Mark's way, my soul ! - but eat not thou 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 If this be sweet, to sin in leading-strings, That made us happy but how ye greet And fault and doubt - no word of that fond tale she Thy deep heart-yearnings, thy sweet memories 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, 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. The name was ruler of the dark- - Isolt? 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 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 mast? 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 : Swear to me thou wilt love me ev'n when old, Gray-haired, and past desire, and in despair." That victor of the Pagan throned in | Nor shall be: vows-I am woodman of hall 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, 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, Ay, ay, O ay- the winds that bow the | Claspt it; but while he bow'd himself to the red fruit Grown on a magic oak-tree in mid-heaven, 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." With this poem the Author concludes THE IDYLS OF THE KING. * 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 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, 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 And thee, mine innocent, the jousts, the wars, |