The Complete Poetical Works of Alfred Tennyson

Save that he were the swine thou spak

est of,

Some root of knighthood and pure noble

ness;

Whereto see thou, that it may bear its flower.

"And spake I not too truly, O my
knights?

Was I too dark a prophet when I said
To those who went upon the Holy Quest,
That most of them would follow wander-

ing fires,

Lost in the quagmire ?-lost to me and
gone,

And left me gazing at a barren board,
And a lean Order scarce return'd a

tithe
And out of those to whom the vision came
My greatest hardly will believe he saw ;
Another hath beheld it afar off,
And leaving human wrongs to right
themselves,

Cares but to pass into the silent life.
And one hath had the vision face to face,
And now his chair desires him here in vain,
However they may crown him otherwhere.

"And some among you held, that if
the King

Had seen the sight he would have sworn the vow:

Not easily, seeing that the King must
guard

That which he rules, and is but as the hind
To whom a space of land is given to plough,
Who may not wander from the allotted
field,

Before his work be done; but, being done,
Let visions of the night or of the day
Come, as they will; and many a time they

come,

Until this earth he walks on seems not earth,

This light that strikes his eyeball is not light,

This air that smites his forehead is not air But vision yea, his very hand and foot

In moments when he feels he cannot die,
And knows himself no vision to himself,
Nor the high God a vision, nor that One
Who rose again: ye have seen what ye
have seen.'

And

promised for him: and Arthur made him knight.

And this new knight, Sir Pelleas of
the isles

But lately come to his inheritance,
And lord of many a barren isle was he -
Riding at noon, a day or twain before,
Across the forest call'd of Dean, to find
Caerleon and the King, had felt the sun
Beat like a strong knight on his helm,
and reel'd

Almost to falling from his horse; but saw
Near him a mound of even-sloping side,
Whereon a hundred stately beeches grew,
And here and there great hollies under
them.

But for a mile all round was open space,
And fern and heath: and slowly Pelleas

drew

To that dim day, then binding his good horse

To a tree, cast himself down; and as he lay

At random looking over the brown earth Thro' that green-glooming twilight of the grove,

It seem'd to Pelleas that the fern without Burnt as a living fire of emeralds, So that his eyes were dazzled looking at it. "So spake the king: I knew not all Then o'er it crost the dimness of a cloud

he meant."

Floating, and once the shadow of a bird

Flying, and then a fawn; and his eyes | And pass and care no more. But while

closed.

And since he loved all maidens, but no maid

In special, half-awake he whisper'd, "Where?

O where? I love thee, tho' I know thee not.

For fair thou art and pure as Guinevere, And I will make thee with my spear and sword

As famous - Omy queen, my Guinevere, For I will be thine Arthur when we meet.'

Suddenly waken'd with a sound of talk And laughter at the limit of the wood, And glancing thro' the hoary boles, he

saw,

Strange as to some old prophet might have seem'd

A vision hovering on a sea of fire, Damsels in divers colors like the cloud Of sunset and sunrise, and all of them On horses, and the horses richly trapt Breast-high in that bright line of bracken stood:

And all the damsels talk'd confusedly, And one was pointing this way, and one that,

Because the way was lost.

And Pelleas rose, And loosed his horse, and led him to the light.

There she that seem'd the chief among them said,

"In happy time behold our pilot-star! Youth, we are damsels-errant, and we ride,

Arm'd as ye see, to tilt against the knights There at Caerleon, but have lost our way: To right? to left? straight forward? back again?

Which? tell us quickly."

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he gazed

The beauty of her flesh abash'd the boy, As tho' it were the beauty of her soul: For as the base man, judging of the good, Puts his own baseness in him by default Of will and nature, so did Pelleas lend All the young beauty of his own soul to hers,

Believing her; and when she spake to him, Stammer'd, and could not make her a reply.

For out of the waste islands had he come, Where saving his own sisters he had known Scarce any but the women of his isles, Rough wives, that laugh'd and scream'd against the gulls,

Makers of nets, and living from the sea.

Then with a slow smile turn'd the lady

Pardon but will ye to Caerleon? I
Go likewise: shall I lead you to the King?"

"Lead then," she said; and thro' the.

woods they went. And while they rode, the meaning in his eyes,

His tenderness of manner, and chaste

awe,

His broken utterances and bashfulness, Were all a burthen to her, and in her

heart

She mutter'd, "I have lighted on a fool,

Raw, yet so stale!" But since her mind | From the four winds came in and each was bent On hearing, after trumpet blown, her Tho' served with choice from air, land,

name

And title, "Queen of Beauty," in the lists Cried-and beholding him so strong, she thought

That peradventure he will fight for me, And win the circlet: therefore flatter'd him,

Being so gracious, that he wellnigh deem'd His wish by hers was echo'd; and her knights

And all her damsels too were gracious to him,

For she was a great lady.

And when they reach'd Caerleon, ere they past to lodging, she, Taking his hand, "O the strong hand," she said,

"See! look at mine! but wilt thou fight for me,

And win me this fine circlet, Pelleas,
That I may love thee?"

Then his helpless heart Leapt, and he cried "Ay! wilt thou if I win ?"

"Ay, that will I," she answer'd, and she laugh'd,

And straitly nipt the hand, and flung it from her;

Then glanced askew at those three knights of hers,

Till all her ladies laugh'd along with her.

"O happy world," thought Pelleas,

"all, meseems,

Are happy; I the happiest of them all." Nor slept that night for pleasure in his blood,

And green wood-ways, and eyes among the leaves;

Then being on the morrow knighted, sware To love one only. And as he came away, The men who met him rounded on their heels

And wonder'd after him, because his face Shone like the countenance of a priest of old

Against the flame about a sacrifice Kindled by fire from heaven: so glad was he.

one sat,

stream, and sea,

Oft in mid-banquet measuring with his eyes

His neighbor's make and might: and Pelleas look'd

Noble among the noble, for he dream'd His lady loved him, and he knew himself Loved of the King: and him his newmade knight

Worshipt, whose lightest whisper moved him more

Than all the ranged reasons of the world.

Then blush'd and brake the morning of the jousts,

And this was call'd "The Tournament of Youth":

For Arthur, loving his young knight, withheld

His older and his mightier from the lists, That Pelleas might obtain his lady's love,

According to her promise, and remain Lord of the tourney. And Arthur had the jousts

Down in the flat field by the shore of Usk Holden: the gilded parapets were crown'd With faces, and the great tower fill'd

with eyes

Up to the summit, and the trumpets blew. There all day long Sir Pelleas kept the field With honor: so by that strong hand of his The sword and golden circlet were achieved.

Then rang the shout his lady loved : the heat

Of pride and glory fired her face; her eye Sparkled; she caught the circlet from his lance,

And there before the people crown'd herself.

So for the last time she was gracious to him.

Then at Caerleon for a space-her look Bright for all others, cloudier on her knight

Linger'd Ettarre: and seeing Pelleas droop,

Said Guinevere, "We marvel at thee much,

O damsel, wearing this unsunny face Then Arthur made vast banquets, and To him who won thee glory!” And she

"Had ye not held your Lancelot in your | Full-arm'd upon his charger all day long Sat by the walls, and no one open'd to him.

bower,

My Queen, he had not won.'

the Queen,

Whereat

As one whose foot is bitten by an ant, Glanced down upon her, turn'd and went

her way.

But after, when her damsels, and herself,

And those three knights all set their faces home,

Sir Pelleas follow'd. She that saw him cried, "Damsels to say it

and yet I should be shamed

I cannot bide Sir Baby. Keep him back Among yourselves. Would rather that we had

Some rough old knight who knew the worldly way,

Albeit grizzlier than a bear, to ride And jest with: take him to you, keep him off,

And pamper him with papmeat, if ye will, Old milky fables of the wolf and sheep, Such as the wholesome mothers tell their boys.

Nay, should ye try him with a merry one To find his mettle, good and if he fly

drive him from my walls." And down they went,

And Pelleas overthrew them one by one; And from the tower above him cried Ettarre,

"Bind him, and bring him in."

held

And sifted to the utmost, wilt at length | Trembled and quiver'd, as the dog, withYield me thy love and know me for thy knight.'

at peace,

Affronted with his fulsome innocence ? Are ye but creatures of the board and bed, No men to strike? Fall on him all at once, And if ye slay him I reck not: if ye fail, Give ye the slave mine order to be bound, Bind him as heretofore, and bring him in: It may be ye shall slay him in his bonds."

She spake; and at her will they

couch'd their spears, Three against one: and Gawain passing by, Bound upon solitary adventure, saw Low down beneath the shadow of those towers

A villany, three to one: and thro' his heart The fire of honor and all noble deeds Flash'd, and he call'd, "I strike upon thy side

The caitiffs!" "Nay," said Pelleas, "but forbear;

He needs no aid who doth his lady's will."

So Gawain, looking at the villany done, Forebore, but in his heat and eagerness

A moment from the vermin that he sees Before him, shivers, ere he springs and kills.