Idylls of the King | Page 9

the bird,

And thee, mine innocent, the jousts, the wars,
Who never knewest
finger-ache, nor pang
Of wrenched or broken limb--an often chance

In those brain-stunning shocks, and tourney-falls,
Frights to my
heart; but stay: follow the deer
By these tall firs and our fast-falling
burns;
So make thy manhood mightier day by day;
Sweet is the
chase: and I will seek thee out
Some comfortable bride and fair, to
grace
Thy climbing life, and cherish my prone year,
Till falling into
Lot's forgetfulness
I know not thee, myself, nor anything.
Stay, my
best son! ye are yet more boy than man.'
Then Gareth, 'An ye hold me yet for child,
Hear yet once more the
story of the child.
For, mother, there was once a King, like ours.

The prince his heir, when tall and marriageable,
Asked for a bride;
and thereupon the King
Set two before him. One was fair, strong,

armed--
But to be won by force--and many men
Desired her; one
good lack, no man desired.
And these were the conditions of the King:

That save he won the first by force, he needs
Must wed that other,
whom no man desired,
A red-faced bride who knew herself so vile,

That evermore she longed to hide herself,
Nor fronted man or woman,
eye to eye--
Yea--some she cleaved to, but they died of her.
And
one--they called her Fame; and one,--O Mother,
How can ye keep me
tethered to you--Shame.
Man am I grown, a man's work must I do.

Follow the deer? follow the Christ, the King,
Live pure, speak true,
right wrong, follow the King--
Else, wherefore born?'
To whom the mother said
'Sweet son, for there be many who deem
him not,
Or will not deem him, wholly proven King--
Albeit in
mine own heart I knew him King,
When I was frequent with him in
my youth,
And heard him Kingly speak, and doubted him
No more
than he, himself; but felt him mine,
Of closest kin to me: yet--wilt
thou leave
Thine easeful biding here, and risk thine all,
Life, limbs,
for one that is not proven King?
Stay, till the cloud that settles round
his birth
Hath lifted but a little. Stay, sweet son.'
And Gareth answered quickly, 'Not an hour,
So that ye yield me--I
will walk through fire,
Mother, to gain it--your full leave to go.
Not
proven, who swept the dust of ruined Rome
From off the threshold of
the realm, and crushed
The Idolaters, and made the people free?

Who should be King save him who makes us free?'
So when the Queen, who long had sought in vain
To break him from
the intent to which he grew,
Found her son's will unwaveringly one,

She answered craftily, 'Will ye walk through fire?
Who walks
through fire will hardly heed the smoke.
Ay, go then, an ye must:
only one proof,
Before thou ask the King to make thee knight,
Of
thine obedience and thy love to me,
Thy mother,--I demand.
And Gareth cried,
'A hard one, or a hundred, so I go.
Nay--quick!

the proof to prove me to the quick!'
But slowly spake the mother looking at him,
'Prince, thou shalt go
disguised to Arthur's hall,
And hire thyself to serve for meats and
drinks
Among the scullions and the kitchen-knaves,
And those that
hand the dish across the bar.
Nor shalt thou tell thy name to anyone.

And thou shalt serve a twelvemonth and a day.'
For so the Queen believed that when her son
Beheld his only way to
glory lead
Low down through villain kitchen-vassalage,
Her own
true Gareth was too princely-proud
To pass thereby; so should he rest
with her,
Closed in her castle from the sound of arms.
Silent awhile was Gareth, then replied,
'The thrall in person may be
free in soul,
And I shall see the jousts. Thy son am I,
And since
thou art my mother, must obey.
I therefore yield me freely to thy will;

For hence will I, disguised, and hire myself
To serve with scullions
and with kitchen-knaves;
Nor tell my name to any--no, not the King.'
Gareth awhile lingered. The mother's eye
Full of the wistful fear that
he would go,
And turning toward him wheresoe'er he turned,

Perplext his outward purpose, till an hour,
When wakened by the
wind which with full voice
Swept bellowing through the darkness on
to dawn,
He rose, and out of slumber calling two
That still had
tended on him from his birth,
Before the wakeful mother heard him,
went.
The three were clad like tillers of the soil.
Southward they set their
faces. The birds made
Melody on branch, and melody in mid air.

The damp hill-slopes were quickened into green,
And the live green
had kindled into flowers,
For it was past the time of Easterday.
So, when their feet were planted on the plain
That broadened toward
the base of Camelot,
Far off they saw the silver-misty morn
Rolling

her smoke about the Royal mount,
That rose between the forest and
the field.
At times the summit of the high city flashed;
At times the
spires and turrets half-way down
Pricked through the mist; at times
the great gate shone
Only, that opened on the field below:
Anon,
the whole fair city had disappeared.
Then those who went with Gareth were amazed,
One crying, 'Let us
go