ence King of Gore!--
Sweet harlot!--here's that death determined o'er!
And now thou hast thy dream, and dreaming grieve
That death so ruins it?--Thy mouth to shrieve!--
Nay, nay, I love thee! witness bare this field!
I love thee!--heart, dost love her and yet yield?--
Enow! enow! so hale me hence to die!"

Then anger in the good King's gloomy eye
Burnt, instant-embered, as one oft may see
A star leak out of heaven and cease to be.
Slow from his visage he his visor raised,
And on the dying one mute moment gazed,
Then low bespake him grimly: "Accolon,
I am that King." He with an awful groan,
Blade-battered as he was, beheld and knew;
Strained to his tottering knees and haggard drew
Up full his armored tallness, hoarsely cried,
"The King!" and at his mailed feet clashed and died.
Then rose a world of anxious faces pressed
About King Arthur, who, though wound-distressed,
Bespake that multitude: "Whiles breath and power
Remain, judge we these brethren: This harsh hour
Hath yielded Damas all this rich estate;--
So it is his--allotted his of Fate
Thro' might of arms; so let it be to him.
For, stood our oath on knighthood not so slim
But that it hath this strong conclusion:
This much by us as errant knight is done:
Now our decree as King of Britain, hear:
We do adjudge this Damas banned fore'er,
Outlawed and exiled from all shores and isles
Of farthest Britain in its many miles.
One month be his--no more! then will we come
Even with an iron host to seal his doom;
If he be not departed over seas,
Hang naked from his battlements to please
Of carrion ravens and wild hawks the craws.
Thus much for Damas. But our pleasure draws
Toward sir Ontzlake, whom it likes the King
To take into his knightly following
Of that Round Table royal.--Stand our word!--
But I am overweary; take my sword;--
Unharness me; for, battle worn, I tire
With bruises' achings and wounds mad with fire;
And monasteryward would I right fain,
Even Glastonbury and with me the slain."
So bare they then the wounded King away,
The dead behind. So, closed the Autumn day.

* * * * *

But when within that abbey he waxed strong,
The King remembering him of all the wrong
That Damas had inflicted on the land,
Commanded Lionell with a staunch band
This weed's out-stamping if still rooted there.
He riding thither to that r