Her journey done, glanced at him. thought him cold, For what is true repentance but in thought 371 Not ev'n in inmost thought to think High, self-contain'd, and passionless, not again The sins that made the past so pleasant to us: And I have sworn never to see him more, To see him more." And ev'n in saying this, Her memory from old habit of the mind Went slipping back upon the golden days In which she saw him first, when Lancelot came, Reputed the best knight and goodliest man, Ambassador, to lead her to his lord 380 Arthur, and led her forth, and far ahead Of his and her retinue moving, they, Rapt in sweet talk or lively, all on love And sport and tilts and pleasure (for the time Was maytime, and as yet no sin was dream'd), Rode under groves that look'd a paradise And on from hill to hill, and every day Blaze by the rushing brook or silent well. Well is it that no child is born of thee. The children born of thee are sword and fire, Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws. The craft of kindred and the Godless hosts Of heathen swarming o'er the Northern Sea: Whom I, while yet Sir Lancelot, my right arm, From waging bitter war with him: and he, That did not shun to smite me in worse way, Had yet that grace of courtesy in him left, He spared to lift his hand against the King Who made him knight: but many a knight was slain; And many more, and all his kith and kin Clave to him, and abode in his own land. And many more when Modred raised revolt, Forgetful of their troth and fealty, clave To Modred, and a remnant stays with And of this remnant will I leave a part, True men who love me still, for whom I live, To guard thee in the wild hour coming on, Lest but a hair of this low head be harm'd. Fear not thou shalt be guarded till my death. Howbeit I know, if ancient prophecies Have err'd not, that I march to meet my doom. Thou hast not made my life so sweet to me, That I the King should greatly care to live; For thou hast spoilt the purpose of my life. 450 For when the Roman left us, and their law Relax'd its hold upon us, and the ways Were fill'd with rapine, here and there a deed Of prowess done redress'd a random wrong. But I was first of all the kings who drew The knighthood-errant of this realm and all To honor his own word as if his God's, To lead sweet lives in purest chastity, 471 To love one maiden only, cleave to her, And worship her by years of noble deeds, Until they won her; for indeed I knew Of no more subtle master under heaven Than is the maiden passion for a maid, Not only to keep down the base in man, But teach high thought, and amiable words And courtliness, and the desire of fame, And love of truth, and all that makes a Believing, "Lo mine helpmate, one to feel Bear with me for the last time while I My purpose and rejoicing in my joy." show, Ev'n for thy sake, the sin which thou hast sinn'd. Then came thy shameful sin with Lance lot; Then came the sin of Tristram and Isolt; Here looking down on thine polluted, cries, 'I loathe thee:' yet not less, O Guinevere, For I was ever virgin save for thee, My love thro' flesh hath wrought into my life So far, that my doom is, I love thee still. Let no man dream but that I love thee still. Perchance, and so thou purify thy soul, And so thou lean on our fair father Christ, Hereafter in that world where all are pure We too may meet before high God, and thou 561 His mercy choked me. Gone, my lord the King, My own true lord! how dare I call him mine? The shadow of another cleaves to me, And makes me one pollution: he, the King, Call'd me polluted: shall I kill myself? What help in that? I cannot kill my sin, If soul be soul; nor can I kill my shame; No, nor by living can I live it down. The days will grow to weeks, the weeks to months, The months will add themselves and make the years, 620 The years will roll into the centuries, Except he mock'd me when he spake of hope; His hope he call'd it; but he never mocks, For mockery is the fume of little hearts, And blessed be the King, who hath forgiven |