A sight ye love to look on.' And the Queen
Lifted her eyes, and they dwelt languidly

On Lancelot, where he stood beside the King.
He thinking that he read her meaning there,
'Stay with me, I am sick; my love is more
Than many diamonds,' yielded; and a heart-
Love-loyal to the least wish of the Queen

(However much he yearn'd to make complete
The tale of diamonds for his destined boon)
Urged him to speak against the truth, and say,
Sir King, mine ancient wound is hardly whole,
And lets me from the saddle;' and the King
Glanced first at him, then her, and went his

way.

No sooner gone than suddenly she began :

To blame, my lord Sir Lancelot, much to

blame!

Why go ye not to these fair jousts? the knights

Are half of them our enemies, and the crowd

Will murmur, "Lo the shameless ones, who take Their pastime now the trustful King is gone!" '

Then Lancelot vext at having lied in vain :

'Are ye so wise? ye were not once so wise,

My Queen, that summer, when ye loved me first.

Then of the crowd ye took no more account

Than of the myriad cricket of the mead,

When its own voice clings to each blade of grass,

And every voice is nothing. As to knights,

Them surely can I silence with all ease.

But now my loyal worship is allow'd

Of all men many a bard, without offence,
Has link'd our names together in his lay,
Lancelot, the flower of bravery, Guinevere,
The pearl of beauty and our knights at feast
Have pledged us in this union, while the King
Would listen smiling. How then? is there more?
Has Arthur spoken aught? or would yourself,

Now weary of my service and devoir,

Henceforth be truer to your faultless lord?'

She broke into a little scornful laugh:
'Arthur, my lord, Arthur, the faultless King,
That passionate perfection, my good lord—
But who can gaze upon the Sun in heaven?
He never spake word of reproach to me,
He never had a glimpse of mine untruth,

He cares not for me: only here to-day.

There gleam'd a vague suspicion in his eyes :

Some meddling rogue has tamper'd with him—

else

Rapt in this fancy of his Table Round,

And swearing men to vows impossible,

To make them like himself: but, friend, to me

He is all fault who hath no fault at all:

For who loves me must have a touch of earth;

The low sun makes the colour: I am yours,
Not Arthur's, as ye know, save by the bond.
And therefore hear my words: go to the jousts:
The tiny-trumpeting gnat can break our dream.

When sweetest; and the vermin voices here

May buzz so loud-we scorn them, but they

sting.'

Then answer'd Lancelot, the chief of knights:

'And with what face, after my pretext made,

Shall I appear, O Queen, at Camelot, I

Before a King who honours his own word,

As if it were his God's?'

'Yea,' said the Queen,

'A moral child without the craft to rule, Else had he not lost me: but listen to me, If I must find you wit: we hear it said

That men go down before your spear at a touch, But knowing you are Lancelot; your great name, This conquers: hide it therefore; go unknown: Win! by this kiss you will: and our true King Will then allow your pretext, O my knight,

As all for glory; for to speak him true,

Ye know right well, how meek soe'er he seem,

No keener hunter after glory breathes.

He loves it in his knights more than himself: They prove to him his work: win and return.'

Then got Sir Lancelot suddenly to horse, Wroth at himself. Not willing to be known, He left the barren-beaten thoroughfare,

Chose the green path that show'd the rarer foot,

And there among the solitary downs,

Full often lost in fancy, lost his way;

Till as he traced a faintly-shadow'd track,

That all in loops and links among the dales
Ran to the Castle of Astolat, he saw

Fired from the west, far on a hill, the towers.
Thither he made, and blew the gateway horn.

Then came an old, dumb, myriad-wrinkled man,

Who let him into lodging and disarm'd.

And Lancelot marvell'd at the wordless man;

And issuing found the Lord of Astolat

With two strong sons, Sir Torre and Sir Lavaine,