'Fair lord, whose name I know not-noble it is,

I well believe, the noblest-will you wear

My favour at this tourney?' 'Nay,' said he,

'Fair lady, since I never yet have worn

Favour of any lady in the lists.

Such is my wont, as those, who know me, know.'

'Yea, so,' she answer'd; 'then in wearing mine Needs must be lesser likelihood, noble lord,

That those who know should know you.' And

he turn'd

Her counsel up and down within his mind,

And found it true, and answer'd, 'True, my child.

Well, I will wear it: fetch it out to me:

What is it?' and she told him 'A red sleeve

Broider'd with pearls,' and brought it: then he

bound

Her token on his helmet, with a smile

Saying, 'I never yet have done so much

For any maiden living,' and the blood

Sprang to her face and fill'd her with delight;

But left her all the paler, when Lavaine
Returning brought the yet-unblazon'd shield,

His brother's; which he gave to Lancelot,

Who parted with his own to fair Elaine :

'Do me this grace, my child, to have my shield In keeping till I come.' 'A grace to me,'

She answer'd, 'twice to-day. I am your squire !'

Whereat Lavaine said, laughing, 'Lily maid,

For fear our people call you lily maid

In earnest, let me bring your colour back;

Once, twice, and thrice: now get you hence to

bed :'

So kiss'd her, and Sir Lancelot his own hand,

And thus they moved away: she stay'd a minute,
Then made a sudden step to the gate, and there—
Her bright hair blown about the serious face
Yet rosy-kindled with her brother's kiss-

Paused by the gateway, standing near the shield
In silence, while she watch'd their arms far-off

Sparkle, until they dipt below the downs.

Then to her tower she climb'd, and took the shield,

There kept it, and so lived in fantasy.

Meanwhile the new companions past away

Far o'er the long backs of the bushless downs,

To where Sir Lancelot knew there lived a knight Not far from Camelot, now for forty years

A hermit, who had pray'd, labour'd and pray'd,

And ever labouring had scoop'd himself

In the white rock a chapel and a hall

On massive columns, like a shorecliff cave,

And cells and chambers: all were fair and dry;
The green light from the meadows underneath
Struck up and lived along the milky roofs;
And in the meadows tremulous aspen-trees
And poplars made a noise of falling showers.
And thither wending there that night they bode.

But when the next day broke from underground, And shot red fire and shadows thro' the cave,

They rose, heard mass, broke fast, and rode away:

Then Lancelot saying, 'Hear, but hold my name

Hidden, you ride with Lancelot of the Lake,'
Abash'd Lavaine, whose instant reverence,

Dearer to true young hearts than their own praise,
But left him leave to stammer, 'Is it indeed?'
And after muttering The great Lancelot,'

At last he got his breath and answer'd, 'One, One have I seen-that other, our liege lord, The dread Pendragon, Britain's King of kings, Of whom the people talk mysteriously,

He will be there-then were I stricken blind

That minute, I might say that I had seen.'

So spake Lavaine, and when they reach'd the

lists

By Camelot in the meadow, let his eyes

Run thro' the peopled gallery which half round Lay like a rainbow fall'n upon the grass,

Until they found the clear-faced King, who sat

Robed in red samite, easily to be known,
Since to his crown the golden dragon clung,
And down his robe the dragon writhed in gold,
And from the carven-work behind him crept

Two dragons gilded, sloping down to make
Arms for his chair, while all the rest of them
Thro' knots and loops and folds innumerable
Fled ever thro' the woodwork, till they found
The new design wherein they lost themselves,
Yet with all ease, so tender was the work:
And, in the costly canopy o'er him set,

Blazed the last diamond of the nameless king.

'Me you call great: mine is the firmer seat,
The truer lance: but there is many a youth
Now crescent, who will come to all I am
And overcome it; and in me there dwells
No greatness, save it be some far-off touch