Part 24 (2/2)
Then o'er him mimic chains they fling, Framed of the fairest flowers of spring.
While some their gentle force unite, Onward to drag the wondering knight, Some, bolder, urge his pace with blows, Dealt with the lily or the rose.
Behind him were in triumph borne The warlike arms he late had worn.
Four of the train combined to rear The terrors of Tintadgel's spear;[23]
Two, laughing at their lack of strength, Dragg'd Caliburn in c.u.mbrous length; One, while she aped a martial stride, Placed on her brows the helmet's pride; Then scream'd, 'twixt laughter and surprise, To feel its depth o'erwhelm her eyes.
With revel-shout, and triumph-song, Thus gaily march'd the giddy throng.
”Through many a gallery and hall They led, I ween, their royal thrall; At length, beneath a fair arcade Their march and song at once they staid.
The eldest maiden of the band, (The lovely maid was scarce eighteen,) Raised, with imposing air, her hand, And reverent silence did command, On entrance of their Queen, And they were mute--But as a glance They steal on Arthur's countenance Bewilder'd with surprise, Their smother'd mirth again 'gan speak, In archly dimpled chin and cheek, And laughter-lighted eyes.
”The attributes of those high days Now only live in minstrel-lays; Nor Nature, now exhausted, still Was then profuse of good and ill.
Strength was gigantic, valour high, And wisdom soar'd beyond the sky, And beauty had such matchless beam As lights not now a lover's dream.
Yet e'en in that romantic age, Ne'er were such charms by mortal seen, As Arthur's dazzled eyes engage, When forth on that enchanted stage, With glittering train of maid and page, Advanced the castle's Queen!
While up the hall she slowly pa.s.s'd, Her dark eye on the King she cast, That flash'd expression strong; The longer dwelt that lingering look, Her cheek the livelier colour took, And scarce the shame-faced King could brook The gaze that lasted long.
A sage, who had that look espied, Where kindling pa.s.sion strove with pride, Had whisper'd, 'Prince, beware!
From the chafed tiger rend the prey, Rush on the lion when at bay, Bar the fell dragon's blighted way, But shun that lovely snare!'--
”At once, that inward strife suppress'd, The dame approach'd her warlike guest, With greeting in that fair degree, Where female pride and courtesy Are blended with such pa.s.sing art As awes at once and charms the heart.
A courtly welcome first she gave, Then of his goodness 'gan to crave Construction fair and true Of her light maidens' idle mirth, Who drew from lonely glens their birth, Nor knew to pay to stranger worth And dignity their due; And then she pray'd that he would rest That night her castle's honour'd guest.
The Monarch meetly thanks express'd; The banquet rose at her behest, With lay and tale, and laugh and jest, Apace the evening flew.
”The lady sate the Monarch by, Now in her turn abash'd and shy, And with indifference seem'd to hear The toys he whisper'd in her ear.
Her bearing modest was and fair, Yet shadows of constraint were there, That show'd an over-cautious care Some inward thought to hide; Oft did she pause in full reply, And oft cast down her large dark eye, Oft check'd the soft voluptuous sigh, That heav'd her bosom's pride.
”Another day, another day, And yet another, glides away!
The Saxon stern, the pagan Dane, Maraud on Britain's sh.o.r.es again.
Arthur, of Christendom the flower, Lies loitering in a lady's bower; The horn, that foemen wont to fear, Sounds but to wake the c.u.mbrian deer, And Caliburn, the British pride, Hangs useless by a lover's side.
”Another day, another day, And yet another, glides away!
Heroic plans in pleasure drowned, He thinks not of the Table Round; In lawless love dissolved his life, He thinks not of his beauteous wife: Better he loves to s.n.a.t.c.h a flower From bosom of his paramour, Than from a Saxon knight to wrest The honours of his heathen crest; Better to wreathe, 'mid tresses brown, The heron's plume her hawk struck down, Than o'er the altar give to flow The banners of a Paynim foe.
Thus, week by week, and day by day, His life inglorious glides away; But she, that soothes his dream, with fear Beholds his hour of waking near.
”Three summer months had scantly flown, When Arthur, in embarra.s.s'd tone, Spoke of his liegemen and his throne; Said, all too long had been his stay, And duties, which a monarch sway, Duties, unknown to humbler men, Must tear her knight from Guendolen.
She listened silently the while, Her mood expressed in bitter smile; Beneath her eye must Arthur quail, And oft resume the unfinished tale, Confessing, by his downcast eye, The wrong he sought to justify.
He ceased. A moment mute she gazed, And then her looks to heaven she raised; One palm her temples veiled, to hide The tear that sprung in spite of pride; The other for an instant pressed The foldings of her silken vest!
”At her reproachful sign and look The hint the monarch's conscience took.
Eager he spoke--'No, Lady, no!
Deem not of British Arthur so, Nor think he can deserter prove To the dear pledge of mutual love.
I swear by sceptre and by sword, As belted knight and Britain's lord, That if a boy shall claim my care, That boy is born a kingdom's heir; But, if a maiden Fate allows, To choose that maid a fitting spouse, A summer-day in lists shall strive My knights--the bravest knights alive,-- And he, the best and bravest tried, Shall Arthur's daughter claim for bride.'-- He spoke, with voice resolved and high-- The lady deigned him not reply.
”At dawn of morn, ere on the brake His matins did a warbler make, Or stirred his wing to brush away A single dewdrop from the spray, Ere yet a sunbeam through the mist, The castle-battlements had kissed, The gates revolve, the drawbridge falls, And Arthur sallies from the walls.
Doff'd his soft garb of Persia's loom, And steel from spur to helmet-plume, His Lybian steed full proudly trode, And joyful neighed beneath his load.
The Monarch gave a pa.s.sing sigh To penitence and pleasures by, When, lo! to his astonished ken, Appeared the form of Guendolen.
”Beyond the utmost wall she stood, Attired like huntress of the wood: Sandalled her feet, her ankles bare, And eagle-plumage decked her hair; Firm was her look, her bearing bold, And in her hand a cup of gold.
'Thou goest!' she said, 'and ne'er again Must we two meet; in joy or pain.
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