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THE LAST TOURNAMENT.*

BY ALFRED TENNYSON,

POET LAUREATE.

DAGONET, the fool, whom Gawain in his moods

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Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round,
At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods,
Danced like a wither'd leaf before the Hall.
And toward him from the hall, with harp in hand,
And from the crown thereof a carcanet
Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize
Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday,
Came Tristram, saying, “Why skip ye so, Sir Fool ?'

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For Arthur and Sir Lancelot riding once
Far down beneath a winding wall of rock
Heard a child wail. A stump of oak half-dead,
From roots like some black coil of carven snakes
Clutch'd at the crag, and started thro' mid air

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• This poem forms one of the “Idylls of the King.” Its place is between “ Pelleas" and “Guinevere.".

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