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Mark's way, my soul ! - but eat not thou
with him,
Because he hates thee even more than fears;
Nor drink and when thou passest any

wood Close visor, lest an arrow from the bush Should leave me all alone with Mark and hell.

My God, the measure of my hate for Mark Is as the measure of my love for thee."

So, pluck'd one way by hate and one by love,

Drain'd of her force, again she sat, and spake

To Tristram, as he knelt before her, saying, "O hunter, and O blower of the horn, Harper, and thou hast been a rover too, For, ere I mated with my shambling king, Ye twain had fallen out about the bride Of one-his name is out of me--the prize, If prize she were (what marvel · could see) Thine, friend; and ever since my craven seeks

Who brakest thro' the scruple of my bond,

Calling me thy white hind, and saying to

me

That Guinevere had sinned against the highest,

And Imisyoked with such a want of

man

That I could hardly sin against the lowest."

He answered, "O my soul, be com
forted!

If this be sweet, to sin in leading-strings,
If here be comfort, and if ours be sin,
Crown'd warrant had we for the crowning
sin

That made us happy but how ye greet
me- fear

And fault and doubt - no word of that fond tale

she Thy deep heart-yearnings, thy sweet memories

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Of Tristram in that year he was away."

And, saddening on the sudden, spake Isolt,

“I had forgotten all in my strong joy To see thee-yearnings?—ay! for, hour by hour,

Here in the never-ended afternoon,
O sweeter than all memories of thee,
Deeper than any yearnings after thee
Seem'd those far-rolling, westward-smil-
ing seas,

Watched from this tower. Isolt of Britain dash'd

Before Isolt of Brittany on the strand, Would that have chill'd her bride-kiss? Wedded her?

Fought in her father's battles? wounded there?

The King was all fulfill'd with grateful

ness,

And she, my namesake of the hands, that heal'd

Thy hurt and heart with unguent and

caress

Well-can I wish her any huger wrong Than having known thee? her too hast thou left

To pine and waste in those sweet memories?

O were I not my Mark's, by whom all

men

Are noble, I should hate thee more than love."

And Tristram, fondling her light | Ev'n to the swineherd's malkin in the

hands, replied,

"Grace, Queen, for being loved: she loved me well.

Did I love her? the name at least I loved.
Isolt? I fought his battles, for Isolt!
The night was dark; the true star set.
Isolt !

The name was ruler of the dark- - Isolt?
Care not for her! patient, and prayerful,
meek,
Pale-blooded, she will yield herself to
God."

And Isolt answer'd, "Yea, and why not I?

Mine is the larger need, who am not meek,

Pale-blooded, prayerful. Let me tell thee now.

Here one black, mute midsummer night
I sat
Lonely, but musing on thee, wondering
where,
Murmuring

light song I had heard thee sing, And once or twice I spake thy name aloud. Then flash'd a levin-brand; and near me stood,

In fuming sulphur blue and green, a fiend

Mark's way to steal behind one in the dark

For there was Mark: 'He has wedded her,' he said,

Not said, but hissed it: then this crown of towers

So shook to such a roar of all the sky, That here in utter dark I swoon'd away, And woke again in utter dark, and cried, 'I will flee hence and give myself to God'―

And thou wert lying in thy new leman's

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mast?

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Flatter me rather, seeing me so weak, Broken with Mark and hate and solitude,

Thy marriage and mine own, that I should suck

Lies like sweet wines: lie to me: I believe. Will ye not lie? not swear, as there ye kneel,

And solemnly as when ye sware to him, The man of men, our King My God, the power

Was once in vows when men believed the King!

They lied not then, who sware, and thro' their vows

The King prevailing made his realm :
I say,

Swear to me thou wilt love me ev'n when old,

Gray-haired, and past desire, and in despair."

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That victor of the Pagan throned in | Nor shall be: vows-I am woodman of

hall

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every knight

Believed himself a greater than himself, And every follower eyed him as a God; Till he, being lifted up beyond himself, Did mightier deeds than elsewise he had done,

And so the realm was made; but then their vows

First mainly thro' that sullying of our Queen

Began to gall the knighthood, asking whence

Had Arthur right to bind them to himself?

Dropt down from heaven? wash'd up from out the deep?

They fail'd to trace him thro' the flesh and blood

Of our old Kings: whence then? a doubtful lord

To bind them by inviolable vows, Which flesh and blood perforce would violate :

For feel this arm of mine - the tide within

Red with free chase and heather-scented air,

Pulsing full man; can Arthur make me pure

As any maiden child? lock up my tongue From uttering freely what I freely hear? Bind me to one? The great world laughs

at it.

And worldling of the world am I, and know

The ptarmigan that whitens ere his hour Wooes his own end; we are not angels here

the woods,

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This knightliest of all knights, and cast thee back

Thine own small saw 'We love but while we may,'

Well then, what answer?"

He that while she spake, Mindful of what he brought to adorn her with,

The jewels, had let one finger lightly touch The warm white apple of her throat, replied,

"Press this a little closer, sweet, untilCome, I am hunger'd and half-anger'dmeat,

Wine, wine- and I will love thee to the death,

And out beyond into the dream to come."

So then, when both were brought to full accord,

She rose, and set before him all he will'd; And after these had comforted the blood With meats and wines, and satiated their hearts

Now talking of their woodland paradise, The deer, the dews, the fern, the founts,

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Ay, ay, O ay- the winds that bow the | Claspt it; but while he bow'd himself to

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the red fruit

Grown on a magic oak-tree in mid-heaven,
And won by Tristram as a tourney-prize,
And hither brought by Tristram for his
last

Love-offering and peace-offering unto

thee.

lay Warm kisses in the hollow of her throat,

Out of the dark, just as the lips had touch'd,

Behind him rose a shadow and a shriek — "Mark's way," said Mark, and clove him thro' the brain.

That night came Arthur home, and while he climb'd,

All in a death-dumb autumn-dripping gloom,

The stairway to the hall, and look'd and

saw

The great Queen's bower was dark, about his feet

A voice clung sobbing till he question'd it,

"What art thou?" and the voice about his feet

Sent up an answer, sobbing, "I am thy fool,

He rose, he turn'd, and flinging round And I shall never make thee smile her neck,

again."

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With this poem the Author concludes THE IDYLS OF THE KING.

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* GARETH followS THE COMING OF ARTHUR, and THE LAST TOURNAMENT precedes GUINEVERE.

A knight of Arthur, working out his | And stay'd him, 'Climb not lest thou will, break thy neck, To cleanse the world. Why, Gawain, I charge thee by my love,' and so the

when he came

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Was finer gold than any goose can lay; For this an Eagle, a royal Eagle, laid Almost beyond eye-reach, on such a palm

As glitters gilded in thy Book of Hours. And there was ever haunting round the palm

A lusty youth, but poor, who often saw The splendor sparkling from aloft, and thought

'An I could climb and lay my hand upon it,

Then were I wealthier than a leash of kings.'

But ever when he reach'd a hand to climb,

One, that had loved him from his childhood, caught

boy,

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Lies like a log, and all but smoulder'd out!

For ever since when traitor to the King He fought against him in the Barons' war, And Arthur gave him back his territory, His age hath slowly droopt, and now lies there

A yet-warm corpse, and yet unburiable, No more; nor sees, nor hears, nor speaks, nor knows.

And both thy brethren are in Arthur's hall,

Albeit neither loved with that full love
I feel for thee, nor worthy such a love :
Stay therefore thou; red berries charm
the bird,

And thee, mine innocent, the jousts, the wars,

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