'O brother,'asked Ambrosius,--'for in sooth These ancient books--and they would win thee--teem,Only I find not there this Holy Grail,With miracles and marvels like to these,Not all unlike;which oftentime I read,Who read but on my breviary with ease,Till my head swims;and then go forth and pass Down to the little thorpe that lies so close,And almost plastered like a martin's nest To these old walls--and mingle with our folk;And knowing every honest face of theirs As well as ever shepherd knew his sheep,And every homely secret in their hearts,Delight myself with gossip and old wives,And ills and aches,and teethings,lyings-in,And mirthful sayings,children of the place,That have no meaning half a league away:
Or lulling random squabbles when they rise,Chafferings and chatterings at the market-cross,Rejoice,small man,in this small world of mine,Yea,even in their hens and in their eggs--O brother,saving this Sir Galahad,Came ye on none but phantoms in your quest,No man,no woman?'
Then Sir Percivale:
'All men,to one so bound by such a vow,And women were as phantoms.O,my brother,Why wilt thou shame me to confess to thee How far I faltered from my quest and vow?
For after I had lain so many nights A bedmate of the snail and eft and snake,In grass and burdock,I was changed to wan And meagre,and the vision had not come;And then I chanced upon a goodly town With one great dwelling in the middle of it;Thither I made,and there was I disarmed By maidens each as fair as any flower:
But when they led me into hall,behold,The Princess of that castle was the one,Brother,and that one only,who had ever Made my heart leap;for when I moved of old A slender page about her father's hall,And she a slender maiden,all my heart Went after her with longing:yet we twain Had never kissed a kiss,or vowed a vow.
And now I came upon her once again,And one had wedded her,and he was dead,And all his land and wealth and state were hers.
And while I tarried,every day she set A banquet richer than the day before By me;for all her longing and her will Was toward me as of old;till one fair morn,I walking to and fro beside a stream That flashed across her orchard underneath Her castle-walls,she stole upon my walk,And calling me the greatest of all knights,Embraced me,and so kissed me the first time,And gave herself and all her wealth to me.
Then I remembered Arthur's warning word,That most of us would follow wandering fires,And the Quest faded in my heart.Anon,The heads of all her people drew to me,With supplication both of knees and tongue:
"We have heard of thee:thou art our greatest knight,Our Lady says it,and we well believe:
Wed thou our Lady,and rule over us,And thou shalt be as Arthur in our land."O me,my brother!but one night my vow Burnt me within,so that I rose and fled,But wailed and wept,and hated mine own self,And even the Holy Quest,and all but her;Then after I was joined with Galahad Cared not for her,nor anything upon earth.'
Then said the monk,'Poor men,when yule is cold,Must be content to sit by little fires.
And this am I,so that ye care for me Ever so little;yea,and blest be Heaven That brought thee here to this poor house of ours Where all the brethren are so hard,to warm My cold heart with a friend:but O the pity To find thine own first love once more--to hold,Hold her a wealthy bride within thine arms,Or all but hold,and then--cast her aside,Foregoing all her sweetness,like a weed.
For we that want the warmth of double life,We that are plagued with dreams of something sweet Beyond all sweetness in a life so rich,--Ah,blessed Lord,I speak too earthlywise,Seeing I never strayed beyond the cell,But live like an old badger in his earth,With earth about him everywhere,despite All fast and penance.Saw ye none beside,None of your knights?'
'Yea so,'said Percivale:
'One night my pathway swerving east,I saw The pelican on the casque of our Sir Bors All in the middle of the rising moon:
And toward him spurred,and hailed him,and he me,And each made joy of either;then he asked,"Where is he?hast thou seen him--Lancelot?--Once,"Said good Sir Bors,"he dashed across me--mad,And maddening what he rode:and when I cried,'Ridest thou then so hotly on a quest So holy,'Lancelot shouted,'Stay me not!
I have been the sluggard,and I ride apace,For now there is a lion in the way.'
So vanished."
'Then Sir Bors had ridden on Softly,and sorrowing for our Lancelot,Because his former madness,once the talk And scandal of our table,had returned;For Lancelot's kith and kin so worship him That ill to him is ill to them;to Bors Beyond the rest:he well had been content Not to have seen,so Lancelot might have seen,The Holy Cup of healing;and,indeed,Being so clouded with his grief and love,Small heart was his after the Holy Quest:
If God would send the vision,well:if not,The Quest and he were in the hands of Heaven.
'And then,with small adventure met,Sir Bors Rode to the lonest tract of all the realm,And found a people there among their crags,Our race and blood,a remnant that were left Paynim amid their circles,and the stones They pitch up straight to heaven:and their wise men Were strong in that old magic which can trace The wandering of the stars,and scoffed at him And this high Quest as at a simple thing:
