Whereat the armourer turning all amazed And seeing one so gay in purple silks,Came forward with the helmet yet in hand And answered,'Pardon me,O stranger knight;We hold a tourney here tomorrow morn,And there is scantly time for half the work.
Arms?truth!I know not:all are wanted here.
Harbourage?truth,good truth,I know not,save,It may be,at Earl Yniol's,o'er the bridge Yonder.'He spoke and fell to work again.
Then rode Geraint,a little spleenful yet,Across the bridge that spanned the dry ravine.
There musing sat the hoary-headed Earl,(His dress a suit of frayed magnificence,Once fit for feasts of ceremony)and said:
'Whither,fair son?'to whom Geraint replied,'O friend,I seek a harbourage for the night.'
Then Yniol,'Enter therefore and partake The slender entertainment of a house Once rich,now poor,but ever open-doored.'
'Thanks,venerable friend,'replied Geraint;
'So that ye do not serve me sparrow-hawks For supper,I will enter,I will eat With all the passion of a twelve hours'fast.'
Then sighed and smiled the hoary-headed Earl,And answered,'Graver cause than yours is mine To curse this hedgerow thief,the sparrow-hawk:
But in,go in;for save yourself desire it,We will not touch upon him even in jest.'
Then rode Geraint into the castle court,His charger trampling many a prickly star Of sprouted thistle on the broken stones.
He looked and saw that all was ruinous.
Here stood a shattered archway plumed with fern;And here had fallen a great part of a tower,Whole,like a crag that tumbles from the cliff,And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers:
And high above a piece of turret stair,Worn by the feet that now were silent,wound Bare to the sun,and monstrous ivy-stems Claspt the gray walls with hairy-fibred arms,And sucked the joining of the stones,and looked A knot,beneath,of snakes,aloft,a grove.
And while he waited in the castle court,The voice of Enid,Yniol's daughter,rang Clear through the open casement of the hall,Singing;and as the sweet voice of a bird,Heard by the lander in a lonely isle,Moves him to think what kind of bird it is That sings so delicately clear,and make Conjecture of the plumage and the form;So the sweet voice of Enid moved Geraint;
And made him like a man abroad at morn When first the liquid note beloved of men Comes flying over many a windy wave To Britain,and in April suddenly Breaks from a coppice gemmed with green and red,And he suspends his converse with a friend,Or it may be the labour of his hands,To think or say,'There is the nightingale;'
So fared it with Geraint,who thought and said,'Here,by God's grace,is the one voice for me.'
It chanced the song that Enid sang was one Of Fortune and her wheel,and Enid sang:
'Turn,Fortune,turn thy wheel and lower the proud;Turn thy wild wheel through sunshine,storm,and cloud;Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.
'Turn,Fortune,turn thy wheel with smile or frown;With that wild wheel we go not up or down;
Our hoard is little,but our hearts are great.
'Smile and we smile,the lords of many lands;Frown and we smile,the lords of our own hands;For man is man and master of his fate.
'Turn,turn thy wheel above the staring crowd;Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud;
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.'
'Hark,by the bird's song ye may learn the nest,'
Said Yniol;'enter quickly.'Entering then,Right o'er a mount of newly-fallen stones,The dusky-raftered many-cobwebbed hall,He found an ancient dame in dim brocade;And near her,like a blossom vermeil-white,That lightly breaks a faded flower-sheath,Moved the fair Enid,all in faded silk,Her daughter.In a moment thought Geraint,'Here by God's rood is the one maid for me.'
But none spake word except the hoary Earl:
'Enid,the good knight's horse stands in the court;Take him to stall,and give him corn,and then Go to the town and buy us flesh and wine;And we will make us merry as we may.
Our hoard is little,but our hearts are great.'
He spake:the Prince,as Enid past him,fain To follow,strode a stride,but Yniol caught His purple scarf,and held,and said,'Forbear!
Rest!the good house,though ruined,O my son,Endures not that her guest should serve himself.'
And reverencing the custom of the house Geraint,from utter courtesy,forbore.
So Enid took his charger to the stall;
And after went her way across the bridge,And reached the town,and while the Prince and Earl Yet spoke together,came again with one,A youth,that following with a costrel bore The means of goodly welcome,flesh and wine.
And Enid brought sweet cakes to make them cheer,And in her veil enfolded,manchet bread.
And then,because their hall must also serve For kitchen,boiled the flesh,and spread the board,And stood behind,and waited on the three.
And seeing her so sweet and serviceable,Geraint had longing in him evermore To stoop and kiss the tender little thumb,That crost the trencher as she laid it down:
But after all had eaten,then Geraint,For now the wine made summer in his veins,Let his eye rove in following,or rest On Enid at her lowly handmaid-work,Now here,now there,about the dusky hall;Then suddenly addrest the hoary Earl:
'Fair Host and Earl,I pray your courtesy;
This sparrow-hawk,what is he?tell me of him.
His name?but no,good faith,I will not have it:
For if he be the knight whom late I saw Ride into that new fortress by your town,White from the mason's hand,then have I sworn From his own lips to have it--I am Geraint Of Devon--for this morning when the Queen Sent her own maiden to demand the name,His dwarf,a vicious under-shapen thing,Struck at her with his whip,and she returned Indignant to the Queen;and then I swore That I would track this caitiff to his hold,And fight and break his pride,and have it of him.
