Pray for him that he scape the doom of fire,

And weep for her, who drew him to his doom."

"Yea," said the little novice, "I pray for both;

But I should all as soon believe that his, Sir Lancelot's, were as noble as the King's, As I could think, sweet lady, yours would be

Such as they are, were you the sinful Queen."

So she, like many another babbler, hurt Whom she would soothe, and harm'd where she would heal;

For here a sudden flush of wrathful heat Fired all the pale face of the Queen, who cried,

"Such as thou art be never maiden more For ever! thou their tool, set on to plague And play upon, and harry me, petty spy And traitress." When that storm of

anger brake From Guinevere, aghast the maiden rose, White as her veil, and stood before the Queen

As tremulously as foam upon the beach Stands in a wind, ready to break and fly,

And when the Queen had added "get

Arthur, and led her forth, and far ahead Of his and her retinue moving, they, Rapt in sweet talk or lively, all on love And sport and tilts and pleasure, (for the time

Was maytime, and as yet no sin was dream'd,)

Rode under groves that look'd a paradise Of blossom, over sheets of hyacinth That seem'd the heavens upbreaking thro' the earth,

And on from hill to hill, and every day Beheld at noon in some delicious dale The silk pavilions of King Arthur raised | For brief repast or afternoon repose By couriers gone before; and on again, Till yet once more ere set of sun they

saw

The Dragon of the great Pendragonship, That crown'd the state pavilion of the King,

Blaze by the rushing brook or silent well.

But when the Queen immersed in such

a trance,

And moving thro' the past unconsciously, Came to that point where first she saw the King

Ride toward her from the city, sigh'd to find

Her journey done, glanced at him, thought him cold,

High, self-contain'd, and passionless, not like him,

"Not like my Lancelot "while she

brooded thus

And grew half-guilty in her thoughts again,

There rode an armed warrior to the doors. A murmuring whisper thro' the nunnery

ran,

Then on a sudden a cry, "the King." She sat

Stiff-stricken, listening; but when armed feet

Thro' the long gallery from the outer doors Rang coming, prone from off her seat she fell,

And grovell'd with her face against the floor:

There with her milk white arms and shadowy hair

She made her face a darkness from the King:

And in the darkness heard his armed feet Pause by her; then came silence, then

a voice,

To reverence the King, as if he were Their conscience, and their conscience as their King,

To break the heathen and uphold the Christ,

To ride a broad redressing human wrongs, To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it, To lead sweet lives in purest chastity, To love one maiden only, cleave to her, And worship her by years of noble deeds, Until they won her; for indeed I knew

come- from him,

From waging bitter war with him: and he, That did not shun to smite me in worse

way,

Had yet that grace of courtesy in him left, He spared to lift his hand against the King Who made him knight: but many a knight was slain;

And many more, and all his kith and kin Clave to him, and abode in his own land. And many more when Modred raised revolt,

Forgetful of their troth and fealty, clave To Modred, and a remnant stays with me. And of this remnant will I leave a part, True men who love me still, for whom I live,

To guard thee in the wild hour coming on, Lest but a hair of this low head be harm'd. Fear not thou shalt be guarded till my death.

Howbeit I know, if ancient prophecies Have err'd not, that I march to meet my doom.

Thou hast not made my life so sweet to me, That I the King should greatly care to live; For thou hast spoilt the purpose of my life. Bear with me for the last time while I show, Ev'n for thy sake, the sin which thou hast sinn'd.

For when the Roman left us, and their law Relax'd its hold upon us, and the ways Were fill'd with rapine, here and there a deed

Of prowess done redress'd a random wrong.

I guard as God's high gift from scathe

and wrong, Not greatly care to lose; but rather think How sad it were for Arthur, should he live, To sit once more within his lonely hall, And miss the wonted number of my knights,

And miss to hear high talk of noble deeds
As in the golden days before thy sin.
For which of us, who might be left, could
speak

Of the pure heart, nor seem to glance at thee?

And in thy bowers of Camelot or of Usk

Thy shadow still would glide from room

to room,

And I should evermore be vext with thee
In hanging robe or vacant ornament,
Or ghostly footfall echoing on the stair.
For think not, tho' thou wouldst not
love thy lord,

Thy lord has wholly lost his love for thee.
I am not made of so slight elements.
Yet must I leave thee, woman, to thy
shame.

I hold that man the worst of public foes
Who either for his own or children's sake,
To save his blood from scandal, lets the
wife

Whom he knows false, abide and rule the house :

For being thro' his cowardice allow'd Her station, taken everywhere for pure, She like a new disease, unknown to men, Creeps, no precaution used, among the crowd,

Makes wicked lightnings of her eyes, and

Too wholly true to dream untruth in thee, Made my tears burn-is also past, in part. And all is past, the sin is sinn'd, and I, Lo! I forgive thee, as Eternal God Forgives: do thou for thine own soul the

rest.

But how to take last leave of all I loved? O golden hair, with which I used to play Not knowing! O imperial-moulded form, And beauty such as never woman wore, Until it came a kingdom's curse with thee

I cannot touch thy lips, they are not mine, But Lancelot's: nay, they never were the King's.

I cannot take thy hand; that too is flesh, And in the flesh thou hast sinn'd; and mine own flesh,

Here looking down on thine polluted, cries
I loathe thee': yet not less, O Guinevere,
For I was ever virgin save for thee,
My love thro' flesh hath wrought into
my life

So far, that my doom is, I love thee still.
Let no man dream but that I love thee still.
Perchance, and so thou purify thy soul,
And so thou lean on our fair father Christ,
Hereafter in that world where all are pure
We two may meet before high God, and
thou

Wilt spring to me, and claim me thine, and know

I am thine husband-not a smaller soul, Nor Lancelot, nor another. Leave me that,

I charge thee, my last hope. Now must I bence.

Thro' the thick night I hear the trumpet blow:

They summon me their King to lead mine hosts

Far down to that great battle in the west, Where I must strike against the man they call

My sister's son-no kin of mine, who leagues

With lords of the White Horse, heathen, and knights

Traitors--and strike him dead, and meet myself

Death, or I know not what mysterious

doom.

And thou remaining here wilt learn the

event;

But hither shall I never come again, Never lie by thy side, see thee no more, Farewell!"

her neck,

And in the darkness o'er her fallen head, Perceived the waving of his hands that blest.

Then, listening till those armed steps were gone,

Rose the pale Queen, and in her anguish found

The casement: "peradventure" so she thought,

"If I might see his face, and not be seen." And lo, he sat on horseback at the door!

light

Stood, and he gave them charge about the Queen,

To guard and foster her for evermore. And while he spake to these his helm was lower'd,

To which for crest the golden dragon clung Of Britain; so she did not see the face, Which then was as an angel's, but she saw, Wet with the mists and smitten by the

lights,

The Dragon of the great Pendragonship Blaze, making all the night a steam of

fire.