Under King Constantine Part 5

For years he struggled, prayed, and fought his fight; And sometimes when his soul was desolate And he was weary from his eager quest, When such a sense of deep humility Would fall upon his praying, watching heart That he would fain forego all in despair, A marvellous ray of light, mysterious, Would slant athwart the darkness of his cell, Then he would rouse him to his quest once more And say, "Perchance the Holy Grail is near!"

One night at midnight came the ray again, And with it came a strange expectancy Of spirit as the light waxed radiant.

The cell was filled with spicy odours sweet, And on the midnight stillness song was borne As sweet as heaven's harmony--the words,-- The same Sir Launcelot had heard of old,-- "Honour and joy be to the Father of Heaven."

With wide eyes searching his lone cell for cause He waited: as the ray became more clear And more effulgent than the mid-day sun, He trembled with that chill of mortal flesh Beholding spiritual things. At last-- Now vaguely as though veiled by light, and then With s.h.i.+ning clearness, perfectly--he saw _The sight unspeakable, transcending words_.

Forth from his barren cell came Katha.n.a.l, Strong and inspired, born anew for deeds.

Straightway he grew to be the bravest knight Under King Constantine, since Sir Sanpeur; The boldest in the battles for the right; The kindest in his judgment of the wrong.

His eyes that held the vision of the Grail Were ever clear to see and know the truth; His lips that had been touched by holy chrism Were strong to utter holy living words; He sang of life in life, and life in death, And taught the lesson that his heart had learned-- All love should be a glory, not a doom; Love for love's sake, albeit bliss-denied.

To his old home beside the sapphire sea Floated his songs and his far-reaching fame; For in the land no name was loved so well As Katha.n.a.l the peerless Minstrel Knight.

Lone in her chamber sat Leorre, and heard The songs of Katha.n.a.l by courtiers sung-- Arousing words, like a clear clarion call To truth and virtue, purity and faith.

She clasped her hands and bent her head, and wept In silent pa.s.sion pent-up tears, for joy; For now she knew--far off, beyond her sight-- Her love had seen the sacred Holy Grail.

And, as she listened, inspiration came, Irradiating all her spirit, lifting it Beyond her sorrow and her daily want Of Katha.n.a.l. Soft through her soul there crept The echo of a benedicite, Enwrapping her in calm, triumphant peace.

Then she arose, put on her whitest robe, And went out radiant, strong, and full of joy.

Note to text beginning "A marvellous ray of light, mysterious,..."

[Transcriber's Note: "Note to Page 88" in the original text]

"_In the midst of the blast entred a sunne beame more clear by seaven times then ever they saw day, and all they were alighted of the grace of the holy Ghost_"

"_Then there entred into the hall the holy grale covered with white samite, but there was none that might see it, nor who beare it, and there was all the hall fulfilled with good odours_."

"_Then he listned, and heard a voice which sung so sweetly, that it seemed none earthly thing, and him thought that the voice said, 'Joy and honour be to the Father of heaven._'"

SIR THOMAS MALORY, "_La Mort d'Arthure_"

CHRISTALAN.

The yellow sunlight, coming from the east, Through the great Minster windows, arched and high, That tell the story of our blessed Lord In colours royal with significance, Takes many hues, and falls upon the head Of a fair boy before the altar-rail.

It is the son of the brave knight Noel, Cut off, alas! too early in his prime, Now lying dead beneath yon sculptured stone, But living in the hearts of the small group In the old Minster on this sunny morn.

The proud young head is bowed in reverence Before the holy priest of G.o.d, whose face Is glowing with paternal love that s.h.i.+nes Through dignity of the official calm.

Who loves not Christalan for his blithe grace?-- For his dear eyes, so true, so fathomless, So full of tenderness, his mother thought They were the reflex of the steadfast love She bore her lord Noel? Who loves him not For his bright joyance and his laughter sweet?

But now he stands, all merry laughter stilled By awe that groweth slowly in his eyes, In silent quietude, a knightly lad, Clad in a doublet of unspotted white, Embroidered at the breast with these two words, Wrought by his mother's hand, _Valiant and True_.

He hears at last the stirring words that move His soul as it has never yet been moved; Words that have haunted his imagining For days and nights, making his young heart yearn With restless longing for this present hour; Words that presage the glory of his life, The consecrated purpose of his youth In its fulfilment and accomplishment; The holy, sacred, solemn, early vow Of future knighthood for the n.o.ble lad.

And now his father's sword is shown to him; His daring spirit, of a knightly race, Leaps out to grasp it, though his hand may not Until he grows to manhood. O the years That he must wait, and serve, and work for that!

Why is it not to-morrow? He is strong, And, never having seen the great, wide world, With boyish confidence, that is the germ All undeveloped of man's later strength, He feels he is its master. For a s.p.a.ce The altar and the holy man of G.o.d Are veiled before his earnest, searching gaze, By sudden picture which his fancy paints: He sees a tournament, himself a knight--

"G.o.d's peace be with thee, valiant boy and true; In the name of G.o.d the Father, and of the Son And of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

No tilt Nor tournament before his vision now,-- Swift in his boyish heart, so full of dreams Of fame, there springs a new, intense resolve Of consecration, an unconscious prayer For G.o.d's peace, though he knows not what it means.

The Lady Agathar stands, robed in black, Behind the buoyant boy she loves so well.

She still has youth, and beauty, and desire; But each full throb of her true, wifely heart Beats for her lord, though he be gone,--all else In life is naught to her but Christalan, And Greane, the winsome maiden by her side.

Sweet Greane's heart thrills with pride of Christalan, And with the spirit of the solemn scene; But, also, with a fierce rebellious pang, That she is but a useless, silly girl.

She wishes she too had been born a lad, To take the knightly vow, and leave the home, And go forth to the world and its delight.

Now Christalan turns from the altar-rail To see the love upon his mother's face.

Back to the castle, in a goodly train, They take their way, in joyous merriment And festal cheer.

A banquet for the lad Is given in the hall, where gather soon The Noel-garde retainers, come to greet The n.o.ble boy, and say a long farewell.

The Lady Agathar still smiles, and fills The moment with all pleasure and delight, No shadow of her sorrow or her pain Shall fall upon her Christalan to-day, But deep within her heart she maketh moan, "My Christalan goes forth to-morrow morn."

Amid the revel Greane and Christalan Are missing for a time from the gay feast, And Agathar's quick eyes have followed them To where they sit apart, the two young heads, Of golden beauty and of softest brown, Forming a picture that for evermore Her memory will hold to solace grief, Or make it greater, as her mood may be.

"O Christalan how can I let you go?"

Says sweet Greane, weeping "Who will climb with me The rocks to find the bird's nest? who will play At arms, forgetting that I am a girl, And helping me forget it?"

Christalan, Lifting the nut-brown curl to find her ear, Low whispers tenderly, "I love you, Greane, A hundred times more than were you a boy, And always have, e'en when I laughed at you."

Greane nestles to him, lays her pretty head Upon his breast, her slender shapely hand, Sun-browned and thorn scratched, wanders lovingly Over his face and hair,--then to the words Upon his doublet, tracing thoughtfully Their broidered curving with her forefinger,

"_Valiant and True_" she says: "My Christalan, When you are great and famous in the world, Which would you be, could you be only one?"

"Why, Greane, they go together, like the light And morning: no knight could be really true And not be valiant to the death; and yet, No valiant knight could live and not be true."

"But if you _could_ be only one?" says Greane, With child's persistency.

Quickly he starts, Throws back his head impatiently, replies, "I would be valiant, could I be but one."

"O Christalan, _I_ would be true," says Greane.

"Well, Greane, you teased me into saying it, So do not look so scornful! I should die If I could not exalt my father's name In valiant deeds of knighthood and of war.

You have to choose, for you are but a girl; I need not choose, thank G.o.d! I will be both."

When the gray morning dawned at Noel-garde, The Lady Agathar went to her son; It was the last good-morrow they would say For many years to come. At the sun's rise He was to leave his home, to take his way To the brave knight Sir Katha.n.a.l, to whom Sir Noel, dying, had bade Agathar Send the young Christalan, in time, to learn The code of chivalry and knighthood. Back She drew the curtains of his bed, and watched Him sleeping, bent and kissed him:

"Christalan, Awake!" she said, "the day is breaking! Soon You leave your home where now you rule as lord, Boy though you are, and go as servitor; You must fulfil my heart's desire, my son, And, by G.o.d's help, bring answer to my prayers; You must be true and valiant, Christalan."

"Why, mother mine, is it not wrought in gold Upon my doublet?"

"Ah, my son," she said, "It must be wrought upon your heart as well As on your doublet."

Quick he answered her, "How can I help be valiant and most true, With such a father and your peerless self My mother? No, I will not fail, be sure.

Some day I shall come riding home to you With honour, prizes, fame, and dignity, That shall befit my father's n.o.ble name, And all the court as I pa.s.s by will cry, 'Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True!'"