l charity
Fare post to him,--for in chirurgery
Of all that land she was the greatest leach,--
And her to his recovery beseech.
So, Accolon saluted, they drew rein,
And spake their message,--for right over fain
Were they toward their sport,--that he might bare
Petition to that lady. But, not there
Was Arthur's sister, as they well must wot;
But now a se'nnight lay at Camelot,
Of Guenevere the guest; and there with her
Four other queens of farther Britain were:
Isoud of Ireland, she of Cornwall Queen,
King Mark's wife; who right rarely then was seen
At court for jealousy of Mark, who knew
Her to that lance of Lyonesse how true
Since mutual quaffing of a philter; while
How guilty Guenevere on such could smile:
She of Northgales and she of Eastland: and
She of the Out Isles Queen. A fairer band
For sovereignty and love and loveliness
Was not in any realm to grace and bless.
Then quoth the knight, "Ay? see how fortune turns
And varies like an April day, that burns
Now welkins blue with calm, now scowls them down,
Revengeful, with a black storm's wrinkled frown.
For, look, this Damas, who so long hath lain
A hiding vermin, fearful of all pain,
Dark in his bandit towers by the deep,
Wakes from a five years' torpor and a sleep;
So sends dispatch a courier to my lord
With, 'Lo! behold! to-morrow with the sword
Earl Damas by his knight at point of lance
Decides the issue of inheritance,
Body to body, or by champion.'
Right hard to find such ere to-morrow dawn.
Though sore bestead lies Ontzlake, and he could,
Right fain were he to save his livelihood.
Then mused Sir Accolon: "The adventure goes
Ev'n as my Lady fashioneth; who knows
But what her arts develop this and make?"
And thus to those: "His battle I will take,--
And he be so conditioned, harried of
Estate and life,--in knighthood and for love.
Conduct me thither."
And, gramercied, then
Mounted a void horse of that wondering train,
And thence departed with two squires. And they
Came to a lone, dismantled priory
Hard by a castle gray on whose square towers,
Machicolated, o'er the forest's bowers,
The immemorial morning bloomed and blushed.
A woodland manor olden, dark embushed
In wild and woody hills. And then one wound
An echoy horn, and with the boundless sound
The drawbridge rumbled moatward clanking, and
Into a paved court passed th