Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat,
Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;
Which first she placed where the morning’s earliest ray
Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam;
A case of silk, and braided thereupon
In their own tinct, and added, of her wit,
A border fantasy of branch and flower,
And yellow-throated nestling in the nest.
Nor rested thus content, but day by day,
Leaving her household and good father, climbed
That eastern tower, and entering barred her door,
Stript off the case, and read the naked shield,
Now guessed a hidden meaning in his arms,
Now made a pretty history to herself
And every scratch a lance had made upon it,
Conjecturing5 when and where: this cut is fresh;
That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle;
That at Caerleon; this at Camelot:
And ah God’s mercy, what a stroke was there!
And here a thrust that might have killed, but God
Broke the strong lance, and rolled his enemy down,
And saved him: so she lived in fantasy.
How came the lily maid by that good shield
Of Lancelot, she that knew not even his name?
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.
For Arthur, long before they crowned him King,
Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse,
A horror lived about the tarn, and clave
Like its own mists to all the mountain side:
For here two brothers, one a king, had met
And fought together; but their names were lost;
And he, that once was king, had on a crown
Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside.
And Arthur came, and labouring up the pass,
Brake from the nape, and from the skull the crown
And set it on his head, and in his heart
Saying, “These jewels, whereupon I chanced
Divinely, are the kingdom’s, not the King’s—
For public use: henceforward let there be,
For so by nine years’ proof we needs must learn
In use of arms and manhood, till we drive
The heathen, who, some say, shall rule the land
And eight years past, eight jousts had been, and still
Had Lancelot won the diamond of the year,
With purpose to present them to the Queen,
When all were won; but meaning all at once
Worth half her realm, had never spoken word.
Now for the central diamond and the last
And largest, Arthur, holding then his court
Hard on the river nigh the place which now
Is this world’s hugest, let proclaim a joust
At Camelot, and when the time drew nigh
Spake (for she had been sick) to Guinevere,
“Are you so sick, my Queen, you cannot move
To these fair jousts?” “Yea, lord,” she said, “ye know it.”
“Then will ye miss,” he answered, “the great deeds
Of Lancelot, and his prowess in the lists,
A sight ye love to look on.” And the Queen
Lifted her eyes, and they dwelt languidly
On Lancelot, where he stood beside the King.
He thinking that he read her meaning there,
“Stay with me, I am sick; my love is more
Than many diamonds,” yielded; and a heart
Love-loyal to the least wish of the Queen
Urged him to speak against the truth, and say,
“Sir King, mine ancient wound is hardly whole,
And lets me from the saddle;” and the King
Glanced first at him, then her, and went his way.
No sooner gone than suddenly she began:
“To blame, my lord Sir Lancelot, much to blame!
Why go ye not to these fair jousts? the knights
Are half of them our enemies, and the crowd
Their pastime now the trustful King is gone!’”
Then Lancelot vext at having lied in vain:
“Are ye so wise? ye were not once so wise,
My Queen, that summer, when ye loved me first.
Then of the crowd ye took no more account
When its own voice clings to each blade of grass,
And every voice is nothing. As to knights,
Them surely can I silence with all ease.
But now my loyal worship is allowed
Has linked our names together in his lay,
Lancelot, the flower of bravery, Guinevere,
The pearl of beauty: and our knights at feast
Have pledged us in this union, while the King
Would listen smiling. How then? is there more?
Has Arthur spoken aught? or would yourself,
Now weary of my service and devoir,
Henceforth be truer to your faultless lord?”
She broke into a little scornful laugh:
“Arthur, my lord, Arthur, the faultless King,
That passionate40 perfection, my good lord—
But who can gaze upon the Sun in heaven?
He never spake word of reproach to me,
He never had a glimpse of mine untruth,
He cares not for me: only here today
There gleamed a vague suspicion in his eyes:
Rapt in this fancy of his Table Round,
To make them like himself: but, friend, to me
He is all fault who hath no fault at all:
For who loves me must have a touch of earth;
The low sun makes the colour: I am yours,
Not Arthur’s, as ye know, save by the bond.
And therefore hear my words: go to the jousts:
When sweetest; and the vermin voices here
May buzz so loud—we scorn them, but they sting.”
Then answered Lancelot, the chief of knights:
Shall I appear, O Queen, at Camelot, I
Before a King who honours his own word,
As if it were his God’s?”
“Yea,” said the Queen,
“A moral child without the craft to rule,
Else had he not lost me: but listen to me,
If I must find you wit: we hear it said
That men go down before your spear at a touch,
But knowing you are Lancelot; your great name,
This conquers: hide it therefore; go unknown:
Win! by this kiss you will: and our true King
As all for glory; for to speak him true,
No keener hunter after glory breathes.
He loves it in his knights more than himself:
They prove to him his work: win and return.”
Then got Sir Lancelot suddenly to horse,
Wroth at himself. Not willing to be known,
He left the barren-beaten thoroughfare,
Chose the green path that showed the rarer foot,
Full often lost in fancy, lost his way;
Till as he traced a faintly-shadowed track,
That all in loops and links among the dales
Ran to the Castle of Astolat, he saw
Fired from the west, far on a hill, the towers.
Then came an old, dumb, myriad-wrinkled man,
And issuing found the Lord of Astolat
With two strong sons, Sir Torre and Sir Lavaine,
Moving to meet him in the castle court;
And close behind them stept the lily maid
Elaine, his daughter: mother of the house
There was not: some light jest among them rose
With laughter dying down as the great knight
Approached them: then the Lord of Astolat:
“Whence comes thou, my guest, and by what name
Livest thou between the lips? for by thy state
And presence I might guess thee chief of those,
After the King, who eat in Arthur’s halls.
Him have I seen: the rest, his Table Round,
Known as they are, to me they are unknown.”
Then answered Sir Lancelot, the chief of knights:
“Known am I, and of Arthur’s hall, and known,
But since I go to joust as one unknown
At Camelot for the diamond, ask me not,
Hereafter ye shall know me—and the shield—
I pray you lend me one, if such you have,
Blank, or at least with some device not mine.”
Then said the Lord of Astolat, “Here is Torre’s:
Hurt in his first tilt was my son, Sir Torre.
And so, God wot, his shield is blank enough.
His ye can have.” Then added plain Sir Torre,
“Yea, since I cannot use it, ye may have it.”
Is that answer for a noble knight?
Allow him! but Lavaine, my younger here,
He is so full of lustihood, he will ride,
Joust for it, and win, and bring it in an hour,
And set it in this damsel’s golden hair,
Before this noble knight,” said young Lavaine,
“For nothing. Surely I but played on Torre:
That some one put this diamond in her hand,
And that it was too slippery to be held,
And slipt and fell into some pool or stream,
The castle-well, belike; and then I said
That if I went and if I fought and won it
(But all was jest and joke among ourselves)
Then must she keep it safelier. All was jest.
But, father, give me leave, an if he will,
To ride to Camelot with this noble knight:
Win shall I not, but do my best to win:
Young as I am, yet would I do my best.”
“So will ye grace me,” answered Lancelot,
Smiling a moment, “with your fellowship
O’er these waste downs whereon I lost myself,
Then were I glad of you as guide and friend:
And you shall win this diamond,—as I hear
It is a fair large diamond,—if ye may,
And yield it to this maiden, if ye will.”
“A fair large diamond,” added plain Sir Torre,
“Such be for queens, and not for simple maids.”
Then she, who held her eyes upon the ground,
Elaine, and heard her name so tost about,
Flushed slightly at the slight disparagement62
Before the stranger knight, who, looking at her,
Full courtly, yet not falsely, thus returned:
“If what is fair be but for what is fair,
And only queens are to be counted so,
Might wear as fair a jewel as is on earth,
Not violating the bond of like to like.”
He spoke and ceased: the lily maid Elaine,
Lifted her eyes, and read his lineaments.
The great and guilty love he bare the Queen,
In battle with the love he bare his lord,
Another sinning on such heights with one,
The flower of all the west and all the world,
His mood was often like a fiend, and rose
For agony, who was yet a living soul.
Marred as he was, he seemed the goodliest man
That ever among ladies ate in hall,
And noblest, when she lifted up her eyes.
However marred, of more than twice her years,
Seamed with an ancient swordcut on the cheek,
Then the great knight, the darling of the court,
Loved of the loveliest, into that rude hall
Hid under grace, as in a smaller time,
Whom they with meats and vintage of their best
And talk and minstrel melody entertained.
And much they asked of court and Table Round,
And ever well and readily answered he:
But Lancelot, when they glanced at Guinevere,
Suddenly speaking of the wordless man,
The heathen caught and reft him of his tongue.
“He learnt and warned me of their fierce design
Against my house, and him they caught and maimed;
But I, my sons, and little daughter fled
From bonds or death, and dwelt among the woods
By the great river in a boatman’s hut.
Dull days were those, till our good Arthur broke
The Pagan yet once more on Badon hill.”
“O there, great lord, doubtless,” Lavaine said, rapt
By all the sweet and sudden passion of youth
Toward greatness in its elder, “you have fought.
O tell us—for we live apart—you know
Of Arthur’s glorious wars.” And Lancelot spoke
And answered him at full, as having been
With Arthur in the fight which all day long
Rang by the white mouth of the violent Glem;
And in the four loud battles by the shore
Of Duglas; that on Bassa; then the war
That thundered in and out the gloomy skirts
Of Celidon the forest; and again
By castle Gurnion, where the glorious King
Had on his cuirass worn our Lady’s Head,
Carved of one emerald centered in a sun
Of silver rays, that lightened as he breathed;
And at Caerleon had he helped his lord,
When the strong neighings of the wild white Horse
And up in Agned-Cathregonion too,
And down the waste sand-shores of Trath Treroit,
Where many a heathen fell; “and on the mount
Charge at the head of all his Table Round,
And all his legions crying Christ and him,
And break them; and I saw him, after, stand
Red as the rising sun with heathen blood,
And seeing me, with a great voice he cried,
‘They are broken, they are broken!’ for the King,
However mild he seems at home, nor cares
For if his own knight cast him down, he laughs
Saying, his knights are better men than he—
Yet in this heathen war the fire of God
Fills him: I never saw his like: there lives
No greater leader.”
While he uttered this,
Low to her own heart said the lily maid,
“Save your own great self, fair lord;” and when he fell
From talk of war to traits of pleasantry—
Being mirthful he, but in a stately kind—
She still took note that when the living smile
Died from his lips, across him came a cloud
Of melancholy79 severe, from which again,
The lily maid had striven to make him cheer,
There brake a sudden-beaming tenderness
Of manners and of nature: and she thought
That all was nature, all, perchance, for her.
And all night long his face before her lived,
As when a painter, poring on a face,
Behind it, and so paints him that his face,
The shape and colour of a mind and life,
Lives for his children, ever at its best
And fullest; so the face before her lived,
Dark-splendid, speaking in the silence, full
Of noble things, and held her from her sleep.
Till rathe she rose, half-cheated in the thought
She needs must bid farewell to sweet Lavaine.
First in fear, step after step, she stole
Down the long tower-stairs, hesitating:
Anon, she heard Sir Lancelot cry in the court,
“This shield, my friend, where is it?” and Lavaine
Past inward, as she came from out the tower.
There to his proud horse Lancelot turned, and smoothed
Half-envious of the flattering hand, she drew
Nearer and stood. He looked, and more amazed
Than if seven men had set upon him, saw
He had not dreamed she was so beautiful.
Then came on him a sort of sacred fear,
For silent, though he greeted her, she stood
Rapt on his face as if it were a God’s.
Suddenly flashed on her a wild desire,
That he should wear her favour at the tilt.
“Fair lord, whose name I know not—noble it is,
I well believe, the noblest—will you wear
My favour at this tourney?” “Nay,” said he,
“Fair lady, since I never yet have worn
Favour of any lady in the lists.
“Yea, so,” she answered; “then in wearing mine
That those who know should know you.” And he turned
Her counsel up and down within his mind,
And found it true, and answered, “True, my child.
Well, I will wear it: fetch it out to me:
What is it?” and she told him “A red sleeve
Broidered with pearls,” and brought it: then he bound
Her token on his helmet, with a smile
Saying, “I never yet have done so much
For any maiden living,” and the blood
Sprang to her face and filled her with delight;
But left her all the paler, when Lavaine
Returning brought the yet-unblazoned shield,
His brother’s; which he gave to Lancelot,
Who parted with his own to fair Elaine:
“Do me this grace, my child, to have my shield
In keeping till I come.” “A grace to me,”
Whereat Lavaine said, laughing, “Lily maid,
For fear our people call you lily maid
In earnest, let me bring your colour back;
Once, twice, and thrice: now get you hence to bed:”
So kissed her, and Sir Lancelot his own hand,
And thus they moved away: she stayed a minute,
Then made a sudden step to the gate, and there—
Her bright hair blown about the serious face
Yet rosy-kindled with her brother’s kiss—
Paused by the gateway, standing near the shield
In silence, while she watched their arms far-off
Sparkle, until they dipt below the downs.
Then to her tower she climbed, and took the shield,
There kept it, and so lived in fantasy.
Meanwhile the new companions past away
Far o’er the long backs of the bushless downs,
To where Sir Lancelot knew there lived a knight
Not far from Camelot, now for forty years
On massive columns, like a shorecliff cave,
And cells and chambers: all were fair and dry;
The green light from the meadows underneath91
And in the meadows tremulous aspen-trees
And poplars made a noise of falling showers.
But when the next day broke from underground,
And shot red fire and shadows through the cave,
They rose, heard mass, broke fast, and rode away:
Then Lancelot saying, “Hear, but hold my name
Hidden, you ride with Lancelot of the Lake,”
Dearer to true young hearts than their own praise,
And after muttering “The great Lancelot,
At last he got his breath and answered, “One,
One have I seen—that other, our liege lord,
Of whom the people talk mysteriously,
He will be there—then were I stricken blind
That minute, I might say that I had seen.”
So spake Lavaine, and when they reached the lists
By Camelot in the meadow, let his eyes
Run through the peopled gallery which half round
Lay like a rainbow fallen upon the grass,
Until they found the clear-faced King, who sat
Robed in red samite, easily to be known,
Since to his crown the golden dragon clung,
And from the carven-work behind him crept
Two dragons gilded, sloping down to make
Arms for his chair, while all the rest of them
Through knots and loops and folds innumerable
Fled ever through the woodwork, till they found
The new design wherein they lost themselves,
Yet with all ease, so tender was the work:
Blazed the last diamond of the nameless king.
Then Lancelot answered young Lavaine and said,
“Me you call great: mine is the firmer seat,
The truer lance: but there is many a youth
Now crescent, who will come to all I am
And overcome it; and in me there dwells
No greatness, save it be some far-off touch
Of greatness to know well I am not great:
As on a thing miraculous104, and anon
Set lance in rest, strike spur, suddenly move,
Meet in the midst, and there so furiously
Shock, that a man far-off might well perceive,
If any man that day were left afield,
The hard earth shake, and a low thunder of arms.
And Lancelot bode a little, till he saw
Against the stronger: little need to speak
Of Lancelot in his glory! King, duke, earl,
Ranged with the Table Round that held the lists,
Strong men, and wrathful that a stranger knight
Of Lancelot; and one said to the other, “Lo!
What is he? I do not mean the force alone—
The grace and versatility113 of the man!
Is it not Lancelot?” “When has Lancelot worn
Favour of any lady in the lists?
Not such his wont, as we, that know him, know.”
“How then? who then?” a fury seized them all,
Of Lancelot, and a glory one with theirs.
In moving, all together down upon him
Bare, as a wild wave in the wide North-sea,
Green-glimmering toward the summit, bears, with all
Down on a bark, and overbears the bark,
And him that helms it, so they overbore
Sir Lancelot and his charger, and a spear
Pricked sharply his own cuirass, and the head
Pierced through his side, and there snapt, and remained.
Then Sir Lavaine did well and worshipfully;
He bore a knight of old repute to the earth,
And brought his horse to Lancelot where he lay.
He up the side, sweating with agony, got,
But thought to do while he might yet endure,
And being lustily holpen by the rest,
His party,—though it seemed half-miracle
To those he fought with,—drave his kith and kin,
And all the Table Round that held the lists,
Back to the barrier; then the trumpets blew
Proclaiming his the prize, who wore the sleeve
His party, cried “Advance and take thy prize
The diamond;” but he answered, “Diamond me
No diamonds! for God’s love, a little air!
Prize me no prizes, for my prize is death!
Hence will I, and I charge you, follow me not.”
He spoke, and vanished suddenly from the field
There from his charger down he slid, and sat,
“Ah my sweet lord Sir Lancelot,” said Lavaine,
“I dread me, if I draw it, you will die.”
But he, “I die already with it: draw—
Draw,”—and Lavaine drew, and Sir Lancelot gave
For the pure pain, and wholly swooned away.
Then came the hermit out and bare him in,
Whether to live or die, for many a week
Of poplars with their noise of falling showers,
And ever-tremulous aspen-trees, he lay.
But on that day when Lancelot fled the lists,
His party, knights of utmost North and West,
Came round their great Pendragon, saying to him,
“Lo, Sire, our knight, through whom we won the day,
Hath gone sore wounded, and hath left his prize
Untaken, crying that his prize is death.”
“Heaven hinder,” said the King, “that such an one,
So great a knight as we have seen today—
He seemed to me another Lancelot—
Yea, twenty times I thought him Lancelot—
He must not pass uncared for. Wherefore, rise,
O Gawain, and ride forth and find the knight.
Wounded and wearied needs must he be near.
I charge you that you get at once to horse.
And, knights and kings, there breathes not one of you
Will deem this prize of ours is rashly given:
No customary honour: since the knight
Came not to us, of us to claim the prize,
Ourselves will send it after. Rise and take
This diamond, and deliver it, and return,
And bring us where he is, and how he fares,
And cease not from your quest until ye find.”
So saying, from the carven flower above,
To which it made a restless heart, he took,
And gave, the diamond: then from where he sat
At Arthur’s right, with smiling face arose,
With smiling face and frowning heart, a Prince
And after Lancelot, Tristram, and Geraint
And Gareth, a good knight, but therewithal
Sir Modred’s brother, and the child of Lot,
Nor often loyal to his word, and now
Wroth that the King’s command to sally forth
In quest of whom he knew not, made him leave
The banquet, and concourse of knights and kings.
While Arthur to the banquet, dark in mood,
Past, thinking “Is it Lancelot who hath come
Despite the wound he spake of, all for gain
Of glory, and hath added wound to wound,
And ridden away to die?” So feared the King,
And, after two days’ tarriance there, returned.
Then when he saw the Queen, embracing asked,
“Love, are you yet so sick?” “Nay, lord,” she said.
“And where is Lancelot?” Then the Queen amazed,
“Was he not with you? won he not your prize?”
“Nay, but one like him.” “Why that like was he.”
And when the King demanded how she knew,
Said, “Lord, no sooner had ye parted from us,
Than Lancelot told me of a common talk
That men went down before his spear at a touch,
But knowing he was Lancelot; his great name
Conquered; and therefore would he hide his name
From all men, even the King, and to this end
Had made a pretext of a hindering wound,
That he might joust unknown of all, and learn
If his old prowess were in aught decayed;
And added, ‘Our true Arthur, when he learns,
Will well allow me pretext, as for gain
Of purer glory.’”
Then replied the King:
“Far lovelier in our Lancelot had it been,
To have trusted me as he hath trusted thee.
Surely his King and most familiar friend
Might well have kept his secret. True, indeed,
So fine a fear in our large Lancelot
But little cause for laughter: his own kin—
Ill news, my Queen, for all who love him, this!—
His kith and kin, not knowing, set upon him;
So that he went sore wounded from the field:
Yet good news too: for goodly hopes are mine
That Lancelot is no more a lonely heart.
He wore, against his wont, upon his helm
A sleeve of scarlet, broidered with great pearls,
Some gentle maiden’s gift.”
“Yea, lord,” she said,
“Thy hopes are mine,” and saying that, she choked,
And sharply turned about to hide her face,
Past to her chamber, and there flung herself
Down on the great King’s couch, and writhed upon it,
Then flashed into wild tears, and rose again,
And moved about her palace, proud and pale.
Gawain the while through all the region round
Rode with his diamond, wearied of the quest,
Touched at all points, except the poplar grove,
And came at last, though late, to Astolat:
Whom glittering in enamelled arms the maid
Glanced at, and cried, “What news from Camelot, lord?
What of the knight with the red sleeve?” “He won.”
“I knew it,” she said. “But parted from the jousts
Hurt in the side,” whereat she caught her breath;
Through her own side she felt the sharp lance go;
Thereon she smote her hand: wellnigh she swooned:
And, while he gazed wonderingly at her, came
The Lord of Astolat out, to whom the Prince
Reported who he was, and on what quest
Sent, that he bore the prize and could not find
To seek him, and had wearied of the search.
And ride no more at random, noble Prince!
Here was the knight, and here he left a shield;
This will he send or come for: furthermore
Our son is with him; we shall hear anon,
Needs must hear.” To this the courteous Prince
Accorded with his wonted courtesy,
Courtesy with a touch of traitor in it,
And stayed; and cast his eyes on fair Elaine:
Where could be found face daintier? then her shape
From forehead down to foot, perfect—again
From foot to forehead exquisitely138 turned:
“Well—if I bide, lo! this wild flower for me!”
And there he set himself to play upon her
With sallying wit, free flashes from a height
Above her, graces of the court, and songs,
Rebelled against it, saying to him, “Prince,
O loyal nephew of our noble King,
Why ask you not to see the shield he left,
Whence you might learn his name? Why slight your King,
And lose the quest he sent you on, and prove
Who lost the hern we slipt her at, and went
To all the winds?” “Nay, by mine head,” said he,
O damsel, in the light of your blue eyes;
But an ye will it let me see the shield.”
And when the shield was brought, and Gawain saw
“Right was the King! our Lancelot! that true man!”
“And right was I,” she answered merrily, “I,
Who dreamed my knight the greatest knight of all.”
“And if I dreamed,” said Gawain, “that you love
This greatest knight, your pardon! lo, ye know it!
Speak therefore: shall I waste myself in vain?”
Full simple was her answer, “What know I?
My brethren have been all my fellowship;
And I, when often they have talked of love,
Wished it had been my mother, for they talked,
Meseemed, of what they knew not; so myself—
I know not if I know what true love is,
But if I know, then, if I love not him,
I know there is none other I can love.”
“Yea, by God’s death,” said he, “ye love him well,
But would not, knew ye what all others know,
And whom he loves.” “So be it,” cried Elaine,
And lifted her fair face and moved away:
But he pursued her, calling, “Stay a little!
One golden minute’s grace! he wore your sleeve:
Would he break faith with one I may not name?
Must our true man change like a leaf at last?
Nay—like enow: why then, far be it from me
And, damsel, for I deem you know full well
Where your great knight is hidden, let me leave
My quest with you; the diamond also: here!
For if you love, it will be sweet to give it;
And if he love, it will be sweet to have it
From your own hand; and whether he love or not,
A diamond is a diamond. Fare you well
A thousand times!—a thousand times farewell!
Yet, if he love, and his love hold, we two
May meet at court hereafter: there, I think,
So ye will learn the courtesies of the court,
We two shall know each other.”
Then he gave,
And slightly kissed the hand to which he gave,
The diamond, and all wearied of the quest
Leapt on his horse, and carolling as he went
Thence to the court he past; there told the King
What the King knew, “Sir Lancelot is the knight.”
And added, “Sire, my liege, so much I learnt;
But failed to find him, though I rode all round
The region: but I lighted on the maid
Whose sleeve he wore; she loves him; and to her,
Deeming our courtesy is the truest law,
I gave the diamond: she will render it;
For by mine head she knows his hiding-place.”
The seldom-frowning King frowned, and replied,
“Too courteous truly! ye shall go no more
On quest of mine, seeing that ye forget
For twenty strokes of the blood, without a word,
Lingered that other, staring after him;
Then shook his hair, strode off, and buzzed abroad
About the maid of Astolat, and her love.
All ears were pricked at once, all tongues were loosed:
“The maid of Astolat loves Sir Lancelot,
Sir Lancelot loves the maid of Astolat.”
Some read the King’s face, some the Queen’s, and all
Came suddenly on the Queen with the sharp news.
She, that had heard the noise of it before,
But sorrowing Lancelot should have stooped so low,
Marred her friend’s aim with pale tranquillity154.
So ran the tale like fire about the court,
Till even the knights at banquet twice or thrice
Forgot to drink to Lancelot and the Queen,
And pledging Lancelot and the lily maid
Smiled at each other, while the Queen, who sat
Climb in her throat, and with her feet unseen
Crushed the wild passion out against the floor
Beneath the banquet, where all the meats became
As wormwood, and she hated all who pledged.
But far away the maid in Astolat,
Her guiltless rival, she that ever kept
The one-day-seen Sir Lancelot in her heart,
Sat on his knee, stroked his gray face and said,
“Father, you call me wilful, and the fault
Is yours who let me have my will, and now,
Sweet father, will you let me lose my wits?”
“Nay,” said he, “surely.” “Wherefore, let me hence,”
She answered, “and find out our dear Lavaine.”
“Ye will not lose your wits for dear Lavaine:
Bide,” answered he: “we needs must hear anon
Of him, and of that other.” “Ay,” she said,
“And of that other, for I needs must hence
And find that other, wheresoe’er he be,
And with mine own hand give his diamond to him,
Lest I be found as faithless in the quest
As yon proud Prince who left the quest to me.
Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself,
Death-pale, for lack of gentle maiden’s aid.
The gentler-born the maiden, the more bound,
My father, to be sweet and serviceable
To noble knights in sickness, as ye know
When these have worn their tokens: let me hence
I pray you.” Then her father nodding said,
“Ay, ay, the diamond: wit ye well, my child,
Right fain were I to learn this knight were whole,
Being our greatest: yea, and you must give it—
And sure I think this fruit is hung too high
Nay, I mean nothing: so then, get you gone,
Being so very wilful you must go.”
Lightly, her suit allowed, she slipt away,
And while she made her ready for her ride,
Her father’s latest word hummed in her ear,
“Being so very wilful you must go,”
And changed itself and echoed in her heart,
“Being so very wilful you must die.”
But she was happy enough and shook it off,
As we shake off the bee that buzzes at us;
And in her heart she answered it and said,
“What matter, so I help him back to life?”
Then far away with good Sir Torre for guide
Rode o’er the long backs of the bushless downs
To Camelot, and before the city-gates
Came on her brother with a happy face
For pleasure all about a field of flowers:
Whom when she saw, “Lavaine,” she cried, “Lavaine,
How fares my lord Sir Lancelot?” He amazed,
“Torre and Elaine! why here? Sir Lancelot!
How know ye my lord’s name is Lancelot?”
But when the maid had told him all her tale,
Then turned Sir Torre, and being in his moods
Left them, and under the strange-statued gate,
Where Arthur’s wars were rendered mystically,
Past up the still rich city to his kin,
His own far blood, which dwelt at Camelot;
And her, Lavaine across the poplar grove
Led to the caves: there first she saw the casque
Of Lancelot on the wall: her scarlet sleeve,
Though carved and cut, and half the pearls away,
Streamed from it still; and in her heart she laughed,
Because he had not loosed it from his helm,
But meant once more perchance to tourney in it.
And when they gained the cell wherein he slept,
His battle-writhen arms and mighty hands
Lay naked on the wolfskin, and a dream
Of dragging down his enemy made them move.
Then she that saw him lying unsleek, unshorn,
Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself,
The sound not wonted in a place so still
Woke the sick knight, and while he rolled his eyes
Yet blank from sleep, she started to him, saying,
“Your prize the diamond sent you by the King:”
His eyes glistened: she fancied “Is it for me?”
And when the maid had told him all the tale
Of King and Prince, the diamond sent, the quest
Full lowly by the corners of his bed,
And laid the diamond in his open hand.
Her face was near, and as we kiss the child
That does the task assigned, he kissed her face.
At once she slipt like water to the floor.
Rest must you have.” “No rest for me,” she said;
“Nay, for near you, fair lord, I am at rest.”
What might she mean by that? his large black eyes,
Yet larger through his leanness, dwelt upon her,
Till all her heart’s sad secret blazed itself
In the heart’s colours on her simple face;
And Lancelot looked and was perplext in mind,
And being weak in body said no more;
But did not love the colour; woman’s love,
Save one, he not regarded, and so turned
And past beneath the weirdly-sculptured gates
Far up the dim rich city to her kin;
There bode the night: but woke with dawn, and past
Down through the dim rich city to the fields,
Thence to the cave: so day by day she past
And likewise many a night: and Lancelot
Would, though he called his wound a little hurt
Whereof he should be quickly whole, at times
Brain-feverous in his heat and agony, seem
Uncourteous, even he: but the meek maid
Sweetly forbore him ever, being to him
Milder than any mother to a sick child,
And never woman yet, since man’s first fall,
Did kindlier unto man, but her deep love
Upbore her; till the hermit, skilled in all
The simples and the science of that time,
Told him that her fine care had saved his life.
And the sick man forgot her simple blush,
Would call her friend and sister, sweet Elaine,
Would listen for her coming and regret
Her parting step, and held her tenderly,
And loved her with all love except the love
Of man and woman when they love their best,
Closest and sweetest, and had died the death
And peradventure had he seen her first
She might have made this and that other world
Another world for the sick man; but now
And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.
Yet the great knight in his mid-sickness made
These, as but born of sickness, could not live:
For when the blood ran lustier in him again,
Full often the bright image of one face,
Making a treacherous173 quiet in his heart,
Then if the maiden, while that ghostly grace
Beamed on his fancy, spoke, he answered not,
Or short and coldly, and she knew right well
What the rough sickness meant, but what this meant
She knew not, and the sorrow dimmed her sight,
And drave her ere her time across the fields
Far into the rich city, where alone
She murmured, “Vain, in vain: it cannot be.
He will not love me: how then? must I die?”
Then as a little helpless innocent bird,
That has but one plain passage of few notes,
Will sing the simple passage o’er and o’er
For all an April morning, till the ear
Wearies to hear it, so the simple maid
Went half the night repeating, “Must I die?”
And now to right she turned, and now to left,
And found no ease in turning or in rest;
And “Him or death,” she muttered, “death or him,”
Again and like a burthen, “Him or death.”
But when Sir Lancelot’s deadly hurt was whole,
To Astolat returning rode the three.
There morn by morn, arraying her sweet self
In that wherein she deemed she looked her best,
She came before Sir Lancelot, for she thought
“If I be loved, these are my festal robes,
If not, the victim’s flowers before he fall.”
And Lancelot ever prest upon the maid
That she should ask some goodly gift of him
To speak the wish most near to your true heart;
Such service have ye done me, that I make
My will of yours, and Prince and Lord am I
In mine own land, and what I will I can.”
Then like a ghost she lifted up her face,
But like a ghost without the power to speak.
And bode among them yet a little space
Till he should learn it; and one morn it chanced
He found her in among the garden yews,
And said, “Delay no longer, speak your wish,
Seeing I go today:” then out she brake:
“Going? and we shall never see you more.
And I must die for want of one bold word.”
“Speak: that I live to hear,” he said, “is yours.”
Then suddenly and passionately177 she spoke:
“I have gone mad. I love you: let me die.”
“Ah, sister,” answered Lancelot, “what is this?”
And innocently extending her white arms,
“Your love,” she said, “your love—to be your wife.”
But now there never will be wife of mine.”
“No, no,” she cried, “I care not to be wife,
But to be with you still, to see your face,
To serve you, and to follow you through the world.”
And Lancelot answered, “Nay, the world, the world,
All ear and eye, with such a stupid heart
To interpret ear and eye, and such a tongue
To blare its own interpretation—nay,
Full ill then should I quit your brother’s love,
And your good father’s kindness.” And she said,
“Not to be with you, not to see your face—
Alas for me then, my good days are done.”
“Nay, noble maid,” he answered, “ten times nay!
This is not love: but love’s first flash in youth,
Most common: yea, I know it of mine own self:
And you yourself will smile at your own self
Hereafter, when you yield your flower of life
To one more fitly yours, not thrice your age:
And then will I, for true you are and sweet
Beyond mine old belief in womanhood,
Endow you with broad land and territory
Even to the half my realm beyond the seas,
So that would make you happy: furthermore,
Even to the death, as though ye were my blood,
In all your quarrels will I be your knight.
This I will do, dear damsel, for your sake,
And more than this I cannot.”
While he spoke
She neither blushed nor shook, but deathly-pale
Stood grasping what was nearest, then replied:
“Of all this will I nothing;” and so fell,
And thus they bore her swooning to her tower.
Their talk had pierced, her father: “Ay, a flash,
I fear me, that will strike my blossom dead.
Too courteous are ye, fair Lord Lancelot.
I pray you, use some rough discourtesy
To blunt or break her passion.”
Lancelot said,
“That were against me: what I can I will;”
And there that day remained, and toward even
Stript off the case, and gave the naked shield;
Then, when she heard his horse upon the stones,
Down on his helm, from which her sleeve had gone.
And Lancelot knew the little clinking sound;
That Lancelot knew that she was looking at him.
And yet he glanced not up, nor waved his hand,
Nor bad farewell, but sadly rode away.
This was the one discourtesy that he used.
So in her tower alone the maiden sat:
His very shield was gone; only the case,
Her own poor work, her empty labour, left.
But still she heard him, still his picture formed
And grew between her and the pictured wall.
Then came her father, saying in low tones,
“Have comfort,” whom she greeted quietly.
Then came her brethren saying, “Peace to thee,
Sweet sister,” whom she answered with all calm.
But when they left her to herself again,
Death, like a friend’s voice from a distant field
Her fancies with the sallow-rifted glooms
Of evening, and the moanings of the wind.
And in those days she made a little song,
And called her song “The Song of Love and Death,”
And sang it: sweetly could she make and sing.
“Sweet is true love though given in vain, in vain;
And sweet is death who puts an end to pain:
I know not which is sweeter, no, not I.
“Love, art thou sweet? then bitter death must be:
Love, thou art bitter; sweet is death to me.
O Love, if death be sweeter, let me die.
“Sweet love, that seems not made to fade away,
Sweet death, that seems to make us loveless clay,
I know not which is sweeter, no, not I.
“I fain would follow love, if that could be;
I needs must follow death, who calls for me;
Call and I follow, I follow! let me die.”
High with the last line scaled her voice, and this,
All in a fiery dawning wild with wind
That shook her tower, the brothers heard, and thought
The father, and all three in hurry and fear
Ran to her, and lo! the blood-red light of dawn
As when we dwell upon a word we know,
Repeating, till the word we know so well
Becomes a wonder, and we know not why,
So dwelt the father on her face, and thought
“Is this Elaine?” till back the maiden fell,
Then gave a languid hand to each, and lay,
Speaking a still good-morrow with her eyes.
At last she said, “Sweet brothers, yesternight
I seemed a curious little maid again,
As happy as when we dwelt among the woods,
And when ye used to take me with the flood
Up the great river in the boatman’s boat.
That has the poplar on it: there ye fixt
Your limit, oft returning with the tide.
And yet I cried because ye would not pass
Beyond it, and far up the shining flood
Until we found the palace of the King.
And yet ye would not; but this night I dreamed
That I was all alone upon the flood,
And then I said, ‘Now shall I have my will:’
And there I woke, but still the wish remained.
So let me hence that I may pass at last
Beyond the poplar and far up the flood,
Until I find the palace of the King.
There will I enter in among them all,
And no man there will dare to mock at me;
But there the fine Gawain will wonder at me,
Gawain, who bad a thousand farewells to me,
Lancelot, who coldly went, nor bad me one:
And there the King will know me and my love,
And there the Queen herself will pity me,
And all the gentle court will welcome me,
And after my long voyage I shall rest!”
“Peace,” said her father, “O my child, ye seem
Light-headed, for what force is yours to go
So far, being sick? and wherefore would ye look
On this proud fellow again, who scorns us all?”
Then the rough Torre began to heave and move,
“I never loved him: an I meet with him,
I care not howsoever great he be,
Then will I strike at him and strike him down,
Give me good fortune, I will strike him dead,
For this discomfort191 he hath done the house.”
To whom the gentle sister made reply,
“Fret not yourself, dear brother, nor be wroth,
Seeing it is no more Sir Lancelot’s fault
Not to love me, than it is mine to love
Him of all men who seems to me the highest.”
“Highest?” the father answered, echoing “highest?”
(He meant to break the passion in her) “nay,
Daughter, I know not what you call the highest;
But this I know, for all the people know it,
He loves the Queen, and in an open shame:
And she returns his love in open shame;
If this be high, what is it to be low?”
Then spake the lily maid of Astolat:
“Sweet father, all too faint and sick am I
For anger: these are slanders: never yet
But now it is my glory to have loved
One peerless, without stain: so let me pass,
My father, howsoe’er I seem to you,
Not all unhappy, having loved God’s best
And greatest, though my love had no return:
Yet, seeing you desire your child to live,
Thanks, but you work against your own desire;
For if I could believe the things you say
I should but die the sooner; wherefore cease,
Sweet father, and bid call the ghostly man
Hither, and let me shrive me clean, and die.”
So when the ghostly man had come and gone,
She with a face, bright as for sin forgiven,
A letter, word for word; and when he asked
“Is it for Lancelot, is it for my dear lord?
Then will I bear it gladly;” she replied,
“For Lancelot and the Queen and all the world,
But I myself must bear it.” Then he wrote
And folded, “O sweet father, tender and true,
Deny me not,” she said—“ye never yet
Denied my fancies—this, however strange,
My latest: lay the letter in my hand
A little ere I die, and close the hand
Upon it; I shall guard it even in death.
And when the heat is gone from out my heart,
Then take the little bed on which I died
For Lancelot’s love, and deck it like the Queen’s
For richness, and me also like the Queen
In all I have of rich, and lay me on it.
And let there be prepared a chariot-bier
Be ready on the river, clothed in black.
I go in state to court, to meet the Queen.
There surely I shall speak for mine own self,
And none of you can speak for me so well.
And therefore let our dumb old man alone
Will guide me to that palace, to the doors.”
She ceased: her father promised; whereupon
She grew so cheerful that they deemed her death
Was rather in the fantasy than the blood.
But ten slow mornings past, and on the eleventh
Her father laid the letter in her hand,
And closed the hand upon it, and she died.
But when the next sun brake from underground,
Accompanying, the sad chariot-bier
Past like a shadow through the field, that shone
Full-summer, to that stream whereon the barge,
There sat the lifelong creature of the house,
Loyal, the dumb old servitor, on deck,
So those two brethren from the chariot took
And on the black decks laid her in her bed,
Set in her hand a lily, o’er her hung
The silken case with braided blazonings,
And kissed her quiet brows, and saying to her
“Sister, farewell for ever,” and again
“Farewell, sweet sister,” parted all in tears.
Then rose the dumb old servitor, and the dead,
In her right hand the lily, in her left
The letter—all her bright hair streaming down—
And all the coverlid was cloth of gold
All but her face, and that clear-featured face
Was lovely, for she did not seem as dead,
But fast asleep, and lay as though she smiled.
Audience of Guinevere, to give at last,
The price of half a realm, his costly gift,
With deaths of others, and almost his own,
The nine-years-fought-for diamonds: for he saw
One of her house, and sent him to the Queen
Bearing his wish, whereto the Queen agreed
She might have seemed her statue, but that he,
Low-drooping till he wellnigh kissed her feet
For loyal awe, saw with a sidelong eye
In the Queen’s shadow, vibrate on the walls,
And parted, laughing in his courtly heart.
All in an oriel on the summer side,
Vine-clad, of Arthur’s palace toward the stream,
They met, and Lancelot kneeling uttered, “Queen,
Lady, my liege, in whom I have my joy,
Take, what I had not won except for you,
These jewels, and make me happy, making them
An armlet for the roundest arm on earth,
Or necklace for a neck to which the swan’s
Is tawnier than her cygnet’s: these are words:
Your beauty is your beauty, and I sin
In speaking, yet O grant my worship of it
Words, as we grant grief tears. Such sin in words
Perchance, we both can pardon: but, my Queen,
Our bond, as not the bond of man and wife,
Should have in it an absoluter trust
To make up that defect: let rumours be:
When did not rumours fly? these, as I trust
That you trust me in your own nobleness,
I may not well believe that you believe.”
While thus he spoke, half turned away, the Queen
Brake from the vast oriel-embowering vine
Leaf after leaf, and tore, and cast them off,
Till all the place whereon she stood was green;
Then, when he ceased, in one cold passive hand
Received at once and laid aside the gems
There on a table near her, and replied:
“It may be, I am quicker of belief
Than you believe me, Lancelot of the Lake.
Our bond is not the bond of man and wife.
This good is in it, whatsoe’er of ill,
It can be broken easier. I for you
This many a year have done despite and wrong
To one whom ever in my heart of hearts
I did acknowledge nobler. What are these?
Diamonds for me! they had been thrice their worth
Being your gift, had you not lost your own.
To loyal hearts the value of all gifts
Must vary as the giver’s. Not for me!
For her! for your new fancy. Only this
Grant me, I pray you: have your joys apart.
I doubt not that however changed, you keep
So much of what is graceful: and myself
Would shun to break those bounds of courtesy
In which as Arthur’s Queen I move and rule:
So cannot speak my mind. An end to this!
A strange one! yet I take it with Amen.
So pray you, add my diamonds to her pearls;
Deck her with these; tell her, she shines me down:
An armlet for an arm to which the Queen’s
Is haggard, or a necklace for a neck
O as much fairer—as a faith once fair
Was richer than these diamonds—hers not mine—
Nay, by the mother of our Lord himself,
Or hers or mine, mine now to work my will—
She shall not have them.”
Saying which she seized,
And, through the casement standing wide for heat,
Flung them, and down they flashed, and smote the stream.
Diamonds to meet them, and they past away.
Then while Sir Lancelot leant, in half disdain
Close underneath his eyes, and right across
Where these had fallen, slowly past the barge.
Whereon the lily maid of Astolat
Lay smiling, like a star in blackest night.
But the wild Queen, who saw not, burst away
On to the palace-doorway sliding, paused.
There two stood armed, and kept the door; to whom,
All up the marble stair, tier over tier,
Were added mouths that gaped, and eyes that asked
“What is it?” but that oarsman’s haggard face,
As hard and still as is the face that men
Shape to their fancy’s eye from broken rocks
Look how she sleeps—the Fairy Queen, so fair!
Yea, but how pale! what are they? flesh and blood?
Or come to take the King to Fairyland?
For some do hold our Arthur cannot die,
But that he passes into Fairyland.”
Came girt with knights: then turned the tongueless man
From the half-face to the full eye, and rose
And pointed to the damsel, and the doors.
So Arthur bad the meek Sir Percivale
And pure Sir Galahad to uplift the maid;
And reverently212 they bore her into hall.
Then came the fine Gawain and wondered at her,
And Lancelot later came and mused at her,
And last the Queen herself, and pitied her:
But Arthur spied the letter in her hand,
Stoopt, took, brake seal, and read it; this was all:
“Most noble lord, Sir Lancelot of the Lake,
I, sometime called the maid of Astolat,
Come, for you left me taking no farewell,
Hither, to take my last farewell of you.
I loved you, and my love had no return,
And therefore my true love has been my death.
And therefore to our Lady Guinevere,
And to all other ladies, I make moan:
Pray for my soul, and yield me burial.
Pray for my soul thou too, Sir Lancelot,
As thou art a knight peerless.”
Thus he read;
Wept, looking often from his face who read
To hers which lay so silent, and at times,
So touched were they, half-thinking that her lips,
Who had devised the letter, moved again.
Then freely spoke Sir Lancelot to them all:
“My lord liege Arthur, and all ye that hear,
Know that for this most gentle maiden’s death
Right heavy am I; for good she was and true,
But loved me with a love beyond all love
In women, whomsoever I have known.
Yet to be loved makes not to love again;
Not at my years, however it hold in youth.
I swear by truth and knighthood that I gave
No cause, not willingly, for such a love:
Her brethren, and her father, who himself
Besought me to be plain and blunt, and use,
To break her passion, some discourtesy
Against my nature: what I could, I did.
I left her and I bad her no farewell;
Though, had I dreamt the damsel would have died,
I might have put my wits to some rough use,
And helped her from herself.”
Then said the Queen
(Sea was her wrath, yet working after storm)
“Ye might at least have done her so much grace,
Fair lord, as would have helped her from her death.”
He raised his head, their eyes met and hers fell,
He adding,
“Queen, she would not be content
Save that I wedded her, which could not be.
Then might she follow me through the world, she asked;
It could not be. I told her that her love
Was but the flash of youth, would darken down
To rise hereafter in a stiller flame
Toward one more worthy of her—then would I,
More specially were he, she wedded, poor,
Estate them with large land and territory
In mine own realm beyond the narrow seas,
To keep them in all joyance: more than this
I could not; this she would not, and she died.”
He pausing, Arthur answered, “O my knight,
It will be to thy worship, as my knight,
And mine, as head of all our Table Round,
To see that she be buried worshipfully.”
Was richest, Arthur leading, slowly went
The marshalled Order of their Table Round,
And Lancelot sad beyond his wont, to see
The maiden buried, not as one unknown,
Nor meanly, but with gorgeous obsequies,
And mass, and rolling music, like a queen.
Low in the dust of half-forgotten kings,
Then Arthur spake among them, “Let her tomb
Be costly, and her image thereupon,
And let the shield of Lancelot at her feet
Be carven, and her lily in her hand.
And let the story of her dolorous voyage
For all true hearts be blazoned on her tomb
Thereafter; but when now the lords and dames
And people, from the high door streaming, brake
Disorderly, as homeward each, the Queen,
Who marked Sir Lancelot where he moved apart,
Drew near, and sighed in passing, “Lancelot,
He answered with his eyes upon the ground,
“That is love’s curse; pass on, my Queen, forgiven.”
But Arthur, who beheld his cloudy brows,
Approached him, and with full affection said,
“Lancelot, my Lancelot, thou in whom I have
Most joy and most affiance, for I know
What thou hast been in battle by my side,
And many a time have watched thee at the tilt
Strike down the lusty and long practised knight,
And let the younger and unskilled go by
To win his honour and to make his name,
And loved thy courtesies and thee, a man
Made to be loved; but now I would to God,
Seeing the homeless trouble in thine eyes,
Thou couldst have loved this maiden, shaped, it seems,
By God for thee alone, and from her face,
If one may judge the living by the dead,
Delicately pure and marvellously fair,
Who might have brought thee, now a lonely man
Wifeless and heirless, noble issue, sons
Born to the glory of thine name and fame,
My knight, the great Sir Lancelot of the Lake.”
Then answered Lancelot, “Fair she was, my King,
Pure, as you ever wish your knights to be.
To doubt her fairness were to want an eye,
To doubt her pureness were to want a heart—
Yea, to be loved, if what is worthy love
“Free love, so bound, were freest,” said the King.
“Let love be free; free love is for the best:
And, after heaven, on our dull side of death,
What should be best, if not so pure a love
Clothed in so pure a loveliness? yet thee
She failed to bind, though being, as I think,
Unbound as yet, and gentle, as I know.”
And Lancelot answered nothing, but he went,
The high reed wave, and lifted up his eyes
And saw the barge that brought her moving down,
Low in himself, “Ah simple heart and sweet,
Ye loved me, damsel, surely with a love
Far tenderer than my Queen’s. Pray for thy soul?
Ay, that will I. Farewell too—now at last—
Farewell, fair lily. ‘Jealousy in love?’
Not rather dead love’s harsh heir, jealous pride?
Queen, if I grant the jealousy as of love,
May not your crescent fear for name and fame
Why did the King dwell on my name to me?
Mine own name shames me, seeming a reproach,
Lancelot, whom the Lady of the Lake
Caught from his mother’s arms—the wondrous one
Who passes through the vision of the night—
She kissed me saying, ‘Thou art fair, my child,
As a king’s son,’ and often in her arms
She bare me, pacing on the dusky mere.
Would she had drowned me in it, where’er it be!
For what am I? what profits me my name
Of greatest knight? I fought for it, and have it:
Pleasure to have it, none; to lose it, pain;
Now grown a part of me: but what use in it?
To make men worse by making my sin known?
Or sin seem less, the sinner seeming great?
Alas for Arthur’s greatest knight, a man
Not after Arthur’s heart! I needs must break
These bonds that so defame me: not without
She wills it: would I, if she willed it? nay,
Who knows? but if I would not, then may God,
I pray him, send a sudden Angel down
To seize me by the hair and bear me far,
And fling me deep in that forgotten mere,
Among the tumbled fragments of the hills.”
Not knowing he should die a holy man.
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收听单词发音
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1
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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2
rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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3
blazoned
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| v.广布( blazon的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布；夸示；装饰 | |
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4
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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5
conjecturing
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| v. & n. 推测，臆测 | |
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6
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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joust
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| v.马上长枪比武，竞争 | |
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8
jousts
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| （骑士）骑着马用长矛打斗( joust的名词复数 )； 格斗，竞争 | |
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9
ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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10
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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11
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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12
tarn
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| n.山中的小湖或小潭 | |
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13
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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14
abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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15
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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16
lichened
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| adj.长满地衣的，长青苔的 | |
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17
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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18
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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19
rims
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| n.（圆形物体的）边( rim的名词复数 )；缘；轮辋；轮圈 | |
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20
rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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21
shingly
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| adj.小石子多的 | |
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22
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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23
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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24
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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25
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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26
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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27
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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28
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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29
mightiest
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| adj.趾高气扬( mighty的最高级 )；巨大的；强有力的；浩瀚的 | |
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30
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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31
snare
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| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
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32
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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33
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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35
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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36
mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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37
bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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38
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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39
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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40
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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41
meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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42
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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43
tampered
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| v.窜改( tamper的过去式 )；篡改；（用不正当手段）影响；瞎摆弄 | |
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44
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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45
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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46
gnat
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| v.对小事斤斤计较，琐事 | |
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47
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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48
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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49
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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50
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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51
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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52
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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53
disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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54
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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56
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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57
churl
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| n.吝啬之人；粗鄙之人 | |
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58
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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59
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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60
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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61
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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62
disparagement
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| n.轻视，轻蔑 | |
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63
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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64
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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65
marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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66
sleeker
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| 磨光器，异型墁刀 | |
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67
solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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68
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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69
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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70
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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71
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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72
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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73
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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74
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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75
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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76
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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77
plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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78
mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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79
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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80
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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81
hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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82
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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83
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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84
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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85
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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86
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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87
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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88
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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89
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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90
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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91
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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92
milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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93
bode
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| v.预示 | |
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94
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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96
stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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97
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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98
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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100
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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101
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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102
gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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103
gape
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| v.张口，打呵欠，目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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104
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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105
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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106
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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107
mid
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| adj.中央的，中间的 | |
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108
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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109
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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110
overthrew
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| overthrow的过去式 | |
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111
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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112
overdo
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| vt.把...做得过头，演得过火 | |
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113
versatility
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| n.多才多艺，多样性，多功能 | |
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114
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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115
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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116
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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117
crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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118
lamed
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| 希伯莱语第十二个字母 | |
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119
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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120
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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121
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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122
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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123
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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124
stanched
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| v.使（伤口）止血( stanch的过去式 )；止（血）；使不漏；使不流失 | |
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125
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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126
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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127
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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128
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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129
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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130
dallying
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的现在分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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131
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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132
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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133
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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134
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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136
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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137
bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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138
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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139
yews
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| n.紫杉( yew的名词复数 ) | |
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140
yew
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| n.紫杉属树木 | |
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141
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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142
amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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143
falcon
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| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
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144
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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145
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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146
ramp
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| n.暴怒，斜坡，坡道；vi.作恐吓姿势，暴怒，加速；vt.加速 | |
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147
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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148
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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149
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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150
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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151
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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152
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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153
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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154
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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155
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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156
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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157
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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158
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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159
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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160
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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161
caper
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| v.雀跃，欢蹦；n.雀跃，跳跃；续随子，刺山柑花蕾；嬉戏 | |
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162
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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163
dolorous
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| adj.悲伤的；忧愁的 | |
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164
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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165
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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166
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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167
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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168
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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169
meeker
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| adj.温顺的，驯服的( meek的比较级 ) | |
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170
knightly
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| adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
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171
shackles
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| 手铐( shackle的名词复数 )； 脚镣； 束缚； 羁绊 | |
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172
dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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173
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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174
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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175
shun
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| vt.避开，回避，避免 | |
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176
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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177
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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178
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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179
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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180
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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181
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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182
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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183
owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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184
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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185
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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186
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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187
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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188
shrilling
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的现在分词 )； 凄厉 | |
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189
bluster
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| v.猛刮；怒冲冲的说；n.吓唬，怒号；狂风声 | |
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190
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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191
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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192
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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193
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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194
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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195
barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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196
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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197
dole
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| n.救济，（失业）救济金；vt.（out）发放，发给 | |
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198
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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199
palled
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| v.（因过多或过久而）生厌，感到乏味，厌烦( pall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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200
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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201
oared
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| adj.有桨的v.划（行）( oar的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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202
cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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203
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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204
craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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205
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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206
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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207
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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208
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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209
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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210
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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211
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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212
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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213
dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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214
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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215
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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216
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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217
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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218
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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219
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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220
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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221
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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222
wanes
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| v.衰落( wane的第三人称单数 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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223
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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224
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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225
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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226
remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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