"Nay, weep not, sweetheart, but a scratch—no more,"72
He bent to kiss the dew-drops from his rose,
When presto down the glaive enchanted shore—
Gawaine leapt back in time to save his nose.
"Ah, cruel father," groan'd the lady then,
"I hoped, at least, thou wert content with ten!"
"Ten what?" said Gawaine.—"Gallant knights like thee,73
Who fought and conquer'd my deceitful sire;
Married, as thou, to miserable me,
And doom'd, as thou, beneath the sword to expire—
By this device he gains their arms and steeds,
So where force fails him, there the fraud succeeds."
"Foul felon host," the wrathful knight exclaims,74
"Foul wizard bird, no doubt in league with him!
Have they no dread lest all good knights and dames
Save fiends their task, and rend them limb from limb?
But thou for Gawaine ne'er shalt be a mourner,
Thou keep the couch, and I—yon farthest corner!"
This said, the prudent knight on tiptoe stealing75
Went from his bride as far as he could go,
Then laid him down, intent upon the ceiling;
Noses, once lost, no second crop will grow—
So watch'd Sir Gawaine, so the lady wept,
Perch'd on the lattice-sill the raven slept.
Blithe rose the sun, and blither still Gawaine;76
Steps climb the stair, a hand unbars the door—
"Saints," cries the host, and stares upon the twain,
Amazed to see that living guest once more.—
"Did you sleep well?"—"Why, yes," replied the knight,
"One gnat, indeed;—but gnats were made to bite.
"Man must leave insects to their insect law;—77
Now thanks, kind host, for board and bed and all—
Depart I must,"—the raven gave a caw.
"And I with thee," chimed in that damsel tall.
"Nay," said Gawaine, "I wend on ways of strife."
"Sir, hold your tongue—I choose it; I'm your wife."
With that the lady took him by the hand,78
And led him, fall'n of crest, adown the stair;
Buckled his mail, and girded on his brand,
Brimm'd full the goblet, nor disdain'd to share—
The host saith nothing or to knight or bride;
Forth comes the steed—a palfrey by its side.
Then Gawaine flung from the untasted board79
His manchet to a hound with hungry face;
Sprung to his selle, and wish'd, too late, that sword
Had closed his miseries with a coup de grace.
They clear the walls, the open road they gain;
The bride rode dauntless—daunted much Gawaine.
Gaily the fair discoursed on many things,80
But most on those ten lords—his time before,
Unhappy wights, who, as old Homer sings,
Had gone, "Proiapsoi," to the Stygian shore;
Then, each described and praised,—she smiled and said,
"But one live dog is worth ten lions dead."
The knight prepared that proverb to refute.81
When the bird beckon'd down a delving lane,
And there the bride provoked a new dispute:
That path was frightful—she preferr'd the plain.
"Dame," said the knight, "not I your steps compel—
Take thou the plain!—adieu! I take the dell."