he pilgrim go heavily in a strange
land, where there is none to counsel and direct him in the path.

Now, on a day, Sir Launfal got him on his horse, that he might take
his pleasure for a little. He came forth from the city, alone,
attended by neither servant nor squire. He went his way through a
green mead, till he stood by a river of clear running water. Sir
Launfal would have crossed this stream, without thought of pass or
ford, but he might not do so, for reason that his horse was all
fearful and trembling. Seeing that he was hindered in this fashion,
Launfal unbitted his steed, and let him pasture in that fair meadow,
where they had come. Then he folded his cloak to serve him as a
pillow, and lay upon the ground. Launfal lay in great misease, because
of his heavy thoughts, and the discomfort of his bed. He turned from
side to side, and might not sleep. Now as the knight looked towards
the river he saw two damsels coming towards him; fairer maidens
Launfal had never seen. These two maidens were richly dressed in
kirtles closely laced and shapen to their persons and wore mantles
of a goodly purple hue. Sweet and dainty were the damsels, alike in
raiment and in face. The elder of these ladies carried in her hands a
basin of pure gold, cunningly wrought by some crafty smith--very fair
and precious was the cup; and the younger bore a towel of soft white
linen. These maidens turned neither to the right hand nor to the left,
but went directly to the place where Launfal lay. When Launfal saw
that their business was with him, he stood upon his feet, like a
discreet and courteous gentleman. After they had greeted the knight,
one of the maidens delivered the message with which she was charged.

"Sir Launfal, my demoiselle, as gracious as she is fair, prays that
you will follow us, her messengers, as she has a certain word to speak
with you. We will lead you swiftly to her pavilion, for our lady is
very near at hand. If you but lift your eyes you may see where her
tent is spread."

Right glad was the knight to do the bidding of the maidens. He gave no
heed to his horse, but left him at his provand in the meadow. All his
desire was to go with the damsels, to that pavilion of silk and divers
colours, pitched in so fair a place. Certainly neither Semiramis in
the days of her most wanton power, nor Octavian, the Emperor of all
the West, had so gracious a covering from sun and rain. Above the tent
was set an eagle of gold, so ri