The Last Tournament | Page 5

harlot-brides, an evil song.?"Lo there," said one of Arthur's youth, for there,?High on a grim dead tree before the tower,?A goodly brother of The Table Round?Swung by the neck: and on the boughs a shield?Showing a shower of blood in a field noir,?And therebeside a horn, inflamed the knights?At that dishonor done the gilded spur,?Till each would clash the shield, and blow the horn.?But Arthur waved them back: alone he rode.?Then at the dry harsh roar of the great horn,?That sent the face of all the marsh aloft
An ever upward-rushing storm and cloud?Of shriek and plume, the Red Knight heard, and all,?Even to tipmost lance and topmost helm,?In blood-red armor sallying, howl'd to the King,?"The teeth of Hell flay bare and gnash thee flat!--?Lo! art thou not that eunuch-hearted King?Who fain had clipt free manhood from the world--?The woman-worshipper? Yea, God's curse, and I!?Slain was the brother of my paramour?By a knight of thine, and I that heard her whine?And snivel, being eunuch-hearted too,?Sware by the scorpion-worm that twists in hell,?And stings itself to everlasting death,?To hang whatever knight of thine I fought?And tumbled. Art thou King?--Look to thy life!"?He ended: Arthur knew the voice; the face?Wellnigh was helmet-hidden, and the name?Went wandering somewhere darkling in his mind.?And Arthur deign'd not use of word or sword,?But let the drunkard, as he stretch'd from horse?To strike him, overbalancing his bulk,?Down from the causeway heavily to the swamp?Fall, as the crest of some slow-arching wave?Heard in dead night along that table-shore?Drops flat, and after the great waters break?Whitening for half a league, and thin themselves?Far over sands marbled with moon and cloud.?From less and less to nothing; thus he fell?Head-heavy, while the knights, who watch'd him, roar'd?And shouted and leapt down upon the fall'n;?There trampled out his face from being known,?And sank his head in mire, and slimed themselves:?Nor heard the King for their own cries, but sprang?Thro' open doors, and swording right and left?Men, women, on their sodden faces, hurl'd?The tables over and the wines, and slew?Till all the rafters rang with woman-yells,?And all the pavement stream'd with massacre:?Then, yell with yell echoing, they fired the tower,?Which half that autumn night, like the live North,?Red-pulsing up thro' Alioth and Alcor,?Made all above it, and a hundred meres?About it, as the water Moab saw?Come round by the East, and out beyond them flush'd?The long low dune, and lazy-plunging sea.
So all the ways were safe from shore to shore,?But in the heart of Arthur pain was lord.?Then out of Tristram waking the red dream?Fled with a shout, and that low lodge return'd,?Mid-forest, and the wind among the boughs.?He whistled his good warhorse left to graze?Among the forest greens, vaulted upon him,?And rode beneath an ever-showering leaf,?Till one lone woman, weeping near a cross,?Stay'd him, "Why weep ye?" "Lord," she said, "my man?Hath left me or is dead;" whereon he thought--?"What an she hate me now? I would not this.?What an she love me still? I would not that.?I know not what I would"--but said to her,--?"Yet weep not thou, lest, if thy mate return,?He find thy favor changed and love thee not"--?Then pressing day by day thro' Lyonesse?Last in a roky hollow, belling, heard?The hounds of Mark, and felt the goodly hounds?Yelp at his heart, but, turning, past and gain'd?Tintagil, half in sea, and high on land,?A crown of towers.
Down in a casement sat,?A low sea-sunset glorying round her hair?And glossy-throated grace, Isolt the Queen.?And when she heard the feet of Tristram grind?The spiring stone that scaled about her tower,?Flush'd, started, met him at the doors, and there?Belted his body with her white embrace,?Crying aloud, "Not Mark--not Mark, my soul!?The footstep flutter'd me at first: not he:?Catlike thro' his own castle steals my Mark,?But warrior-wise thou stridest through his halls?Who hates thee, as I him--ev'n to the death.?My soul, I felt my hatred for my Mark?Quicken within me, and knew that thou wert nigh."?To whom Sir Tristram smiling, "I am here.?Let be thy Mark, seeing he is not thine."
And drawing somewhat backward she replied,?"Can he be wrong'd who is not ev'n his own,?But save for dread of thee had beaten me,?Scratch'd, bitten, blinded, marr'd me somehow--Mark??What rights are his that dare not strike for them??Not lift a hand--not, tho' he found me thus!?But hearken, have ye met him? hence he went?To-day for three days' hunting--as he said--?And so returns belike within an hour.?Mark's way, my soul!--but eat not thou with him,?Because he hates thee even more than fears;?Nor drink: and when thou passest any wood?Close visor, lest an arrow from the bush?Should leave me all alone with Mark and hell.?My God, the measure of my hate for Mark?Is as the measure of my love for thee."
So, pluck'd one way by hate and one by love,?Drain'd of her force, again she sat, and spake?To