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And never yet, since high in Paradise
O'er the four rivers the first roses flew;
Came purer pleasure unto mortal kind

Than lived thro' her, who in that perilous hour Put hand to hand beneath her husband's heart and felt him hers again:

She did not weep,

But o'er her meek eyes came a happy mist
Like that which kept the heart of Eden green
Before the useful trouble of the rain.

V.

SONG FROM MERLIN AND VIVIEN.

IN Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours,
Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers:
Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.

It is the little rift within the lute,

That by and by will make the music mute,
And ever widening slowly silence all.

The little rift within the lover's lute
Or little pitted speck in garner'd fruit,
That rotting inward slowly moulders all.

It is not worth the keeping: let it go:
But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no.
And trust me not at all or all in all.

VI.

SONG FROM LANCELOT AND ELAINE.

AND in those days she made a little song,

And call'd her song, "The song of Love and Death." And sang it: sweetly could she make and sing.

"Sweet is true love tho' given in vain, in vain ; And sweet is death who puts an end to pain: I know not which is sweeter, no, not I.

"Love, art thou sweet? then bitter death must be;
Love, thou art bitter; sweet is death to me.
O Love, if death be sweeter, let me die.

"Sweet love, that seems not made to fade away, Sweet death, that seems to make us loveless clay, I know not which is sweeter, no, not 1.

"I fain would follow love, if that could be ;
I needs must follow death, who calls for me;
Call and I follow, I follow! let me die."

VII.

STRAY LINES FROM LANCELOT AND
ELAINE.

His honour rooted in dishonour stood.
And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.

Never yet was noble man but made ignoble talk.
He makes no friend who never made a foe.

Low in the dust of half-forgotten kings.

VIII.

SONGS FROM THE LAST TOURNAMENT.

"FREE love--free field-we love but while we may :
The woods are hush'd, their music is no more:
The leaf is dead, the yearning past away;
New leaf, new life-the days of frost are o'er :
New life, new love to suit the newest day :

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New loves are sweet as those that went before:
Free love-free field-we love but while we may.'

"Ay, ay, O ay-the winds that bend the brier!

A star in heaven, a star within the mere!

Ay, ay, O ay—a star was my desire,
And one was far apart, and one was near:
Ay, ay, O ay-the winds that bow the grass!
And one was water and one star was fire,
And one will ever shine and one will pass.
Ay, ay, O ay-the winds that move the mere."

IX.

SONG FROM GUINEVERE.

"LATE, late, so late! and dark the night and chill! Late, late, so late! but we can enter still.

Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now.

"No light had we: for that we do repent ; And learning this, the bridegroom will relent. Too late, too late: ye cannot enter now.

"No light so late: and dark and chill the night! O let us in, that we may find the light!

Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now.

"Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet? O let us in, tho' late, to kiss his feet!

No, no, too late! ye cannot enter now."

X.

THE FAREWELL OF ARTHUR.

(From "Guinevere.")

BUT when the Queen immersed in such a trance,
And moving through the past unconsciously,
Came to that point where first she saw the King
Ride toward her from the city, sigh'd to find
Her journey done, glanced at him, thought him cold,
High, self-contain'd, and passionless, not like him,
"Not like my Lancelot "-while she brooded thus
And grew half-guilty in her thoughts again,
There rode an armed warrior to the doors.
A murmuring whisper thro' the nunnery ran,
Then on a sudden a cry, "the King." She sat
Stiff-stricken, listening; but when armed feet
Thro' the long gallery from the outer doors
Rang coming, prone from off her seat she fell,
And grovell'd with her face against the floor;
There with her milkwhite arms and shadowy hair
She made her face a darkness from the King;
And in the darkness heard his armed feet
Pause by her then came silence, then a voice,
Monotonous and hollow like a Ghost's

Denouncing judgment, but tho' changed, the King's.

"Liest thou here so low, the child of one
I honour'd, happy, dead before thy shame?
Well is it that no child is born of thee.
The children born of thee are sword and fire,
Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws,
The craft of kindred and the Godless hosts

Of heathen swarming o'er the Northern Sea;
Whom I, while yet Sir Lancelot, my right arm,
The mightiest of my knights, abode with me,
Have everywhere about this land of Christ
In twelve great battles ruining overthrown.

And knowest thou now from whence I come-from him
From waging bitter war with him and he,
That did not shun to smite me in worse way,
Had yet that grace of courtesy in him left,
He spared to lift his hand against the King

Who made him knight: but many a knight was slain;
And many more, and all his kith and kin
Clave to him, and abode in his own land.
And many more when Modred raised revolt,
Forgetful of their troth and fealty, clave
To Modred, and a remnant stays with me.
And of this remnant will I leave a part,
True men who love me still, for whom I live,
To guard thee in the wild hour coming on,
Lest but a hair of this low head be harm'd.
Fear not thou shalt be guarded till my death.
Howbeit I know, if ancient prophecies
Have err'd not, that I march to meet my doom.
Thou hast not made my life so sweet to me,
That I the King should greatly care to live;
For thou hast spoilt the purpose of my life.
Bear with me for the last time while I show,
Ev'n for thy sake, the sin which thou hast sinn'd.
For when the Roman left us, and their law
Relax'd its hold upon us, and the ways
Were fill'd with rapine, here and there a deed
Of prowess done redress'd a random wrong.
But I was first of all the kings who drew
The knighthood-errant of this realm and all
The realms together under me, their Head,
In that fair order of my Table Round,
A glorious company, the flower of men,
To serve as model for the mighty world,
And be the fair beginning of a time.

I made them lay their hands in mine and swear

To reverence the King, as if he were

Their conscience, and their conscience as their King,

To break the heathen and uphold the Christ,

To ride abroad redressing human wrongs,

To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it,
To lead sweet lives in purest chastity,
To love one maiden only, cleave to her,

And worship her by years of noble deeds,
Until they won her; for indeed I knew
Of no more subtle master under heaven
Than is the maiden passion for a maid,
Not only to keep down the base in man,
But teach high thought, and amiable words
And courtliness, and the desire of fame,
And love of truth, and all that makes a man.
And all this throve until I wedded thee,
Believing, lo mine helpmate, one to feel
My purpose and rejoicing in my joy.'
Then came thy shameful sin with Lancelot ;
Then came the sin of Tristram and Isolt;
Then others, following these my mightiest knights,
And drawing foul ensample from fair names,
Sinn'd also, till the loathsome opposite

Of all my heart had destined did obtain,
And all thro' thee! so that this life of mine

I guard as God's high gift from scathe and wrong.
Not greatly care to lose; but rather think
How sad it were for Arthur, should he live,
To sit once more within his lonely hall,
And miss the wonted number of my knights,
And miss to hear high talk of noble deeds
As in the golden days before thy sin.
For which of us, who might be left, could speak
Of the pure heart, nor seem to glance at thee?
And in thy bowers of Camelot or of Usk

Thy shadow still would glide from room to room,
And I should evermore be vext with thee

In hanging robe or vacant ornament
Or ghostly footfall echoing on the stair.

For think not, tho' thou wouldst not love thy lord,
Thy lord has wholly lost his love for thee.

I am not made of so slight elements.

Yet must I leave thee, woman, to thy shame.
I hold that man the worst of public foes

Who either for his own or children's sake,
To save his blood from scandal, lets the wife
Whom he knows false, abide and rule the house:
For being thro' his cowardice allow'd

Her station, taken everywhere for pure,
She like a new disease, unknown to men,
Creeps, no precaution used, among the crowd,
Makes wicked lightnings of her eyes, and saps
The fealty of our friends, and stirs the pulse
With devil's leaps, and poisons half the young.

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