Hard by, Sir Launcelot, whom you will meet Sister of Percival, whom you well know, And with her Bors and Percival: stand now, FIRST LADY, putting on the hauberk. That I may stand so close beneath your brow, SECOND LADY, girding him with the sword. That I may stand and touch you with my hand, O Galahad, I, Cecily, am glad. THIRD LADY, buckling on the spurs. That I may kneel while up above you stand, I, Lucy, am most glad. FOURTH LADY, putting on the basnet. That you bow down to us in reverence, ANGEL, putting on the crossed surcoat. For here, amid the straying of the snow, [The Four Ladies carry out the bed, GALAHAD. How still and quiet everything seems now: Enter Sir Bors, Sir Percival, and his Sister. SIR BORS. Why, as for seeing that same holy thing, With many-colour'd raiment, but far off; And so pass'd quickly: from the court nought good; Poor merry Dinadan, that with jape and scoff Kept us all merry, in a little wood Was found all hack'd and dead: Sir Lionel And Gauwaine have come back from the great quest, Just merely shamed; and Lauvaine, who loved well Your father Launcelot, at the king's behest Went out to seek him, but was almost slain, The knights come foil'd from the great quest, in vain; THE CHAPEL IN LYONESS. SIR OZANA LE CURE HARDY. SIR GALAHAD. [The Oxford and Cambridge Magazine 1856; darauf im GuenevereBande 1858.] SIR OZANA. ALL day long and every day, And no man came a-near. Naked to the waist was I, No meat did ever pass my lips My arms lay back behind my head; Many a time I tried to shout; I could not even weep. With inward sigh I see the sun Sometimes strange thoughts pass through my head; "Ozana of the hardy heart, Knight of the Table Round, A true knight he was found." Ah! me, I cannot fathom it. SIR GALAHAD. All day long and every day, All my singing moved him not; So I went a little space From out the chapel, bathed my face In the stream that runs apace By the churchyard wall. There I pluck'd a faint wild rose, Of the lilies tall. I laid the flower across his mouth; [He sleeps. The sparkling drops seem'd good for drouth; The light smote on it from the west; SIR BORS. I enter'd by the western door; I laid my chin upon his head; I heard Ozana murmur low, "There comes no sleep nor any love." But Galahad stoop'd and kiss'd his brow: He shiver'd; I saw his pale lips move. SIR OZANA. There comes no sleep nor any love; I am so weak I cannot move; God move me to thee, dear, to-night! "Ozana of the hardy heart, Knight of the Table Round, Pray for his soul, lords, on your part; Now I begin to fathom it. [He dies. |