om him, my lord
King Arthur; even his Excalibur,
The sovereign blade, which Merlin gat of her,
The Ladye of the Lake, who Launcelot
Fostered from infanthood, as well you wot,
In some wierd mere in Briogn's tangled lands
Of charms and mist; where filmy fairy bands
By lazy moons of Autumn spin their fill
Of giddy morrice on the frosty hill.
By goodness of her favor this is sent;
Who craved King Arthur boon with this intent:
That soon for her a desperate combat one
With one of mightier prowess were begun;
And with the sword Excalibur right sure
Were she against that champion to endure.
The blade flame-trenchant, but more prize the sheath
Which stauncheth blood and guardeth from all death."
He said: and Accolon looked on the sword,
A mystic falchion, and, "It shall wend hard
With him thro' thee, unconquerable blade,
Whoe'er he be, who on my Queen hath laid
Stress of unworship: and the hours as slow
As palsied hours in Purgatory go
For those unmassed, till I have slain this foe!
My purse, sweet page; and now--to her who gave,
Dispatch! and this:--to all commands--her slave,
To death obedient. In love or war
Her love to make me all the warrior.
Plead her grace mercy for so long delay
From love that dies an hourly death each day
Till her white hands kissed he shall kiss her face,
By which his life breathes in continual grace."
Thus he commanded; and incontinent
The dwarf departed like a red ray sent
From rich down-flowering clouds of suffused light
Winged o'er long, purple glooms; and with the night,
Whose votaress cypress stoled the dying strife
Softly of day, and for whose perished life
Gave heaven her golden stars, in dreamy thought
Wends Accolon to hazy Chariot.

And it befell him; wandering one dawn,
As was his wont, across a dew-drenched lawn,
Glad with night freshness and elastic health
In sky and earth that lavished worlds of wealth
From heady breeze and racy smells, a knight
And lofty lady met he; gay bedight,
With following of six esquires; and they
Held on straight wrists the jess'd gerfalcon gray,
And rode a-hawking o'er the leas of Gore
From Ontzlake's manor, where he languished; sore
Hurt in the lists, a spear thrust in his thigh:
Who had besought--for much he feared to die--
This knight and his fair lady, as they rode
To hawk near Chariot, the Queen's abode,
That they would pray her in al