Gawayne and the Green Knight Part 2

We fear naught from men's malice; hate and wrath And every evil thing will shun your path, And suns.h.i.+ne will go with you when you move; The only danger that we dread is love.

If in the after days, when suitors woo you, Your heart makes choice of one, as dearest to you, Before you put your hand in his and own The sacred trust reserved for him alone, Let us make trial of him, and approve His virtue, and his manhood, and his love.

Send him to us; and if he bears the test, And if we find him worthy to be blest With love like yours, be sure we will befriend him; And may a life-long happiness attend him!

But if he prove a traitor, or faint-hearted, Or if his love and he are lightly parted, In the deep willow-woods he shall remain, And never look upon your face again!"

The maiden, fancy-free, was well content, And with light laughter gave her full consent; For when maids think of love (as maidens do) It seems a far-off thing; and well she knew Her lover, if she loved, would be both brave and true!

Not long thereafter came an errant band Riding along the edge of Fairyland,-- Stout men-at-arms, without reproach or spot, And in the lead the bold Sir Launcelot.

He, riding on ahead, silent, alone, Was stopped by a beseeching ancient crone Who hobbled to his side, as if in pain, And clutched with palsied fingers at his rein.

And there behind her, from the leaf.a.ge green, The sweetest eyes his eyes had ever seen Were gazing at him with wide wonderment, Nor bold nor fearful; innocence unshent Shone from their blue depths, and old dreams awoke In Launcelot's breast, while thus the beldame spoke: "A boon, a boon, Sir Launcelot of the Lake!

I Pray you of your courtesy to take This damsel to the King. Her enemies Have spoiled her of her birthright, and she flees An innocent outcast from her wasted lands, To lay her life and fortune in his hands."

She spoke, and vanished in the woodland shade.

Then Launcelot, leaning over helped the maid To mount behind and at an easy trot They and the troop rode on to Camelot.

He asked no questions for some fairy spell Made light his heart, and told him all was well; And as these two rode through the land together, By dappled greenwood shade and sunlit heather, Her soft voice in his ears, the innocent charm Of her light, steady touch upon his arm, Wrought magic in his soul. That day, I ween, Sir Launcelot well-nigh forgot his queen.

And Elfinhart (you knew those eyes were hers!) Laughed with the silvery jingle of his spurs, And from her heart the new world's rapture drove All thought of Fairyland--excepting love.

And so to high-towered Camelot they came, The golden city,--now a shadowy name; For over heath-clad hills the wild-winds blow Where Arthur's halls, a thousand years ago Bright with all far-fetched gems of curious art, Shone brighter with the eyes of Elfinhart.

She came to Camelot; the king receives her; And there for five glad years my story leaves her.

Five glad years, and this "episode" is done, And we are back again at Canto I.

I write of merry jest and greenwood shade, But tales of chivalry are not my trade; So if you wish to read that five years' story Of lady-love, romance, and martial glory,-- The mighty feats of arms that Gawayne did,-- The ever ripening love that Gawayne hid Five long years in his breast, biding his time,-- Go seek it in some abler poet's rime.

My tale begins with the young knight's brave soul All Elfinhart's. She thinks herself heart-whole.

But at that Christmas feast, in Arthur's hall, With night's soft mantle folded over all, The magic influence of the evening tide Stole on their two hearts beating side by side.

And Gawayne talked of troubles long ago, When each man's neighbor was his dearest foe, And of the trials he himself had pa.s.sed, And the high purpose that from first to last Had been his stay and spur, he scarce knew how, Since on Excalibur he took the vow.

He told of his own hopes for future days, And how he wrought and fought not for men's praise, (Though like all good men Gawayne held that dear), Yet trusting, when men laid him on his bier, They might remember, as they gathered round it, "He left this good world better than he found it."

He talked as true men seldom talk, unless Swayed utterly by some pure pa.s.sion's stress, And ever gently, though with heart on fire, Still hovered nearer to his soul's desire.

And Elfinhart in gravest silence listened, But her sweet heart beat high, her blue eyes glistened; For as he bared his soul to her she dreamed A day-dream strange and new, wherein it seemed That in that soul's clear depth she saw her own, And his most secret thought (till then unknown) Seemed hers eternally. He spoke of death, And then her heart shrank, and she drew deep breath.

Suddenly, ere she understood at all What new life dawned before her, came the call Of fairy horns; and so the Green Knight burst Upon the scene, as told in Canto First.

One jarring note, the tuneful chords among, May make mad discord of the sweetest song.

E'en so with dissonant clamor through the breast Of Gawayne rang the Green Knight's merry jest; But what wild meaning must it not impart To the vague fears of gentle Elfinhart?

For she had heard in the first trumpet-blast A signal to her from the far-gone past; And now, of all the strange things that had been, Her half forgotten compact with the queen Flushed through her memory, and a swift thought came Like sudden fear, a thought without a name, An unvoiced question and a blind alarm; And in sheer helplessness she reached an arm Toward Gawayne scarcely knowing what she would; Her eyes beheld him, and she understood.

And is it Gawayne? He? Yes, Elfinhart, The hour has come, and you must play your part.

So now it's all explained; and I intend To go straight onward to the story's end.

Sir Gawayne had cut off the Green Knight's head, And Arthur and his court had gone to bed; In the great hall the dying embers shone With a faint ghostly gleam, and there, alone, While all the rest of Camelot was sleeping, In the dark alcove Elfinhart lay weeping.

But as she lay there, all about her head There fell a checkered beam of moonlight, shed Through the barred cas.e.m.e.nt; and she faintly stirred, For in her troubled soul it seemed she heard Vague music from some region far away!

She raised her head and, turning where she lay, Saw in the silver moonlight the serene And tranquil beauty of the fairy queen!

"We sent before you called us, Elfinhart, For love lent keener magic to our art, And warned us of the thoughts that in your breast Awoke new rapture, trembling unconfessed."

And Elfinhart moved closer to her knees And hid her face in the white draperies That veiled the fairy form, till, nestling there, Her heart recovered from that blank despair, And whispered her that whatsoe'er befell Love ruled the world, and all would yet be well.

And the good fairy stroked the maiden's head And kissed her tear-starred eyes, and smiling said: "Fie on you women's hearts! Consistency Hides her shamed head where mortal women be!

True love breeds faith and trust, it makes hearts strong; The heart's anointed king can do no wrong!

And yet you weep as if you feared to prove him;-- Upon my word, I don't believe you love him!"

And Elfinhart replied: "Laugh if you will, My queen, but let me be a woman still.

You fairies love where love is wise and just; We mortal women love because we must: And if I feared to prove him, I confess I fear I still must love him none the less."

She paused, for once again her eyes grew dim: "Think you I love his virtues? I love him!

But yet you judged me wrongly, for believe me, (And then laugh once again, and so forgive me), If at the first I feared what you might do, My doubts were not of Gawayne, but of you!"

And so both laughed, and for a little s.p.a.ce Folded each other in a glad embrace; (For fairies, bathed the whole year round in bliss, May yet be gladdened by a fair maid's kiss); And Elfinhart spoke on: "Do what you will, I trust you with my all, and fear no ill.

But oh, my friend, to wait the long, long year,-- To keep my heart in silence, not to hear The words my whole soul hungers for, nor say One syllable to brighten his dark day!

Must it be so, my queen? And how shall I School eyes and lips to act this year-long lie?

From the dear teacher-guardian of my youth The only ways I learned were ways of truth!

I tried my skill this night, and learned to know That there are deeps below the deeps of woe; Hearts may be bruised and broken, yet still live;-- The wounds that kill us are the wounds we give!"

And so these two talked on, until the night Began to s.h.i.+ver with the gray dawn's light, And in the deep-dyed cas.e.m.e.nt they might see New life flush through old dreams of chivalry.

And then they parted. What the queen had said I know not, but the lady, comforted, Bade farewell with calm voice and tranquil eyes, And saw with new-born strength the new sun rise.

Perhaps in Fairyland there chanced to be For them that grieve some sovereign alchemy To turn the worst to best, and the good queen Applied this soothing balm. Such things have been; But yet I doubt if any fairy art Was needed in the case of Elfinhart; The medicine that charmed away her dole Nature had planted in her own sweet soul.

Of all sure things, this thing I'm surest of,-- That the best cure for love's own ills is love.

CANTO III

GAWAYNE

CANTO III

GAWAYNE

O Muse!--But no: heaven knows I need a muse; But which of all the nine, pray, should I choose?

Thalia, Clio, and Melpomene, I love them all, but none, alas, loves me; For if you want a muse to take your part You must be solely hers with all your heart; And I have mingled since my earliest youth My smiles and tears, my fictions and my truth; Nay, in this very tale, scarce yet half done, I've courted all the nine, and so won none!

Not for me, therefore, the Parna.s.sian lyre, Or winged war-horse shod with heavenly fire; Harsh numbers flow from throats whose thirst has been A whole life long unslaked of Hippocrene; But I will e'en go on as best I can And let the story end as it began,-- A plain, straightforward man's unvarnished word, Part sad, part sweet,--and part of it absurd.

A year pa.s.sed by, as years are wont to do, Winter and spring, summer and autumn too, Till mid-December's flaw-blown flakes of snow Warned Gawayne that the time was come to go To the Green Chapel by the Murmuring Mere, And take again the blow he gave last year.

In the great court his charger stamped the ground, While knights and weeping ladies thronged around To arm him (as the custom was of yore) And bid him sad farewell for evermore.

One face alone in all that bustling throng Our hero's eyes sought eagerly, and long Sought vainly; for the lady Elfinhart, Debating with herself, stood yet apart; But as Sir Gawayne gathered up his reins And bade the draw-bridge warden loose the chains, Suddenly Elfinhart stood by his side, Her fair face flushed with love, and joy, and pride.

She plucked a sprig of holly from her gown And looked up, questioning; and he leaned down, And so she placed it in his helm. No word Might Gawayne's lips then utter, but he heard The voice that was his music, and could feel The touch of gentle fingers through the steel.

"Wear this, Sir Gawayne, for a loyal friend Whose hopes and prayers go with you to the end."

And, staying not for answer, she withdrew, And in the throng was lost to Gawayne's view.

He roused himself, and waving high his hand, Struck spur, and so rode off toward Fairyland.

Long time he traveled by an unknown way, Unhoused at night, companionless by day.

The cold sleet stung him through his s.h.i.+rt of mail, But, underneath, his stout heart would not fail, But beat full measure through the fiercest storm, And kept his head clear and his brave soul warm.

No need to tell the perils that he pa.s.sed; He conquered all, and came unscathed at last To where a high-embattled castle stood Deep in the heart of a dense willow-wood.

And Gawayne called aloud, and to the gate A smiling porter came, who opened straight, And bade him enter in and take his rest; And Gawayne entered, and the people pressed About him with fair speeches; and he laid His armor off, and gave it them, and prayed That they would take his message to their lord,-- prayer for friendly shelter, bed and board.

He told them whence he was, his birth and name; And the bold baron of the castle came, A mighty man, huge-limbed, with flas.h.i.+ng eyes, And welcomed him with old-time courtesies; For manners, in those days, were held of worth, And gentle breeding went with gentle birth.

He heartily was glad his guest had come, And made Sir Gawayne feel himself at home; And as they walked in, side by side, each knew The other for an honest man and true.

That night our hero and the baron ate A sumptuous dinner in the hall of state, And all the household, ranged along the board, Made good cheer with Sir Gawayne and their lord, And pa.s.sed the br.i.m.m.i.n.g bowl right merrily With friendly banter and quick repartee.

And Gawayne asked if they had chanced to hear Of a Green Chapel by a Murmuring Mere, And straightway all grew grave. Within his breast Sir Gawayne felt a tremor of unrest, But told his story with a gay outside, And asked for some good man to be his guide To find his foe. "I promise him," said he, "No golden guerdon;--his reward shall be The consciousness that unto him 't was given To show a parting soul the way to heaven!"

Up jumped his host. "My friend, I like your att.i.tude, And know no surer way to win heaven's grat.i.tude Than sending thither just such men as you; I'll be your guide. But since you are not due At the Green Chapel till three nights from now, And since the way is short, I'll tell you how The interim may be disposed of best:-- In short, let me propose a merry jest!"

At this Sir Gawayne gave a sudden start, For some old memory seemed to clutch his heart, And in the baron's eyes he seemed to see A twinkling gleam of green benignity Not wholly strange; but like a flash 't was gone.