Told him he followed--almost Arthur's words--A mocking fire:"what other fire than he,Whereby the blood beats,and the blossom blows,And the sea rolls,and all the world is warmed?"And when his answer chafed them,the rough crowd,Hearing he had a difference with their priests,Seized him,and bound and plunged him into a cell Of great piled stones;and lying bounden there In darkness through innumerable hours He heard the hollow-ringing heavens sweep Over him till by miracle--what else?--Heavy as it was,a great stone slipt and fell,Such as no wind could move:and through the gap Glimmered the streaming scud:then came a night Still as the day was loud;and through the gap The seven clear stars of Arthur's Table Round--For,brother,so one night,because they roll Through such a round in heaven,we named the stars,Rejoicing in ourselves and in our King--And these,like bright eyes of familiar friends,In on him shone:"And then to me,to me,"Said good Sir Bors,"beyond all hopes of mine,Who scarce had prayed or asked it for myself--Across the seven clear stars--O grace to me--In colour like the fingers of a hand Before a burning taper,the sweet Grail Glided and past,and close upon it pealed A sharp quick thunder."Afterwards,a maid,Who kept our holy faith among her kin In secret,entering,loosed and let him go.'
To whom the monk:'And I remember now That pelican on the casque:Sir Bors it was Who spake so low and sadly at our board;And mighty reverent at our grace was he:
A square-set man and honest;and his eyes,An out-door sign of all the warmth within,Smiled with his lips--a smile beneath a cloud,But heaven had meant it for a sunny one:
Ay,ay,Sir Bors,who else?But when ye reached The city,found ye all your knights returned,Or was there sooth in Arthur's prophecy,Tell me,and what said each,and what the King?'
Then answered Percivale:'And that can I,Brother,and truly;since the living words Of so great men as Lancelot and our King Pass not from door to door and out again,But sit within the house.O,when we reached The city,our horses stumbling as they trode On heaps of ruin,hornless unicorns,Cracked basilisks,and splintered cockatrices,And shattered talbots,which had left the stones Raw,that they fell from,brought us to the hall.
'And there sat Arthur on the dais-throne,And those that had gone out upon the Quest,Wasted and worn,and but a tithe of them,And those that had not,stood before the King,Who,when he saw me,rose,and bad me hail,Saying,"A welfare in thine eye reproves Our fear of some disastrous chance for thee On hill,or plain,at sea,or flooding ford.
So fierce a gale made havoc here of late Among the strange devices of our kings;Yea,shook this newer,stronger hall of ours,And from the statue Merlin moulded for us Half-wrenched a golden wing;but now--the Quest,This vision--hast thou seen the Holy Cup,That Joseph brought of old to Glastonbury?"'So when I told him all thyself hast heard,Ambrosius,and my fresh but fixt resolve To pass away into the quiet life,He answered not,but,sharply turning,asked Of Gawain,"Gawain,was this Quest for thee?"'"Nay,lord,"said Gawain,"not for such as I.
Therefore I communed with a saintly man,Who made me sure the Quest was not for me;For I was much awearied of the Quest:
But found a silk pavilion in a field,And merry maidens in it;and then this gale Tore my pavilion from the tenting-pin,And blew my merry maidens all about With all discomfort;yea,and but for this,My twelvemonth and a day were pleasant to me."'He ceased;and Arthur turned to whom at first He saw not,for Sir Bors,on entering,pushed Athwart the throng to Lancelot,caught his hand,Held it,and there,half-hidden by him,stood,Until the King espied him,saying to him,"Hail,Bors!if ever loyal man and true Could see it,thou hast seen the Grail;"and Bors,"Ask me not,for I may not speak of it:
I saw it;"and the tears were in his eyes.
'Then there remained but Lancelot,for the rest Spake but of sundry perils in the storm;Perhaps,like him of Cana in Holy Writ,Our Arthur kept his best until the last;"Thou,too,my Lancelot,"asked the king,"my friend,Our mightiest,hath this Quest availed for thee?"'"Our mightiest!"answered Lancelot,with a groan;"O King!"--and when he paused,methought I spied A dying fire of madness in his eyes--"O King,my friend,if friend of thine I be,Happier are those that welter in their sin,Swine in the mud,that cannot see for slime,Slime of the ditch:but in me lived a sin So strange,of such a kind,that all of pure,Noble,and knightly in me twined and clung Round that one sin,until the wholesome flower And poisonous grew together,each as each,Not to be plucked asunder;and when thy knights Sware,I sware with them only in the hope That could I touch or see the Holy Grail They might be plucked asunder.Then I spake To one most holy saint,who wept and said,That save they could be plucked asunder,all My quest were but in vain;to whom I vowed That I would work according as he willed.
