He spoke: the mother smil’d, but half in tears,
Then brought a mantle down and wrapt her in it,
And claspt and kiss’d her, and they rode away. 825
Now thrice that morning Guinevere had climb’d
The giant tower, from whose high crest, they say,
Men saw the goodly hills of Somerset,
And white sails flying on the yellow sea;
But not to goodly hill or yellow sea 830
Look’d the fair Queen, but up the vale of Usk,
By the flat meadow, till she saw them come;