Idylls of the King by Alfred Lord Tennyson (best feel good books txt) 📖

dead who is it would weep for me?

Sweet lady, never since I first drew breath

Have I beheld a lily like yourself.

And so there lived some colour in your cheek,

There is not one among my gentlewomen

Were fit to wear your slipper for a glove.

But listen to me, and by me be ruled,

And I will do the thing I have not done,

For ye shall share my earldom with me, girl,

And we will live like two birds in one nest,

And I will fetch you forage from all fields,

For I compel all creatures to my will.’

 

He spoke: the brawny spearman let his cheek

Bulge with the unswallowed piece, and turning stared;

While some, whose souls the old serpent long had drawn

Down, as the worm draws in the withered leaf

And makes it earth, hissed each at other’s ear

What shall not be recorded—women they,

Women, or what had been those gracious things,

But now desired the humbling of their best,

Yea, would have helped him to it: and all at once

They hated her, who took no thought of them,

But answered in low voice, her meek head yet

Drooping, ‘I pray you of your courtesy,

He being as he is, to let me be.’

 

She spake so low he hardly heard her speak,

But like a mighty patron, satisfied

With what himself had done so graciously,

Assumed that she had thanked him, adding, ‘Yea,

Eat and be glad, for I account you mine.’

 

She answered meekly, ‘How should I be glad

Henceforth in all the world at anything,

Until my lord arise and look upon me?’

 

Here the huge Earl cried out upon her talk,

As all but empty heart and weariness

And sickly nothing; suddenly seized on her,

And bare her by main violence to the board,

And thrust the dish before her, crying, ‘Eat.’

 

‘No, no,’ said Enid, vext, ‘I will not eat

Till yonder man upon the bier arise,

And eat with me.’ ‘Drink, then,’ he answered. ‘Here!’

(And filled a horn with wine and held it to her,)

‘Lo! I, myself, when flushed with fight, or hot,

God’s curse, with anger—often I myself,

Before I well have drunken, scarce can eat:

Drink therefore and the wine will change thy will.’

 

‘Not so,’ she cried, ‘by Heaven, I will not drink

Till my dear lord arise and bid me do it,

And drink with me; and if he rise no more,

I will not look at wine until I die.’

 

At this he turned all red and paced his hall,

Now gnawed his under, now his upper lip,

And coming up close to her, said at last:

‘Girl, for I see ye scorn my courtesies,

Take warning: yonder man is surely dead;

And I compel all creatures to my will.

Not eat nor drink? And wherefore wail for one,

Who put your beauty to this flout and scorn

By dressing it in rags? Amazed am I,

Beholding how ye butt against my wish,

That I forbear you thus: cross me no more.

At least put off to please me this poor gown,

This silken rag, this beggar-woman’s weed:

I love that beauty should go beautifully:

For see ye not my gentlewomen here,

How gay, how suited to the house of one

Who loves that beauty should go beautifully?

Rise therefore; robe yourself in this: obey.’

 

He spoke, and one among his gentlewomen

Displayed a splendid silk of foreign loom,

Where like a shoaling sea the lovely blue

Played into green, and thicker down the front

With jewels than the sward with drops of dew,

When all night long a cloud clings to the hill,

And with the dawn ascending lets the day

Strike where it clung: so thickly shone the gems.

 

But Enid answered, harder to be moved

Than hardest tyrants in their day of power,

With lifelong injuries burning unavenged,

And now their hour has come; and Enid said:

 

‘In this poor gown my dear lord found me first,

And loved me serving in my father’s hall:

In this poor gown I rode with him to court,

And there the Queen arrayed me like the sun:

In this poor gown he bad me clothe myself,

When now we rode upon this fatal quest

Of honour, where no honour can be gained:

And this poor gown I will not cast aside

Until himself arise a living man,

And bid me cast it. I have griefs enough:

Pray you be gentle, pray you let me be:

I never loved, can never love but him:

Yea, God, I pray you of your gentleness,

He being as he is, to let me be.’

 

Then strode the brute Earl up and down his hall,

And took his russet beard between his teeth;

Last, coming up quite close, and in his mood

Crying, ‘I count it of no more avail,

Dame, to be gentle than ungentle with you;

Take my salute,’ unknightly with flat hand,

However lightly, smote her on the cheek.

 

Then Enid, in her utter helplessness,

And since she thought, ‘He had not dared to do it,

Except he surely knew my lord was dead,’

Sent forth a sudden sharp and bitter cry,

As of a wild thing taken in the trap,

Which sees the trapper coming through the wood.

 

This heard Geraint, and grasping at his sword,

(It lay beside him in the hollow shield),

Made but a single bound, and with a sweep of it

Shore through the swarthy neck, and like a ball

The russet-bearded head rolled on the floor.

So died Earl Doorm by him he counted dead.

And all the men and women in the hall

Rose when they saw the dead man rise, and fled

Yelling as from a spectre, and the two

Were left alone together, and he said:

 

‘Enid, I have used you worse than that dead man;

Done you more wrong: we both have undergone

That trouble which has left me thrice your own:

Henceforward I will rather die than doubt.

And here I lay this penance on myself,

Not, though mine own ears heard you yestermorn—

You thought me sleeping, but I heard you say,

I heard you say, that you were no true wife:

I swear I will not ask your meaning in it:

I do believe yourself against yourself,

And will henceforward rather die than doubt.’

 

And Enid could not say one tender word,

She felt so blunt and stupid at the heart:

She only prayed him, ‘Fly, they will return

And slay you; fly, your charger is without,

My palfrey lost.’ ‘Then, Enid, shall you ride

Behind me.’ ‘Yea,’ said Enid, ‘let us go.’

And moving out they found the stately horse,

Who now no more a vassal to the thief,

But free to stretch his limbs in lawful fight,

Neighed with all gladness as they came, and stooped

With a low whinny toward the pair: and she

Kissed the white star upon his noble front,

Glad also; then Geraint upon the horse

Mounted, and reached a hand, and on his foot

She set her own and climbed; he turned his face

And kissed her climbing, and she cast her arms

About him, and at once they rode away.

 

And never yet, since high in Paradise

O’er the four rivers the first roses blew,

Came purer pleasure unto mortal kind

Than lived through her, who in that perilous hour

Put hand to hand beneath her husband’s heart,

And felt him hers again: she did not weep,

But o’er her meek eyes came a happy mist

Like that which kept the heart of Eden green

Before the useful trouble of the rain:

Yet not so misty were her meek blue eyes

As not to see before them on the path,

Right in the gateway of the bandit hold,

A knight of Arthur’s court, who laid his lance

In rest, and made as if to fall upon him.

Then, fearing for his hurt and loss of blood,

She, with her mind all full of what had chanced,

Shrieked to the stranger ‘Slay not a dead man!’

‘The voice of Enid,’ said the knight; but she,

Beholding it was Edyrn son of Nudd,

Was moved so much the more, and shrieked again,

‘O cousin, slay not him who gave you life.’

And Edyrn moving frankly forward spake:

‘My lord Geraint, I greet you with all love;

I took you for a bandit knight of Doorm;

And fear not, Enid, I should fall upon him,

Who love you, Prince, with something of the love

Wherewith we love the Heaven that chastens us.

For once, when I was up so high in pride

That I was halfway down the slope to Hell,

By overthrowing me you threw me higher.

Now, made a knight of Arthur’s Table Round,

And since I knew this Earl, when I myself

Was half a bandit in my lawless hour,

I come the mouthpiece of our King to Doorm

(The King is close behind me) bidding him

Disband himself, and scatter all his powers,

Submit, and hear the judgment of the King.’

 

‘He hears the judgment of the King of kings,’

Cried the wan Prince; ‘and lo, the powers of Doorm

Are scattered,’ and he pointed to the field,

Where, huddled here and there on mound and knoll,

Were men and women staring and aghast,

While some yet fled; and then he plainlier told

How the huge Earl lay slain within his hall.

But when the knight besought him, ‘Follow me,

Prince, to the camp, and in the King’s own ear

Speak what has chanced; ye surely have endured

Strange chances here alone;’ that other flushed,

And hung his head, and halted in reply,

Fearing the mild face of the blameless King,

And after madness acted question asked:

Till Edyrn crying, ‘If ye will not go

To Arthur, then will Arthur come to you,’

‘Enough,’ he said, ‘I follow,’ and they went.

But Enid in their going had two fears,

One from the bandit scattered in the field,

And one from Edyrn. Every now and then,

When Edyrn reined his charger at her side,

She shrank a little. In a hollow land,

From which old fires have broken, men may fear

Fresh fire and ruin. He, perceiving, said:

 

‘Fair and dear cousin, you that most had cause

To fear me, fear no longer, I am changed.

Yourself were first the blameless cause to make

My nature’s prideful sparkle in the blood

Break into furious flame; being repulsed

By Yniol and yourself, I schemed and wrought

Until I overturned him; then set up

(With one main purpose ever at my heart)

My haughty jousts, and took a paramour;

Did her mock-honour as the fairest fair,

And, toppling over all antagonism,

So waxed in pride, that I believed myself

Unconquerable, for I was wellnigh mad:

And, but for my main purpose in these jousts,

I should have slain your father, seized yourself.

I lived in hope that sometime you would come

To these my lists with him whom best you loved;

And there, poor cousin, with your meek blue eyes

The truest eyes that ever answered Heaven,

Behold me overturn and trample on him.

Then, had you cried, or knelt, or prayed to me,

I should not less have killed him. And so you came,—

But once you came,—and with your own true eyes

Beheld the man you loved (I speak as one

Speaks of a service done him) overthrow

My proud self, and my purpose three years old,

And set his foot upon me, and give me life.

There was I broken down; there was I saved:

Though thence I rode all-shamed, hating the life

He gave me, meaning to be rid of it.

And all the penance the Queen laid upon me

Was but to rest awhile within her court;