Idylls of the King - Alfred, Lord Tennyson (children's ebooks free online txt) 📗

“Why kneel ye there? What evil hath ye wrought?
Rise!” and the damsel bidden rise arose
And stood with folded hands and downward eyes
Of glancing corner, and all meekly said,
“None wrought, but suffered much, an orphan maid!
My father died in battle for thy King,
My mother on his corpse⁠—in open field,
The sad sea-sounding wastes of Lyonnesse⁠—
Poor wretch⁠—no friend!⁠—and now by Mark the King
For that small charm of feature mine, pursued⁠—
If any such be mine⁠—I fly to thee.
Save, save me thou⁠—Woman of women⁠—thine
The wreath of beauty, thine the crown of power,
Be thine the balm of pity, O Heaven’s own white
Earth-angel, stainless bride of stainless King⁠—
Help, for he follows! take me to thyself!
O yield me shelter for mine innocency
Among thy maidens!”

Here her slow sweet eyes
Fear-tremulous, but humbly hopeful, rose
Fixt on her hearer’s, while the Queen who stood
All glittering like May sunshine on May leaves
In green and gold, and plumed with green replied,
“Peace, child! of overpraise and overblame
We choose the last. Our noble Arthur, him
Ye scarce can overpraise, will hear and know.
Nay⁠—we believe all evil of thy Mark⁠—
Well, we shall test thee farther; but this hour
We ride a-hawking with Sir Lancelot.
He hath given us a fair falcon which he trained;
We go to prove it. Bide ye here the while.”

She past; and Vivien murmured after “Go!
I bide the while.” Then through the portal-arch
Peering askance, and muttering broken-wise,
As one that labours with an evil dream,
Beheld the Queen and Lancelot get to horse.

“Is that the Lancelot? goodly⁠—ay, but gaunt:
Courteous⁠—amends for gauntness⁠—takes her hand⁠—
That glance of theirs, but for the street, had been
A clinging kiss⁠—how hand lingers in hand!
Let go at last!⁠—they ride away⁠—to hawk
For waterfowl. Royaller game is mine.
For such a supersensual sensual bond
As that gray cricket chirpt of at our hearth⁠—
Touch flax with flame⁠—a glance will serve⁠—the liars!
Ah little rat that borest in the dyke
Thy hole by night to let the boundless deep
Down upon far-off cities while they dance⁠—
Or dream⁠—of thee they dreamed not⁠—nor of me
These⁠—ay, but each of either: ride, and dream
The mortal dream that never yet was mine⁠—
Ride, ride and dream until ye wake⁠—to me!
Then, narrow court and lubber King, farewell!
For Lancelot will be gracious to the rat,
And our wise Queen, if knowing that I know,
Will hate, loathe, fear⁠—but honour me the more.”

Yet while they rode together down the plain,
Their talk was all of training, terms of art,
Diet and seeling, jesses, leash and lure.
“She is too noble,” he said, “to check at pies,
Nor will she rake: there is no baseness in her.”
Here when the Queen demanded as by chance
“Know ye the stranger woman?” “Let her be,”
Said Lancelot and unhooded casting off
The goodly falcon free; she towered; her bells,
Tone under tone, shrilled; and they lifted up
Their eager faces, wondering at the strength,
Boldness and royal knighthood of the bird
Who pounced her quarry and slew it. Many a time
As once⁠—of old⁠—among the flowers⁠—they rode.

But Vivien half-forgotten of the Queen
Among her damsels broidering sat, heard, watched
And whispered: through the peaceful court she crept
And whispered: then as Arthur in the highest
Leavened the world, so Vivien in the lowest,
Arriving at a time of golden rest,
And sowing one ill hint from ear to ear,
While all the heathen lay at Arthur’s feet,
And no quest came, but all was joust and play,
Leavened his hall. They heard and let her be.

Thereafter as an enemy that has left
Death in the living waters, and withdrawn,
The wily Vivien stole from Arthur’s court.

She hated all the knights, and heard in thought
Their lavish comment when her name was named.
For once, when Arthur walking all alone,
Vext at a rumour issued from herself
Of some corruption crept among his knights,
Had met her, Vivien, being greeted fair,
Would fain have wrought upon his cloudy mood
With reverent eyes mock-loyal, shaken voice,
And fluttered adoration, and at last
With dark sweet hints of some who prized him more
Than who should prize him most; at which the King
Had gazed upon her blankly and gone by:
But one had watched, and had not held his peace:
It made the laughter of an afternoon
That Vivien should attempt the blameless King.
And after that, she set herself to gain
Him, the most famous man of all those times,
Merlin, who knew the range of all their arts,
Had built the King his havens, ships, and halls,
Was also Bard, and knew the starry heavens;
The people called him Wizard; whom at first
She played about with slight and sprightly talk,
And vivid smiles, and faintly-venomed points
Of slander, glancing here and grazing there;
And yielding to his kindlier moods, the Seer
Would watch her at her petulance, and play,
Even when they seemed unloveable, and laugh
As those that watch a kitten; thus he grew
Tolerant of what he half disdained, and she,
Perceiving that she was but half disdained,
Began to break her sports with graver fits,
Turn red or pale, would often when they met
Sigh fully, or all-silent gaze upon him
With such a fixt devotion, that the old man,
Though doubtful, felt the flattery, and at times
Would flatter his own wish in age for love,
And half believe her true: for thus at times
He wavered; but that other clung to him,
Fixt in her will, and so the seasons went.

Then fell on Merlin a great melancholy;
He walked with dreams and darkness, and he found
A doom that ever poised itself to fall,
An ever-moaning battle in the mist,
World-war of dying flesh against the life,
Death in all life and lying in all love,
The meanest having power upon the highest,
And the high purpose broken by the worm.

So leaving Arthur’s court he gained the beach;
There found a little boat, and stept into it;
And Vivien followed, but he marked her not.
She took the helm and he the sail; the boat
Drave with a sudden wind across the deeps,
And touching Breton sands, they disembarked.
And then she followed Merlin all the way,
Even to the wild woods of Broceliande.
For Merlin once had told her of a charm,
The which if any wrought on anyone
With woven paces and with waving arms,
The man so wrought on ever seemed to lie
Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower,
From which was no escape for evermore;
And none could find that man for evermore,
Nor could he see