"Page, bind my scalp—to broken scalps we're used.62
Your bride, brave son, is worthy of your merit;
No man alive has Erin's maids accused,
And least that maiden, of a want of spirit;
She plies a sword as well as you, fair sir,
When out of hand, just try your hand on her."
Not once Sir Gawaine lifts his leaden eyes,63
To mark the bride by partial father praised,
But mounts his steed—the gleesome raven flies
Before; beside him rides the maid amazed:
"Sir Knight," said she at last, with clear loud voice,
"I hope your musings do not blame your choice?"
"Damsel," replied the knight of golden tongue,64
As with some effort be replied at all,
"Sith our two skeins in one the Fates have strung,
My thoughts were guessing when the shears would fall;
Much irks it me, lest vow'd to toil and strife,
I doom a widow where I make a wife.
"And sooth to say, despite those matchless charms65
Which well might fire our last new saint, Dubricius,
To-morrow's morn must snatch me from thine arms;
Led to far lands by auguries, not auspicious—
Wise to postpone a bond, how dear soever,
Till my return."—"Return! that may be never:
"What if you fall? (since thus you tempt the Fates)66
The yew will flourish where the lily fades;
The laidliest widows find consoling mates
With far less trouble than the comeliest maids;
Wherefore, Sir Husband, have a cheerful mind,
Whate'er may chance your wife will be resign'd."
That loving comfort, arguing sense discreet,67
But coldly pleased the knight's ungrateful ear,
But while devising still some vile retreat,
The trumpets flourish and the walls frown near;
Just as the witching night begins to fall
They pass the gates and enter in the hall.
Soon in those times primæval came the hour68
When balmy sleep did wasted strength repair,
They led Sir Gawaine to the lady's bower,
Unbraced his mail, and left him with the fair;
Then first, demurely seated side by side,
The dolorous bridegroom gazed upon the bride.
No iron heart had he of golden tongue,69
To beauty none by nature were politer;
The bride was tall and buxom, fresh and young,
And while he gazed, his tearful eyes grew brighter;
"'For good, for better,' runs the sacred verse,
Sith now no better—let me brave the worse."
With that he took and kiss'd the lady's hand,70
The lady smiled, and Gawaine's heart grew bolder,
When from the roof by some unseen command,
Flash'd down a sword and smote him on the shoulder—
The knight leapt up, sore-bleeding from the stroke,
While from the lattice caw'd the merriest croak!
Aghast he gazed—the sword within the roof71
Again had vanish'd; nought was to be seen—
He felt his shoulder, and remain'd aloof.
"Fair dame," quoth he, "explain what this may mean."
The bride replied not, hid her face and wept;
Slow to her side, with caution, Gawaine crept.