Went faltering sideways downward to her belt,
And feeling; had she found a dagger there
(For in a wink the false love turns to hate)

She would have stabb'd him; but she found it not:

His eye was calm, and suddenly she took

To bitter weeping like a beaten child,

A long, long weeping, not consolable.

Then her false voice made way broken with sobs.

'O crueller than was ever told in tale, Or sung in song! O vainly lavish'd love ! O cruel, there was nothing wild or strange, Or seeming shameful, for what shame in love, So love be true, and not as yours is nothing Poor Vivien had not done to win his trust Who call'd her what he call'd her - all her crime, All - all the wish to prove him wholly hers.'

She mused a little, and then clapt her hands Together with a wailing shriek, and said : 'Stabb'd through the heart's affections to the heart! Seeth'd like the kid in its own mother's milk! Kill'd with a word worse than a life of blows! I thought that he was gentle, being great : O God, that I had loved a smaller man ! I should have found in him a greater heart. O, I, that flattering my true passion, saw The knights, the court, the king, dark in your light, Who loved to make men darker than they are, Because of that high pleasure which I had To seat you sole upon my pedestal Of worship - I am answer'd, and henceforth The course of life that seem'd so flowery to me With you for guide and master, only you,

Becomes the sea-cliff pathway broken short,
And ending in a ruin nothing left,
But into some low cave to crawl, and there,
If the wolf spare me, weep my life away,
Kill'd with inutterable unkindliness.'

She paused, she turn'd away, she hung her head,

The snake of gold slid from her hair, the braid
Slipt and uncoil'd itself, she wept afresh,
And the dark wood grew darker toward the storm
In silence, while his anger slowly died
Within him, till he let his wisdom go

For ease of heart, and half believed her true :
Call'd her to shelter in the hollow oak,

'Come from the storm,' and having no reply,
Gazed at the heaving shoulder, and the face
Hand-hidden, as for utmost grief or shame ;
Then thrice essay'd, by tenderest-touching terms
To sleek her ruffled peace of mind, in vain.
At last she let herself be conquer'd by him,
And as the cageling newly flown returns,
The seeming-injured simple-hearted thing
Came to her old perch back, and settled there.
There while she sat, half-falling from his knees,
Half-nestled at his heart, and since he saw
The slow tear creep from her closed eyelid yet,
About her, more in kindness than in love,
The gentle wizard cast a shielding arm.
But she dislink'd herself at once and rose,
Her arms upon her breast across, and stood
A virtuous gentlewoman deeply wrong'd,
Upright and flush'd before him: then she said:

'There must be now no passages of love

Betwixt us twain henceforward evermore.
Since, if I be what I am grossly call'd,
What should be granted which your own gross heart
Would reckon worth the taking? I will go.
In truth, but one thing now better have died
Thrice than have ask'd it once could make me stay
That proof of trust - so often ask'd in vain !
How justly, after that vile term of yours,
I find with grief! I might believe you then,
Who knows? once more. O, what was once to me
Mere matter of the fancy, now has grown
The vast necessity of heart and life.
Farewell; think kindly of me, for I fear
My fate or fault, omitting gayer youth
For one so old, must be to love you still.
But ere I leave you let me swear once more
That if I schemed against your peace in this,
May yon just heaven, that darkens o'er me, send
One flash, that, missing all things else, may make
My scheming brain a cinder, if I lie.'

Scarce had she ceased, when out of heaven a bolt (For now the storm was close above them) struck, Furrowing a giant oak, and javelining With darted spikes and splinters of the wood The dark earth round. He raised his eyes and saw The tree that shone white-listed thro' the gloom. But Vivien, fearing heaven had heard her oath, And dazzled by the livid-flickering fork, And deafen'd with the stammering cracks and claps That follow'd, flying back and crying out, 'O Merlin, tho' you do not love me, save, Yet save me!' clung to him and hugg'd him close; And call'd him dear protector in her fright,

Nor yet forgot her practice in her fright,
But wrought upon his mood and hugg'd him close.

The pale blood of the wizard at her touch

Took gayer colors, like an opal warm'd.

She blamed herself for telling hearsay tales:
She shook from fear, and for her fault she wept
Of petulancy; she call'd him lord and liege,
Her seer, her bard, her silver star of eve,
Her God, her Merlin, the one passionate love
Of her whole life; and ever overhead
Bellow'd the tempest, and the rotten branch
Snapt in the rushing of the river-rain
Above them; and in change of glare and gloom
Her eyes and neck glittering went and came;
Till now the storm, its burst of passion spent,
Moaning and calling out of other lands,
Had left the ravaged woodland yet once more
To peace; and what should not have been had been,
For Merlin, overtalk'd and overworn,

Had yielded, told her all the charm, and slept.

Then, in one moment, she put forth the charm
Of woven paces and of waving hands,
And in the hollow oak he lay as dead,
And lost to life and use and name and fame.

Then crying 'I have made his glory mine,' And shrieking out 'O fool!' the harlot leapt Adown the forest, and the thicket closed Behind her, and the forest echo'd 'fool.'

E

LAINE the fair, Elaine the loveable, Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, High in her chamber up a tower to the east Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot; Which first she placed where morning's earliest ray Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam; Then fearing rust or soilure fashion'd for it A case of silk, and braided thereupon All the devices blazon'd on the shield In their own tinct, and added, of her wit, A border fantasy of branch and flower, And yellow-throated nestling in the nest. Nor rested thus content, but day by day Leaving her household and good father climb'd That eastern tower, and entering barr'd her door, Stript off the case, and read the naked shield, Now guess'd a hidden meaning in his arms, Now made a pretty history to herself Of every dint a sword had beaten in it, And every scratch a lance had made upon it, Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh; That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle ;