And when the knights had laid her comely head Low in the dust of half-forgotten kings,Then Arthur spake among them,'Let her tomb Be costly,and her image thereupon,And let the shield of Lancelot at her feet Be carven,and her lily in her hand.
And let the story of her dolorous voyage For all true hearts be blazoned on her tomb In letters gold and azure!'which was wrought Thereafter;but when now the lords and dames And people,from the high door streaming,brake Disorderly,as homeward each,the Queen,Who marked Sir Lancelot where he moved apart,Drew near,and sighed in passing,'Lancelot,Forgive me;mine was jealousy in love.'
He answered with his eyes upon the ground,'That is love's curse;pass on,my Queen,forgiven.'
But Arthur,who beheld his cloudy brows,Approached him,and with full affection said,'Lancelot,my Lancelot,thou in whom I have Most joy and most affiance,for I know What thou hast been in battle by my side,And many a time have watched thee at the tilt Strike down the lusty and long practised knight,And let the younger and unskilled go by To win his honour and to make his name,And loved thy courtesies and thee,a man Made to be loved;but now I would to God,Seeing the homeless trouble in thine eyes,Thou couldst have loved this maiden,shaped,it seems,By God for thee alone,and from her face,If one may judge the living by the dead,Delicately pure and marvellously fair,Who might have brought thee,now a lonely man Wifeless and heirless,noble issue,sons Born to the glory of thine name and fame,My knight,the great Sir Lancelot of the Lake.'
Then answered Lancelot,'Fair she was,my King,Pure,as you ever wish your knights to be.
To doubt her fairness were to want an eye,To doubt her pureness were to want a heart--Yea,to be loved,if what is worthy love Could bind him,but free love will not be bound.'
'Free love,so bound,were freest,'said the King.
'Let love be free;free love is for the best:
And,after heaven,on our dull side of death,What should be best,if not so pure a love Clothed in so pure a loveliness?yet thee She failed to bind,though being,as I think,Unbound as yet,and gentle,as I know.'
And Lancelot answered nothing,but he went,And at the inrunning of a little brook Sat by the river in a cove,and watched The high reed wave,and lifted up his eyes And saw the barge that brought her moving down,Far-off,a blot upon the stream,and said Low in himself,'Ah simple heart and sweet,Ye loved me,damsel,surely with a love Far tenderer than my Queen's.Pray for thy soul?
Ay,that will I.Farewell too--now at last--Farewell,fair lily."Jealousy in love?"
Not rather dead love's harsh heir,jealous pride?
Queen,if I grant the jealousy as of love,May not your crescent fear for name and fame Speak,as it waxes,of a love that wanes?
Why did the King dwell on my name to me?
Mine own name shames me,seeming a reproach,Lancelot,whom the Lady of the Lake Caught from his mother's arms--the wondrous one Who passes through the vision of the night--She chanted snatches of mysterious hymns Heard on the winding waters,eve and morn She kissed me saying,"Thou art fair,my child,As a king's son,"and often in her arms She bare me,pacing on the dusky mere.
Would she had drowned me in it,where'er it be!
For what am I?what profits me my name Of greatest knight?I fought for it,and have it:
Pleasure to have it,none;to lose it,pain;
Now grown a part of me:but what use in it?
To make men worse by making my sin known?
Or sin seem less,the sinner seeming great?
Alas for Arthur's greatest knight,a man Not after Arthur's heart!I needs must break These bonds that so defame me:not without She wills it:would I,if she willed it?nay,Who knows?but if I would not,then may God,I pray him,send a sudden Angel down To seize me by the hair and bear me far,And fling me deep in that forgotten mere,Among the tumbled fragments of the hills.'
So groaned Sir Lancelot in remorseful pain,Not knowing he should die a holy man.
