Idylls of the King by Alfred Lord Tennyson (best feel good books txt) đ
- Author: Alfred Lord Tennyson
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His countenance blackened, and his forehead veins
Bloated, and branched; and tearing out of sheath
The brand, Sir Balin with a fiery âHa!
So thou be shadow, here I make thee ghost,â
Hard upon helm smote him, and the blade flew
Splintering in six, and clinkt upon the stones.
Then Garlon, reeling slowly backward, fell,
And Balin by the banneret of his helm
Dragged him, and struck, but from the castle a cry
Sounded across the court, andâmen-at-arms,
A score with pointed lances, making at himâ
He dashed the pummel at the foremost face,
Beneath a low door dipt, and made his feet
Wings through a glimmering gallery, till he marked
The portal of King Pellamâs chapel wide
And inward to the wall; he stept behind;
Thence in a moment heard them pass like wolves
Howling; but while he stared about the shrine,
In which he scarce could spy the Christ for Saints,
Beheld before a golden altar lie
The longest lance his eyes had ever seen,
Point-painted red; and seizing thereupon
Pushed through an open casement down, leaned on it,
Leapt in a semicircle, and lit on earth;
Then hand at ear, and harkening from what side
The blindfold rummage buried in the walls
Might echo, ran the counter path, and found
His charger, mounted on him and away.
An arrow whizzed to the right, one to the left,
One overhead; and Pellamâs feeble cry
âStay, stay him! he defileth heavenly things
With earthly usesââmade him quickly dive
Beneath the boughs, and race through many a mile
Of dense and open, till his goodly horse,
Arising wearily at a fallen oak,
Stumbled headlong, and cast him face to ground.
Half-wroth he had not ended, but all glad,
Knightlike, to find his charger yet unlamed,
Sir Balin drew the shield from off his neck,
Stared at the priceless cognizance, and thought
âI have shamed thee so that now thou shamest me,
Thee will I bear no more,â high on a branch
Hung it, and turned aside into the woods,
And there in gloom cast himself all along,
Moaning âMy violences, my violences!â
But now the wholesome music of the wood
Was dumbed by one from out the hall of Mark,
A damsel-errant, warbling, as she rode
The woodland alleys, Vivien, with her Squire.
âThe fire of Heaven has killed the barren cold,
And kindled all the plain and all the wold.
The new leaf ever pushes off the old.
The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell.
âOld priest, who mumble worship in your quireâ
Old monk and nun, ye scorn the worldâs desire,
Yet in your frosty cells ye feel the fire!
The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell.
âThe fire of Heaven is on the dusty ways.
The wayside blossoms open to the blaze.
The whole wood-world is one full peal of praise.
The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell.
âThe fire of Heaven is lord of all things good,
And starve not thou this fire within thy blood,
But follow Vivien through the fiery flood!
The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell!â
Then turning to her Squire âThis fire of Heaven,
This old sun-worship, boy, will rise again,
And beat the cross to earth, and break the King
And all his Table.â
Then they reached a glade,
Where under one long lane of cloudless air
Before another wood, the royal crown
Sparkled, and swaying upon a restless elm
Drew the vague glance of Vivien, and her Squire;
Amazed were these; âLo thereâ she criedââa crownâ
Borne by some high lord-prince of Arthurâs hall,
And there a horse! the rider? where is he?
See, yonder lies one dead within the wood.
Not dead; he stirs!âbut sleeping. I will speak.
Hail, royal knight, we break on thy sweet rest,
Not, doubtless, all unearned by noble deeds.
But bounden art thou, if from Arthurâs hall,
To help the weak. Behold, I fly from shame,
A lustful King, who sought to win my love
Through evil ways: the knight, with whom I rode,
Hath suffered misadventure, and my squire
Hath in him small defence; but thou, Sir Prince,
Wilt surely guide me to the warrior King,
Arthur the blameless, pure as any maid,
To get me shelter for my maidenhood.
I charge thee by that crown upon thy shield,
And by the great Queenâs name, arise and hence.â
And Balin rose, âThither no more! nor Prince
Nor knight am I, but one that hath defamed
The cognizance she gave me: here I dwell
Savage among the savage woods, here dieâ
Die: let the wolvesâ black maws ensepulchre
Their brother beast, whose anger was his lord.
O me, that such a name as Guinevereâs,
Which our high Lancelot hath so lifted up,
And been thereby uplifted, should through me,
My violence, and my villainy, come to shame.â
Thereat she suddenly laughed and shrill, anon
Sighed all as suddenly. Said Balin to her
âIs this thy courtesyâto mock me, ha?
Hence, for I will not with thee.â Again she sighed
âPardon, sweet lord! we maidens often laugh
When sick at heart, when rather we should weep.
I knew thee wronged. I brake upon thy rest,
And now full loth am I to break thy dream,
But thou art man, and canst abide a truth,
Though bitter. Hither, boyâand mark me well.
Dost thou remember at Caerleon onceâ
A year agoânay, then I love thee notâ
Ay, thou rememberest wellâone summer dawnâ
By the great towerâCaerleon upon Uskâ
Nay, truly we were hidden: this fair lord,
The flower of all their vestal knighthood, knelt
In amorous homageâkneltâwhat else?âO ay
Knelt, and drew down from out his nightblack hair
And mumbled that white hand whose ringed caress
Had wandered from her own Kingâs golden head,
And lost itself in darkness, till she criedâ
I thought the great tower would crash down on bothâ
âRise, my sweet King, and kiss me on the lips,
Thou art my King.â This lad, whose lightest word
Is mere white truth in simple nakedness,
Saw them embrace: he reddens, cannot speak,
So bashful, he! but all the maiden Saints,
The deathless mother-maidenhood of Heaven,
Cry out upon her. Up then, ride with me!
Talk not of shame! thou canst not, an thou wouldâst,
Do these more shame than these have done themselves.â
She lied with ease; but horror-stricken he,
Remembering that dark bower at Camelot,
Breathed in a dismal whisper âIt is truth.â
Sunnily she smiled âAnd even in this lone wood,
Sweet lord, ye do right well to whisper this.
Fools prate, and perish traitors. Woods have tongues,
As walls have ears: but thou shalt go with me,
And we will speak at first exceeding low.
Meet is it the good King be not deceived.
See now, I set thee high on vantage ground,
From whence to watch the time, and eagle-like
Stoop at thy will on Lancelot and the Queen.â
She ceased; his evil spirit upon him leapt,
He ground his teeth together, sprang with a yell,
Tore from the branch, and cast on earth, the shield,
Drove his mailed heel athwart the royal crown,
Stampt all into defacement, hurled it from him
Among the forest weeds, and cursed the tale,
The told-of, and the teller.
That weird yell,
Unearthlier than all shriek of bird or beast,
Thrilled through the woods; and Balan lurking there
(His quest was unaccomplished) heard and thought
âThe scream of that Wood-devil I came to quell!â
Then nearing âLo! he hath slain some brother-knight,
And tramples on the goodly shield to show
His loathing of our Order and the Queen.
My quest, meseems, is here. Or devil or man
Guard thou thine head.â Sir Balin spake not word,
But snatched a sudden buckler from the Squire,
And vaulted on his horse, and so they crashed
In onset, and King Pellamâs holy spear,
Reputed to be red with sinless blood,
Redded at once with sinful, for the point
Across the maiden shield of Balan pricked
The hauberk to the flesh; and Balinâs horse
Was wearied to the death, and, when they clashed,
Rolling back upon Balin, crushed the man
Inward, and either fell, and swooned away.
Then to her Squire muttered the damsel âFools!
This fellow hath wrought some foulness with his Queen:
Else never had he borne her crown, nor raved
And thus foamed over at a rival name:
But thou, Sir Chick, that scarce hast broken shell,
Art yet half-yolk, not even come to downâ
Who never sawest Caerleon upon Uskâ
And yet hast often pleaded for my loveâ
See what I see, be thou where I have been,
Or else Sir Chickâdismount and loose their casques
I fain would know what manner of men they be.â
And when the Squire had loosed them, âGoodly!âlook!
They might have cropt the myriad flower of May,
And butt each other here, like brainless bulls,
Dead for one heifer!
Then the gentle Squire
âI hold them happy, so they died for love:
And, Vivien, though ye beat me like your dog,
I too could die, as now I live, for thee.â
âLive on, Sir Boy,â she cried. âI better prize
The living dog than the dead lion: away!
I cannot brook to gaze upon the dead.â
Then leapt her palfrey oâer the fallen oak,
And bounding forward âLeave them to the wolves.â
But when their foreheads felt the cooling air,
Balin first woke, and seeing that true face,
Familiar up from cradle-time, so wan,
Crawled slowly with low moans to where he lay,
And on his dying brother cast himself
Dying; and he lifted faint eyes; he felt
One near him; all at once they found the world,
Staring wild-wide; then with a childlike wail
And drawing down the dim disastrous brow
That oâer him hung, he kissed it, moaned and spake;
âO Balin, Balin, I that fain had died
To save thy life, have brought thee to thy death.
Why had ye not the shield I knew? and why
Trampled ye thus on that which bare the Crown?â
Then Balin told him brokenly, and in gasps,
All that had chanced, and Balan moaned again.
âBrother, I dwelt a day in Pellamâs hall:
This Garlon mocked me, but I heeded not.
And one said âEat in peace! a liar is he,
And hates thee for the tribute!â this good knight
Told me, that twice a wanton damsel came,
And sought for Garlon at the castle-gates,
Whom Pellam drove away with holy heat.
I well believe this damsel, and the one
Who stood beside thee even now, the same.
âShe dwells among the woodsâ he said âand meets
And dallies with him in the Mouth of Hell.â
Foul are their lives; foul are their lips; they lied.
Pure as our own true Mother is our Queen.â
âO brotherâ answered Balin âwoe is me!
My madness all thy life has been thy doom,
Thy curse, and darkened all thy day; and now
The night has come. I scarce can see thee now.
Goodnight! for we shall never bid again
GoodmorrowâDark my doom was here, and dark
It will be there. I see thee now no more.
I would not mine again should darken thine,
Goodnight, true brother.
Balan answered low
âGoodnight, true brother here! goodmorrow there!
We two were born together, and we die
Together by one doom:â and while he spoke
Closed his death-drowsing eyes, and slept the sleep
With Balin, either locked in eitherâs arm.
Merlin and Vivien
A storm was coming, but the winds were still,
And in the wild woods of Broceliande,
Before an oak, so hollow, huge and old
It looked a tower of ivied masonwork,
At Merlinâs feet the wily Vivien lay.
For he that always bare in bitter
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