and beheld the four, and all his face All branch'd and flower'd with gold, a costly gift Glow'd like the heart of a great fire at Yule, Of her good mother, given her on the night So burnt he was with passion, crying out,

Before her birthday, three sad years ago, "Do battle for it then," no more; and thrice That night of tire, when Edyrri sack'd their house, They clash'd together, and thrice they brake their And scatter'd all they had to all the winds : spears.

For while the mother w'd it, and the two Then each, disborsed and drawing, lash'd at each Were turning and admiring it, the work So often and with such blows, that all the crowd To both appear'd so costly, rose a cry Wonder'd, and now and then from distant walls That Edyrn's men were on them, and they fled There came a clapping as of phantom hands. With little save the jewels they had on, So twice they fought, and twice they breathed, and which being sold and sold had bought them brend still

And Edyrn's men had caught them in their flight, The dew of their great labor, and the blood And placed them in this ruin; and she wish'd of their strong bodies, flowing, drain'd their force. The Prince had found her in her ancient home; But either's force was match'd till Yniol's cry, Then let her fancy flit across the past, “Remember that great insult done the Queen," And roam the goodly places that she knew; Increased Geraint's, who heaved his blade aloft, And last bethought her how she used to watch, And crack'd the helmet thro', and bit the bone, Near that old home, a pool of golden carp: And fell'd him, and set foot upon his breast,

And one was patch'd avd blurr'd and lustreless And said, “Thy pame?" To whom the fallen man Among his burnish'd brethren of the pool; Made answer, groaning, “Edyrn, son of Nudd ! And half asleep she made comparison Ashamed am I that I should tell it thee.

or that and these to her own faded sell

And the gay court, and fell asleep again ;

To whom we are beholden; but I know, And dreamt herself was such a faded form

When my dear child is set forth at her best, Among her burnish'd sisters of the pool;

That neither court nor country, thu' they sought But this was in the garden of a king;

Thro' all the provinces like those of gld Aud tho' she lay dark in the pool, she knew That lighted ou Queen Esther, has her match." That all was bright; that all about were birds Of sunny plume in gilded trellis-work;

Here ceased the kindly mother out of breath: That all the turf was rich in plots that look'd And Evid listeu'd brightening as she lay; Each like a garnet or a turkis in it;

Then, is the white and glittering star of morn Aod lords and ladies of the high court went Parts from a bank of suow, and by and by In silver tissue talking things of state ;

Slips into goldeu cloud, the maiden rose, And children of the King in cloth of gold

And left her maiden couch, and robed herself, Glanced at the doors or gambol'd down the walks : Help'd by the mother's careful hand and eye, And while she thought “They will not see me,” | Without a mirror, in the gorgeons gown; came

Who, after, turu'd her daughter round, and said, A stately queen whose name was Guinevere, She never yet had seen her half so fair: And all the children in their cloth of gold

And call'd her like that maiden in the tale, Ran to her, crying, "If we have fish at all

Whom Gwydion made by glamour out of flowers, Let them be gold; and charge the gardeners now And sweeter than the bride of Cassivelaud, To pick the faded crenture from the pool,

Flur, for whose love the Roman Cæsar first And cast it on the mixen that it die."

Iuvaded Britain, “but we beat him back, And therewithal one came and seized on her, As this great Prince invaded us, and we, And Enid started waking, with her heart

Not beat him back, but welcomed him with joy. All overshadow'd by the foolish dream,

And I can scarcely ride with you to court, And lo! it was her mother grasping her

For old am I, and rough the ways and wild ; To get her well awake; and in her hand

But Yniol goes, and I full oft shall dream A suit of bright apparel, which she laid

I see my princess as I see her now, Flat on the couch, aud spoke exultingly:

Clothed with my gift, and gay among the gay." “See here, my child, how fresh the colors look, But while the women thus rejoiced, Geraint How fast they hold like colors of a shell

Woke where he slept in the high hall, and callid That keeps the wear and polish of the wave. For Enid, and when Yuiol made report

v Why not? it never yet was worn, I trow:

of that good mother making Enid gay Look on it, child, and tell me if ye kuow it." In such apparel as might well beseem

His princess, or indeed the stately Queen,
And Enid look'd, but all confused at first,

He answerd: “Earl, entreat her by my love,
Could scarce divide it from her foolish dream : Albeit I give no reason but my wish,
Then suddenly she knew it and rejoiced,

That she ride with me in her faded silk."
And answer'd, “Yea, I know it; your good gift, Yniol with that hard message went; it fell
So sadly lost on that unhappy night :

Like flaws in summer laying lusty corn: Your own good gift!" "Yea, surely," said the dame, For Enid, all abash'd, she knew not why, "And gladly given again this happy morn.

Dared not to glance at her good mother's face, For when the jousts were ended yesterday,

But silently, in all obedience,
Went Yniol through the town, and everywhere Her mother silent too, nor helping her,
He found the sack and plunder of our house Laid from her limbs the costly-broider'd gift,
All scatter'd thro' the houses of the town;

And robed them in her ancient suit again,
And gave command that all which once was ours And so descended. Never man rejoiced
Shonld now be onrs again : and yester-eve,

More than Geraint to greet her thus attired ; While ye were talking sweetly with your Prince, And glancing all at once as keenly at her Came one with this and laid it in my hand,

As careful robins eye the delver's toil, For love or fear, or seeking favor of us,

Made her cheek burn and either cyelid fall, Because we have our earldom back again.

But rested, with her sweet face satisfied: And yester-eve I would not tell you of it,

Then seeing cloud upon the mother's brow, But kept it for a sweet surprise at morn.

Her by both hands he caught, and sweetly said, Yea, truly, is it not a sweet surprise ? For I myself unwillingly have worn

“O my new mother, be not wroth or grieved My faded suit, as you, my child, have yours,

At thy new son, for my petition to her. And, howsoever patient, Yviol his.

When late I left Caerleon, our great Queen, Ah, dear, he took me from a goodly house,

In words whose echo lasts, they were so sweet, With store of rich apparel, sumptnous fare,

Made promise, that whatever bride I brought, And page, and maid, and equire, and reneschal, Herself would clothe her like the sun in heaven. And pastime both of hawk and hound, and all Thereafter, when I reach'd this ruin'd hall, That appertains to noble maintenance.

Beholding one so bright in dark estate, Yea, and he brought me to a goodly house ; I vow'd that, could I gain her, our fair Queen, But since onr fortune slipt from sun to shade, No hand but hers, shonld make your Enid burst, And all thro' that young traitor, cruel need

Sunlike, from cloud-and likewise thought, perhaps, Constrain'd us, but a better time has come ;

That service done so graciously would bind So clothe yourself in this, that better fits

The two together ; fain I would the two Onr mended fortunes and a Prince's bride:

Should love each other: how can Enid find For tho' ye won the prize of fairest fair,

A nobler friend! Another thought was mine; And tho' I heard him call you fairest fair,

I came among you here so suddenly, Let never maiden think, however fair,

That tho' her gentle presence at the lists She is not fairer in new clothes than old.

Might well bave served for proof that I was loved, And should some great court-lady say, the Prince I doubted whether daughter's tenderness, Hath pick'd a ragged-robin from the hedge, Or easy patare, might not let itself And like a madman bronght her to the court, Be moulded by yonr wishes for her weal ; Then were ye sbamed, and, worse, might shame the Or whether some false sense in her own self Priuce

Of my contrasting brightness, overbore

Her fancy dwelling in this dusky hall;

Hung at his belt, and hurl'd it toward the sqnire. And such a sense might make her long for court So the last sight that Enid had of home Aud all its perilous glories: and I thought,

Was all the marble threshold flashing, strown That could I someway prove such force in her, With gold and scatter'd coinage, and the squire Lmik'd with such love for me, that at a word Chating his shoulder: then he cried again, (No reason given her) she could cast aside

“To the wilds !" and Euid leading down the tracks A splendor dear to women, new to her,

Thro' which he bade her lead him on, they past And therefore dearer ; or, if not so new,

The marches, and by bandit haunted bolds, Yet therefore ten fold dearer by the power

Gray swamps and pools, waste places of the hern, of interinitted usage; then felt

And wildernesses, perilous paths, they rode: That I could rest, a rock in ebbs and flows, Round was their pace at first, but slacken'd soon: Fixt on her faith. Now, therefore, I do rest, A stranger meeting them had surely thought, A prophet certain of my prophecy,

They rode so slowly and they look'd so pale, That never shadow of mistrust can cross

That each bad suffer'd some exceeding wrong. Between us. Graut me pardon for my thoughts: For he was ever saying to himself, And for my strange petition I will make

"0 I that wasted time to teud upou her, Amends hereafter by some gaudy-day,

To compass her with sweet observances,
When your fair child shall wear your costly gift To dress her beautifully and keep her true"-
Beside your own warm hearth, with, on her knees, And there he broke the sentence in his heart
Who knows? another gift of the high God,

Abruptly, as a mau npon his tongue
Which, maybe, shall have learn’d to lisp you thanks." May break it, when his passion masters him.

And she was ever praying the sweet heavens
He spoke: the mother smiled, but half in tears, To save her dear lord whole from any wound.
Then brought a mantle down and wrapt her in it, And ever iu her mind she cast about
Aud claspt avd kiss'd her, and they rode away. For that unnoticed failing in herself,

Which made him look so cloudy and so cold; Now thrice that morning Guinevere had climb'd Till the great plover's human whistle amazed The giant tower, from whose high crest, they say, Her heart, and glaucing around the waste, she fear'd Men saw the goodly hills of Somerset,

In every wavering brake an ambuscade. And white sails flying on the yellow sea;

Then thought again, “If there be such in ine, But not to goodly hill or yellow sea

I might amend it by the grace of Heaven,
Look'd the fair Queen, but up the vale of Usk, If he would only speak and tell me of it."
By the flat meadow, till she saw them cone;
And then descending, met them at the gates,

But when the fourth part of the day was gone, Embraced her with all welcome as a friend,

Then Enid was aware of three tall knights And did her honor as the Prince's bride,

On horseback, wholly arm'd, bebind a rock And clothed her for her bridals like the sun ; In shadow, waiting for them, caitiffs all; And all that week was old Caerleon gay,

And heard one crying to his fellow, “Look, For by the hands of Dubric, the high saint, Here comes a laggard hanging down his head, They twain were wedded with all ceremony. Who seems no bolder than a beaten hound;

Come, we will slay him and will have his horse
Avd this was on the last year's Whitsuntide. And armor, and his damsel shall be ours."
But Enid ever kept the faded silk,
Remembering how first he came on her,

Then Enid ponder'd in her heart, and said:
Drest in that dress, and how he loved her in it, "I will go back a little to my lord,
And all her foolish fears about the dress,

And I will tell him all their caitiff talk ;
And all his jonrney toward her, as himself

For, be he wroth even to slaying me, Had told her, and their coming to the court. Far liefer by his dear hand had I die,

Than that my lord should suffer loss or shame." And now this morning, when he said to her, “Put on your worst and meanest dress," she found Then she went back some paces of returu, And took it, and array'd herself therein.

Met his full frown timidly firm, and said:

My lord, I saw three bandits by the rock
II.

Waiting to fall on yon, and heard them boast

That they would slay you, and possess your horse O PORBLIND race of miserable men,

And armor, and your damsel should be theirs." How many among us at this very hour Do forge a life-long trouble for onrselves,

He made a wrathful answer: "Did I wish By taking true for false, or false for true;

Your warning or your silence ? one command Here, thro' the feeble twilight of this world

I laid upon you, not to speak to me, Groping, how many, until we pass and reach And thus ye keep it! Well then, look-for now, That other, where we see as we are seen!

Whether ye wish me victory or defeat,

Long for my life, or hunger for my death,
So fared it with Geraint, who, issuing forth Yourself shall see my vigor is not lost."
That morning, when they both had got to horse,
Perhaps because he loved her passionately,

Then Enid waited pale and sorrowful,
And felt that tempest brooding round his heart, And down upon him bare the bandit three.
Which, if he spoke at all, would break perforce And at the midmost charging, Prince Geraint
Upon a head so dear iu thunder, said:

Drave the long spear a cubit thro' his breast, "Not at my side. I charge thee ride before, And ont beyond ; and then against his brace Ever a good way on before; and this

of comrades, each of whom had broken on him I charge thee, on thy duty as a wife,

A lance that splinter'd like an icicle, Whatever happens, not to speak to me,

Swing from his brand a windy buffet ont No, not a word !" and Enid was aghast;

Once, twice, to right, to left, and stann'd the twain, And forth they rode, but scarce three paces on, Or slew them, and dismounting like a mau When crying out, "Effeminate as I am,

That skins the wild beast after playing him, I will not fight my way with gilded arms,

Stript from the three dead wolves of woman born All shall be iron;" he loosed a mighty purse, The three gay suite of armor which they wore,

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