That flash'd across her orchard under- For we that want the warmth of warm The pelican on the casque of our Sir Bors All in the middle of the rising moon. And toward him spurr'd, and hail'd him, and he me, And each made joy of either. Then he ask'd: "Where is he? hast thou seen himLancelot - Once," Said good Sir Bors, "he dash'd across me-mad, And maddening what he rode; and when I cried, 'Ridest thou then so hotly on a quest So holy?' Lancelot shouted, 'Stay me not! 641 I have been the sluggard, and I ride 'Then Sir Bors had ridden on Softly, and sorrowing for our Lancelot, Because his former madness, once the talk And scandal of our table, had return'd; My cold heart with a friend; but O For Lancelot's kith and kin so worship the pity him To find thine own first love once more That ill to him is ill to them, to Bors Beyond the rest. He well had been - to hold, Or all but hold, and then-cast her aside, Not to have seen, so Lancelot might have seen, The Holy Cup of healing; and, indeed, Foregoing all her sweetness, like a Being so clouded with his grief and weed! love, For, brother, so one night, because they roll Thro' such a round in heaven, we named the stars, Rejoicing in ourselves and in our King And these, like bright eyes of familiar friends, In on him shone; "And then to me, to me," Said good Sir Bors, "beyond all hopes of mine, Who scarce had pray'd or ask'd it for myself Across the seven clear stars-O grace to me! In color like the fingers of a hand 690 Before a burning taper, the sweet Grail Glided and past, and close upon it peal'd A sharp quick thunder." Afterwards, a maid, Who kept our holy faith among her kin In secret, entering, loosed and let him go.' |
