Idylls of the King, Alfred Lord Tennyson [the reading strategies book TXT] 📗

>‘What, wear ye still that same crown-scandalous?’

His countenance blackened, and his forehead veins

Bloated, and branched; and tearing out of sheath

The brand, Sir Balin with a fiery ‘Ha!

So thou be shadow, here I make thee ghost,’

Hard upon helm smote him, and the blade flew

Splintering in six, and clinkt upon the stones.

Then Garlon, reeling slowly backward, fell,

And Balin by the banneret of his helm

Dragged him, and struck, but from the castle a cry

Sounded across the court, and—men-at-arms,

A score with pointed lances, making at him—

He dashed the pummel at the foremost face,

Beneath a low door dipt, and made his feet

Wings through a glimmering gallery, till he marked

The portal of King Pellam’s chapel wide

And inward to the wall; he stept behind;

Thence in a moment heard them pass like wolves

Howling; but while he stared about the shrine,

In which he scarce could spy the Christ for Saints,

Beheld before a golden altar lie

The longest lance his eyes had ever seen,

Point-painted red; and seizing thereupon

Pushed through an open casement down, leaned on it,

Leapt in a semicircle, and lit on earth;

Then hand at ear, and harkening from what side

The blindfold rummage buried in the walls

Might echo, ran the counter path, and found

His charger, mounted on him and away.

An arrow whizzed to the right, one to the left,

One overhead; and Pellam’s feeble cry

‘Stay, stay him! he defileth heavenly things

With earthly uses’—made him quickly dive

Beneath the boughs, and race through many a mile

Of dense and open, till his goodly horse,

Arising wearily at a fallen oak,

Stumbled headlong, and cast him face to ground.

 

Half-wroth he had not ended, but all glad,

Knightlike, to find his charger yet unlamed,

Sir Balin drew the shield from off his neck,

Stared at the priceless cognizance, and thought

‘I have shamed thee so that now thou shamest me,

Thee will I bear no more,’ high on a branch

Hung it, and turned aside into the woods,

And there in gloom cast himself all along,

Moaning ‘My violences, my violences!’

 

But now the wholesome music of the wood

Was dumbed by one from out the hall of Mark,

A damsel-errant, warbling, as she rode

The woodland alleys, Vivien, with her Squire.

 

‘The fire of Heaven has killed the barren cold,

And kindled all the plain and all the wold.

The new leaf ever pushes off the old.

The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell.

 

‘Old priest, who mumble worship in your quire—

Old monk and nun, ye scorn the world’s desire,

Yet in your frosty cells ye feel the fire!

The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell.

 

‘The fire of Heaven is on the dusty ways.

The wayside blossoms open to the blaze.

The whole wood-world is one full peal of praise.

The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell.

 

‘The fire of Heaven is lord of all things good,

And starve not thou this fire within thy blood,

But follow Vivien through the fiery flood!

The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell!’

 

Then turning to her Squire ‘This fire of Heaven,

This old sun-worship, boy, will rise again,

And beat the cross to earth, and break the King

And all his Table.’

Then they reached a glade,

Where under one long lane of cloudless air

Before another wood, the royal crown

Sparkled, and swaying upon a restless elm

Drew the vague glance of Vivien, and her Squire;

Amazed were these; ‘Lo there’ she cried—‘a crown—

Borne by some high lord-prince of Arthur’s hall,

And there a horse! the rider? where is he?

See, yonder lies one dead within the wood.

Not dead; he stirs!—but sleeping. I will speak.

Hail, royal knight, we break on thy sweet rest,

Not, doubtless, all unearned by noble deeds.

But bounden art thou, if from Arthur’s hall,

To help the weak. Behold, I fly from shame,

A lustful King, who sought to win my love

Through evil ways: the knight, with whom I rode,

Hath suffered misadventure, and my squire

Hath in him small defence; but thou, Sir Prince,

Wilt surely guide me to the warrior King,

Arthur the blameless, pure as any maid,

To get me shelter for my maidenhood.

I charge thee by that crown upon thy shield,

And by the great Queen’s name, arise and hence.’

 

And Balin rose, ‘Thither no more! nor Prince

Nor knight am I, but one that hath defamed

The cognizance she gave me: here I dwell

Savage among the savage woods, here die—

Die: let the wolves’ black maws ensepulchre

Their brother beast, whose anger was his lord.

O me, that such a name as Guinevere’s,

Which our high Lancelot hath so lifted up,

And been thereby uplifted, should through me,

My violence, and my villainy, come to shame.’

 

Thereat she suddenly laughed and shrill, anon

Sighed all as suddenly. Said Balin to her

‘Is this thy courtesy—to mock me, ha?

Hence, for I will not with thee.’ Again she sighed

‘Pardon, sweet lord! we maidens often laugh

When sick at heart, when rather we should weep.

I knew thee wronged. I brake upon thy rest,

And now full loth am I to break thy dream,

But thou art man, and canst abide a truth,

Though bitter. Hither, boy—and mark me well.

Dost thou remember at Caerleon once—

A year ago—nay, then I love thee not—

Ay, thou rememberest well—one summer dawn—

By the great tower—Caerleon upon Usk—

Nay, truly we were hidden: this fair lord,

The flower of all their vestal knighthood, knelt

In amorous homage—knelt—what else?—O ay

Knelt, and drew down from out his nightblack hair

And mumbled that white hand whose ringed caress

Had wandered from her own King’s golden head,

And lost itself in darkness, till she cried—

I thought the great tower would crash down on both—

“Rise, my sweet King, and kiss me on the lips,

Thou art my King.” This lad, whose lightest word

Is mere white truth in simple nakedness,

Saw them embrace: he reddens, cannot speak,

So bashful, he! but all the maiden Saints,

The deathless mother-maidenhood of Heaven,

Cry out upon her. Up then, ride with me!

Talk not of shame! thou canst not, an thou would’st,

Do these more shame than these have done themselves.’

 

She lied with ease; but horror-stricken he,

Remembering that dark bower at Camelot,

Breathed in a dismal whisper ‘It is truth.’

 

Sunnily she smiled ‘And even in this lone wood,

Sweet lord, ye do right well to whisper this.

Fools prate, and perish traitors. Woods have tongues,

As walls have ears: but thou shalt go with me,

And we will speak at first exceeding low.

Meet is it the good King be not deceived.

See now, I set thee high on vantage ground,

From whence to watch the time, and eagle-like

Stoop at thy will on Lancelot and the Queen.’

 

She ceased; his evil spirit upon him leapt,

He ground his teeth together, sprang with a yell,

Tore from the branch, and cast on earth, the shield,

Drove his mailed heel athwart the royal crown,

Stampt all into defacement, hurled it from him

Among the forest weeds, and cursed the tale,

The told-of, and the teller.

That weird yell,

Unearthlier than all shriek of bird or beast,

Thrilled through the woods; and Balan lurking there

(His quest was unaccomplished) heard and thought

‘The scream of that Wood-devil I came to quell!’

Then nearing ‘Lo! he hath slain some brother-knight,

And tramples on the goodly shield to show

His loathing of our Order and the Queen.

My quest, meseems, is here. Or devil or man

Guard thou thine head.’ Sir Balin spake not word,

But snatched a sudden buckler from the Squire,

And vaulted on his horse, and so they crashed

In onset, and King Pellam’s holy spear,

Reputed to be red with sinless blood,

Redded at once with sinful, for the point

Across the maiden shield of Balan pricked

The hauberk to the flesh; and Balin’s horse

Was wearied to the death, and, when they clashed,

Rolling back upon Balin, crushed the man

Inward, and either fell, and swooned away.

 

Then to her Squire muttered the damsel ‘Fools!

This fellow hath wrought some foulness with his Queen:

Else never had he borne her crown, nor raved

And thus foamed over at a rival name:

But thou, Sir Chick, that scarce hast broken shell,

Art yet half-yolk, not even come to down—

Who never sawest Caerleon upon Usk—

And yet hast often pleaded for my love—

See what I see, be thou where I have been,

Or else Sir Chick—dismount and loose their casques

I fain would know what manner of men they be.’

And when the Squire had loosed them, ‘Goodly!—look!

They might have cropt the myriad flower of May,

And butt each other here, like brainless bulls,

Dead for one heifer!

Then the gentle Squire

‘I hold them happy, so they died for love:

And, Vivien, though ye beat me like your dog,

I too could die, as now I live, for thee.’

 

‘Live on, Sir Boy,’ she cried. ‘I better prize

The living dog than the dead lion: away!

I cannot brook to gaze upon the dead.’

Then leapt her palfrey o’er the fallen oak,

And bounding forward ‘Leave them to the wolves.’

 

But when their foreheads felt the cooling air,

Balin first woke, and seeing that true face,

Familiar up from cradle-time, so wan,

Crawled slowly with low moans to where he lay,

And on his dying brother cast himself

Dying; and he lifted faint eyes; he felt

One near him; all at once they found the world,

Staring wild-wide; then with a childlike wail

And drawing down the dim disastrous brow

That o’er him hung, he kissed it, moaned and spake;

 

‘O Balin, Balin, I that fain had died

To save thy life, have brought thee to thy death.

Why had ye not the shield I knew? and why

Trampled ye thus on that which bare the Crown?’

 

Then Balin told him brokenly, and in gasps,

All that had chanced, and Balan moaned again.

 

‘Brother, I dwelt a day in Pellam’s hall:

This Garlon mocked me, but I heeded not.

And one said “Eat in peace! a liar is he,

And hates thee for the tribute!” this good knight

Told me, that twice a wanton damsel came,

And sought for Garlon at the castle-gates,

Whom Pellam drove away with holy heat.

I well believe this damsel, and the one

Who stood beside thee even now, the same.

“She dwells among the woods” he said “and meets

And dallies with him in the Mouth of Hell.”

Foul are their lives; foul are their lips; they lied.

Pure as our own true Mother is our Queen.”

 

‘O brother’ answered Balin ‘woe is me!

My madness all thy life has been thy doom,

Thy curse, and darkened all thy day; and now

The night has come. I scarce can see thee now.

 

Goodnight! for we shall never bid again

Goodmorrow—Dark my doom was here, and dark

It will be there. I see thee now no more.

I would not mine again should darken thine,

Goodnight, true brother.

Balan answered low

‘Goodnight, true brother here! goodmorrow there!

We two were born together, and we die

Together by one doom:’ and while he spoke

Closed his death-drowsing eyes, and slept the sleep

With Balin, either locked in either’s arm.

 

Merlin and Vivien

 

A storm was coming, but the winds were still,

And in the wild woods of Broceliande,

Before an oak, so hollow, huge and old

It looked a tower of ivied masonwork,

At Merlin’s feet the wily Vivien lay.

 

For he that always bare in bitter