Where the screen'd portal from the embattled town94
Opes midway on the hill, the lonely King,
Forth issuing, guides his barded charger down
The steep descent. Amidst the pomp of spring
Lapses the lucid river; jocund May
Waits in the vale to strew with flowers his way.
Of brightest steel (but not emboss'd with gold95
As when in tourneys rode the royal knight),
His arms flash sunshine back; the azure fold
Of the broad mantle, like a wave of light,
Floats tremulous, and leaves the sword-arm free.—
Fair was that darling of all Poetry!
Through the raised vizor beam'd the fearless eye,96
The limpid mirror of a stately soul;
Bright with young hope, but grave with purpose high;
Sweet to encourage, steadfast to control;
An eye from which subjected hosts might draw,
As from a double fountain, love and awe.
The careless curl, that from the helm escaped,97
Gleam'd in the sunlight, lending gold to gold.
Nor fairer face, in Parian marble shaped,
Beam'd gracious down from Delian shrines of old;
Albeit in bolder majesty look'd forth
The hardy soul of the chivalric North
O'er the light limb, and o'er the shoulders broad,98
The steel flow'd pliant as a silken vest;
Strength was so supple that like grace it show'd,
And force was only by its ease confest;
Ev'n as the storms in gentlest waters sleep,
And in the ripple flows the mighty deep.
Now wound his path beside the woods that hang99
O'er the green pleasaunce of the sunlit plain,
When a young footstep from the forest sprang,
And a light hand was on the charger's rein;
Surprised, the adventurer halts,—but pleased surveys
The friendly face that smiles upon his gaze.
Of all the flowers of knighthood in his train100
Three he loved best; young Caradoc the mild,
Whose soul was fill'd with song; and frank Gawaine,[12]
Whom mirth for ever, like a fairy child,
Lock'd from the cares of life; but neither grew
Close to his heart, like Lancelot the true.
Gawaine when gay, and Caradoc when grave,101
Pleased: but young Lancelot, or grave or gay.
As yet life's sea had roll'd not with a wave
To rend the plank from those twin hearts away;
At childhood's gate instinctive love began,
And warm'd with every sun that led to man.
The same sports lured them, the same labours strung,102
The same song thrill'd them with the same delight;
Where in the aisle their maiden arms had hung,
The same moon lit them through the watchful night;
The same day bound their knighthood to maintain
Life from reproach, and honour from a stain.
And if the friendship scarce in each the same,103
The soul has rivals where the heart has not;
So Lancelot loved his Arthur more than fame,
And Arthur more than life his Lancelot.
Lost here Art's mean distinctions! knightly troth,
Frank youth, high thoughts, crown'd Nature's kings in both.[13]