BOOK VIII.
ARGUMENT.
Lancelot continues to watch for Arthur till the eve of the following day, when a Damsel approaches the Lake—Lancelot's discreet behaviour thereon, and how the Knight and the Damsel converse—The Damsel tells her tale—Upon her leaving Lancelot, the fairy ring commands the Knight to desert his watch, and follow the Maiden—The story returns to Arthur, who, wandering by the sea-shore, perceives a bark with the Raven flag of the sea-kings—The Dove enjoins him to enter it—The Ship is deserted, and he waits the return of the Crew—Sleep falls upon him—The consoling Vision of Ægle—What befalls Arthur on waking—Meanwhile Sir Gawaine pursues his voyage to the shrine of Freya, at which he is to be sacrificed—How the Hound came to bear him company—Sir Gawaine argues with the Viking on the inutility of roasting him—The Viking defends that measure upon philosophical and liberal principles, and silences Gawaine—The Ship arrives at its destination—Gawaine is conducted to the shrine of Freya—The Statue of the Goddess described—Gawaine's remarks thereon, and how he is refuted and enlightened by the Chief Priest—Sir Gawaine is bound, and in reply to his natural curiosity the Priest explains how he and the Dog are to be roasted and devoured—The sagacious proceedings of the Dog—Sir Gawaine fails in teaching the Dog the duty of Fraternization—The Priest re-enters, and Sir Gawaine, with much satisfaction, gets the best of the Argument—Concluding Stanzas to Nature.
Lone by the lake reclined young Lancelot—1
Night pass'd, the noonday slept on wave and plain;
Lone by the lake watch'd patient Lancelot;
Like Faith assured that Love returns again.
Noon glided on to eve; when from the brake
Brushed a light step, and paused beside the lake.
How lovely to the margin of the wave2
The shy-eyed Virgin came! and, all unwitting
The unseen Knight, to the frank sunbeam gave
Her sunny hair—its snooded braids unknitting;
And, fearless, as the Naiad by her well,
Sleeked the loose tresses, glittering where they fell.
And, playful now, the sandal silks unbound,3
Oft from the cool fresh wave with coy retreat
Shrinking,—and glancing with arch looks around,
The crystal gleameth with her ivory feet,
Like floating swan-plumes, or the leaves that quiver
From water-lilies, under Himera's river.
Ah happy Knight, unscath'd, such charms espying,4
As brought but death to the profane of yore,
When Dian's maids to angry quivers flying
Pierced the bold heart presuming to adore!
Alas! the careless archer they disdain,
Can slay as surely, though with longer pain.
But worthy of his bliss, the loyal Knight,5
Pure from all felon thoughts as Knights should be,
Revering, anger'd at his own delight,
The lone, unconscious, guardless modesty,
Rose, yet unseen, and to the copse hard by,
Stole with quick footstep and averted eye.
But as one tremour of the summer boughs6
Scares the shy fawn, so with that faintest sound
The Virgin starts, and back from rosy brows
Flings wide the showering gold; and all around
Casts the swift trouble of her looks, to see
The white plume glisten through the rustling tree.
As by some conscious instinct of the fear7
He caused, the Knight turns back his reverent gaze;
And in soft accents, tuned to Lady's ear
In gentle courts, her purposed flight delays;
So nobly timid in his look and tone
As if the power to harm were all her own.