Then will I bear it gladly;'she replied,'For Lancelot and the Queen and all the world,But I myself must bear it.'Then he wrote The letter she devised;which being writ And folded,'O sweet father,tender and true,Deny me not,'she said--'ye never yet Denied my fancies--this,however strange,My latest:lay the letter in my hand A little ere I die,and close the hand Upon it;I shall guard it even in death.
And when the heat is gone from out my heart,Then take the little bed on which I died For Lancelot's love,and deck it like the Queen's For richness,and me also like the Queen In all I have of rich,and lay me on it.
And let there be prepared a chariot-bier To take me to the river,and a barge Be ready on the river,clothed in black.
I go in state to court,to meet the Queen.
There surely I shall speak for mine own self,And none of you can speak for me so well.
And therefore let our dumb old man alone Go with me,he can steer and row,and he Will guide me to that palace,to the doors.'
She ceased:her father promised;whereupon She grew so cheerful that they deemed her death Was rather in the fantasy than the blood.
But ten slow mornings past,and on the eleventh Her father laid the letter in her hand,And closed the hand upon it,and she died.
So that day there was dole in Astolat.
But when the next sun brake from underground,Then,those two brethren slowly with bent brows Accompanying,the sad chariot-bier Past like a shadow through the field,that shone Full-summer,to that stream whereon the barge,Palled all its length in blackest samite,lay.
There sat the lifelong creature of the house,Loyal,the dumb old servitor,on deck,Winking his eyes,and twisted all his face.
So those two brethren from the chariot took And on the black decks laid her in her bed,Set in her hand a lily,o'er her hung The silken case with braided blazonings,And kissed her quiet brows,and saying to her 'Sister,farewell for ever,'and again 'Farewell,sweet sister,'parted all in tears.
Then rose the dumb old servitor,and the dead,Oared by the dumb,went upward with the flood--In her right hand the lily,in her left The letter--all her bright hair streaming down--And all the coverlid was cloth of gold Drawn to her waist,and she herself in white All but her face,and that clear-featured face Was lovely,for she did not seem as dead,But fast asleep,and lay as though she smiled.
That day Sir Lancelot at the palace craved Audience of Guinevere,to give at last,The price of half a realm,his costly gift,Hard-won and hardly won with bruise and blow,With deaths of others,and almost his own,The nine-years-fought-for diamonds:for he saw One of her house,and sent him to the Queen Bearing his wish,whereto the Queen agreed With such and so unmoved a majesty She might have seemed her statue,but that he,Low-drooping till he wellnigh kissed her feet For loyal awe,saw with a sidelong eye The shadow of some piece of pointed lace,In the Queen's shadow,vibrate on the walls,And parted,laughing in his courtly heart.
All in an oriel on the summer side,Vine-clad,of Arthur's palace toward the stream,They met,and Lancelot kneeling uttered,'Queen,Lady,my liege,in whom I have my joy,Take,what I had not won except for you,These jewels,and make me happy,making them An armlet for the roundest arm on earth,Or necklace for a neck to which the swan's Is tawnier than her cygnet's:these are words:
Your beauty is your beauty,and I sin In speaking,yet O grant my worship of it Words,as we grant grief tears.Such sin in words Perchance,we both can pardon:but,my Queen,I hear of rumours flying through your court.
Our bond,as not the bond of man and wife,Should have in it an absoluter trust To make up that defect:let rumours be:
When did not rumours fly?these,as I trust That you trust me in your own nobleness,I may not well believe that you believe.'
While thus he spoke,half turned away,the Queen Brake from the vast oriel-embowering vine Leaf after leaf,and tore,and cast them off,Till all the place whereon she stood was green;Then,when he ceased,in one cold passive hand Received at once and laid aside the gems There on a table near her,and replied:
'It may be,I am quicker of belief Than you believe me,Lancelot of the Lake.
Our bond is not the bond of man and wife.
This good is in it,whatsoe'er of ill,It can be broken easier.I for you This many a year have done despite and wrong To one whom ever in my heart of hearts I did acknowledge nobler.What are these?
Diamonds for me!they had been thrice their worth Being your gift,had you not lost your own.
To loyal hearts the value of all gifts Must vary as the giver's.Not for me!
For her!for your new fancy.Only this Grant me,I pray you:have your joys apart.
I doubt not that however changed,you keep So much of what is graceful:and myself Would shun to break those bounds of courtesy In which as Arthur's Queen I move and rule:
So cannot speak my mind.An end to this!
A strange one!yet I take it with Amen.
So pray you,add my diamonds to her pearls;
Deck her with these;tell her,she shines me down:
An armlet for an arm to which the Queen's Is haggard,or a necklace for a neck O as much fairer--as a faith once fair Was richer than these diamonds--hers not mine--Nay,by the mother of our Lord himself,Or hers or mine,mine now to work my will--She shall not have them.'
Saying which she seized,And,through the casement standing wide for heat,Flung them,and down they flashed,and smote the stream.
Then from the smitten surface flashed,as it were,Diamonds to meet them,and they past away.
Then while Sir Lancelot leant,in half disdain At love,life,all things,on the window ledge,Close underneath his eyes,and right across Where these had fallen,slowly past the barge.
Whereon the lily maid of Astolat Lay smiling,like a star in blackest night.
But the wild Queen,who saw not,burst away To weep and wail in secret;and the barge,On to the palace-doorway sliding,paused.
