Elaine 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 the morning's earliest ray Might strike it,and awake her with the gleam;Then fearing rust or soilure fashioned for it A case of silk,and braided thereupon All the devices blazoned 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,climbed That eastern tower,and entering barred her door,Stript off the case,and read the naked shield,Now guessed 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;That at Caerleon;this at Camelot:
And ah God's mercy,what a stroke was there!
And here a thrust that might have killed,but God Broke the strong lance,and rolled his enemy down,And saved him:so she lived in fantasy.
How came the lily maid by that good shield Of Lancelot,she that knew not even his name?
He left it with her,when he rode to tilt For the great diamond in the diamond jousts,Which Arthur had ordained,and by that name Had named them,since a diamond was the prize.
For Arthur,long before they crowned him King,Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse,Had found a glen,gray boulder and black tarn.
A horror lived about the tarn,and clave Like its own mists to all the mountain side:
For here two brothers,one a king,had met And fought together;but their names were lost;And each had slain his brother at a blow;
And down they fell and made the glen abhorred:
And there they lay till all their bones were bleached,And lichened into colour with the crags:
And he,that once was king,had on a crown Of diamonds,one in front,and four aside.
And Arthur came,and labouring up the pass,All in a misty moonshine,unawares Had trodden that crowned skeleton,and the skull Brake from the nape,and from the skull the crown Rolled into light,and turning on its rims Fled like a glittering rivulet to the tarn:
And down the shingly scaur he plunged,and caught,And set it on his head,and in his heart Heard murmurs,'Lo,thou likewise shalt be King.'
Thereafter,when a King,he had the gems Plucked from the crown,and showed them to his knights,Saying,'These jewels,whereupon I chanced Divinely,are the kingdom's,not the King's--For public use:henceforward let there be,Once every year,a joust for one of these:
For so by nine years'proof we needs must learn Which is our mightiest,and ourselves shall grow In use of arms and manhood,till we drive The heathen,who,some say,shall rule the land Hereafter,which God hinder.'Thus he spoke:
And eight years past,eight jousts had been,and still Had Lancelot won the diamond of the year,With purpose to present them to the Queen,When all were won;but meaning all at once To snare her royal fancy with a boon Worth half her realm,had never spoken word.
Now for the central diamond and the last And largest,Arthur,holding then his court Hard on the river nigh the place which now Is this world's hugest,let proclaim a joust At Camelot,and when the time drew nigh Spake (for she had been sick)to Guinevere,'Are you so sick,my Queen,you cannot move To these fair jousts?''Yea,lord,'she said,'ye know it.'
'Then will ye miss,'he answered,'the great deeds Of Lancelot,and his prowess in the lists,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 yearned 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 allowed Of all men:many a bard,without offence,Has linked 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 today There gleamed a vague suspicion in his eyes:
Some meddling rogue has tampered 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.'
