And Enid answered,'Yea,my lord,I know Your wish,and would obey;but riding first,I hear the violent threats you do not hear,I see the danger which you cannot see:
Then not to give you warning,that seems hard;Almost beyond me:yet I would obey.'
'Yea so,'said he,'do it:be not too wise;
Seeing that ye are wedded to a man,Not all mismated with a yawning clown,But one with arms to guard his head and yours,With eyes to find you out however far,And ears to hear you even in his dreams.'
With that he turned and looked as keenly at her As careful robins eye the delver's toil;And that within her,which a wanton fool,Or hasty judger would have called her guilt,Made her cheek burn and either eyelid fall.
And Geraint looked and was not satisfied.
Then forward by a way which,beaten broad,Led from the territory of false Limours To the waste earldom of another earl,Doorm,whom his shaking vassals called the Bull,Went Enid with her sullen follower on.
Once she looked back,and when she saw him ride More near by many a rood than yestermorn,It wellnigh made her cheerful;till Geraint Waving an angry hand as who should say 'Ye watch me,'saddened all her heart again.
But while the sun yet beat a dewy blade,The sound of many a heavily-galloping hoof Smote on her ear,and turning round she saw Dust,and the points of lances bicker in it.
Then not to disobey her lord's behest,And yet to give him warning,for he rode As if he heard not,moving back she held Her finger up,and pointed to the dust.
At which the warrior in his obstinacy,Because she kept the letter of his word,Was in a manner pleased,and turning,stood.
And in the moment after,wild Limours,Borne on a black horse,like a thunder-cloud Whose skirts are loosened by the breaking storm,Half ridden off with by the thing he rode,And all in passion uttering a dry shriek,Dashed down on Geraint,who closed with him,and bore Down by the length of lance and arm beyond The crupper,and so left him stunned or dead,And overthrew the next that followed him,And blindly rushed on all the rout behind.
But at the flash and motion of the man They vanished panic-stricken,like a shoal Of darting fish,that on a summer morn Adown the crystal dykes at Camelot Come slipping o'er their shadows on the sand,But if a man who stands upon the brink But lift a shining hand against the sun,There is not left the twinkle of a fin Betwixt the cressy islets white in flower;So,scared but at the motion of the man,Fled all the boon companions of the Earl,And left him lying in the public way;So vanish friendships only made in wine.
Then like a stormy sunlight smiled Geraint,Who saw the chargers of the two that fell Start from their fallen lords,and wildly fly,Mixt with the flyers.'Horse and man,'he said,'All of one mind and all right-honest friends!
Not a hoof left:and I methinks till now Was honest--paid with horses and with arms;I cannot steal or plunder,no nor beg:
And so what say ye,shall we strip him there Your lover?has your palfrey heart enough To bear his armour?shall we fast,or dine?
No?--then do thou,being right honest,pray That we may meet the horsemen of Earl Doorm,I too would still be honest.'Thus he said:
And sadly gazing on her bridle-reins,And answering not one word,she led the way.
But as a man to whom a dreadful loss Falls in a far land and he knows it not,But coming back he learns it,and the loss So pains him that he sickens nigh to death;So fared it with Geraint,who being pricked In combat with the follower of Limours,Bled underneath his armour secretly,And so rode on,nor told his gentle wife What ailed him,hardly knowing it himself,Till his eye darkened and his helmet wagged;And at a sudden swerving of the road,Though happily down on a bank of grass,The Prince,without a word,from his horse fell.
And Enid heard the clashing of his fall,Suddenly came,and at his side all pale Dismounting,loosed the fastenings of his arms,Nor let her true hand falter,nor blue eye Moisten,till she had lighted on his wound,And tearing off her veil of faded silk Had bared her forehead to the blistering sun,And swathed the hurt that drained her dear lord's life.
Then after all was done that hand could do,She rested,and her desolation came Upon her,and she wept beside the way.
And many past,but none regarded her,For in that realm of lawless turbulence,A woman weeping for her murdered mate Was cared as much for as a summer shower:
One took him for a victim of Earl Doorm,Nor dared to waste a perilous pity on him:
Another hurrying past,a man-at-arms,Rode on a mission to the bandit Earl;Half whistling and half singing a coarse song,He drove the dust against her veilless eyes:
Another,flying from the wrath of Doorm Before an ever-fancied arrow,made The long way smoke beneath him in his fear;At which her palfrey whinnying lifted heel,And scoured into the coppices and was lost,While the great charger stood,grieved like a man.
But at the point of noon the huge Earl Doorm,Broad-faced with under-fringe of russet beard,Bound on a foray,rolling eyes of prey,Came riding with a hundred lances up;But ere he came,like one that hails a ship,Cried out with a big voice,'What,is he dead?'
'No,no,not dead!'she answered in all haste.
'Would some of your people take him up,And bear him hence out of this cruel sun?
Most sure am I,quite sure,he is not dead.'
Then said Earl Doorm:'Well,if he be not dead,Why wail ye for him thus?ye seem a child.
And be he dead,I count you for a fool;
Your wailing will not quicken him:dead or not,Ye mar a comely face with idiot tears.
Yet,since the face is comely--some of you,Here,take him up,and bear him to our hall:
An if he live,we will have him of our band;
And if he die,why earth has earth enough To hide him.See ye take the charger too,A noble one.'
