wish my weal,
That I am set in such a plight
To get my dear soul heal.
For sinners were the Saints in Heaven
And trust I in God's grace
To sit that day at Christ's right hand
And see His Blessed Face.
Therefore I heartily require
And do beseech thee sore
For all the love betwixt us was
To see my face no more.
But bid thee now, on God's behalf,
That thou my side forsake,
And to thy kingdom turn again,
And keep thy realm from wrake.
My heart, as well it loved thee once,
Serveth me not arights
To see thee, sithen is destroyed
The flower of kings and knights.
Therefore now get thee to thy realm
And take to thee a wife
And live with her in joy and bliss,
And pray God mend my life."
"Nay, Madam," said Sir Lancelot,
"That shall I never do,
For I should never be so false
Of that I promised you.
But unto the same destiny
As you I will me take,
And cast me specially to pray
For you, for Jesu's sake.
In you I take record of God,
Mine earthly joy I found,
And had you willed had taken you
To dwell on mine own ground.
But sithen you are thus disposed
And will the world forsake,
Be now ensured that I likewise
To penance will me take,
And so, if haply I may find
A hermit white or grey
Who shall receive and shrive me clean,
While lasteth life will pray.
Wherefore I pray you kiss me now,
And never then no mo."
"Nay," said the Queen, "Oh! get thee gone,
That can I never do."
So parted they with wondrous dole
And swooned for their great teen
And to her chamber scarce on live
Her ladies bare the Queen.
But Lancelot woke at last and went
And took his horse from keeping,
And all that day and all that night
Rode thro' a forest weeping.

The Hermit and the Faun.

A hermit knelt before his door
Long-bearded, bald of head,
When a laughing faun peeped thro' the brake
And these the words he said,
"My mother was a water-nymph
And in these woods I grew,
The faun, Amyntas, is my name,
To what name answer you?
How came you to this lonely hut,
Why kneel you in the dust,
With scalp as bald as a beggar's bowl
And beard as red as rust?
Why make you with those knotted claws
Your gestures strange and sad?
The sheep-bells tinkle from the plai