{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/arthur/art034.htm","path":"neu/arthur/art034.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/arthur/art034.htm","text":"Sacred Texts\u00a0\n Legends/Sagas\u00a0\n England\u00a0\n Index\u00a0\n Previous\u00a0\n Next\u00a0\n \n \n An Arthurian Miscellany\n GAWAYNE'S REVENGE\n by\n ROBERT BUCHANAN\n \n \n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I. \n \n With goodly lands and lordships\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In Bearn and Britany,\n Hath Launcelot freely dowered his knights\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Had passed with him the sea;\n A threescore knights had brothers been\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0All of the Table Round --\n Were left no threescore braver,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I wot, on British ground.\n Their wars an end, the sheathed sword\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0They dangle from the wall,\n And feast them free, each bounteous lord,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In hospitable hall.\n For trumpet's breath and clarion,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The minstrel's harp they hear;\n And ladies' eyes make bosoms bleed,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Had bled to shaft and spear.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0II.\n \n Alas! that Hate's foul blossom\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0On Love's own tree will blow!\n And friendship stranged, that friend will prove\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To friend the fellest foe.\n Across the deep, from Cardiff's keep,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A threescore thousand men\n Have followed Arthur and Gawayne,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And camped in fair Guienne;\n And terms of ransom they have laughed,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And truce to haughty scorn;\n For dead to do Sir Launcelot\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The fierce Gawayne hath sworn.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0III.\n \n But stout is Benwyk's castle,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And Benwyk's trench is deep;\n Are gate and drawbridge massy-strong,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And Benwyk's walls are steep;\n And on these walls are archers store\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Handle their bows with skill,\n And shaft for shaft, and shout for shout,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0They render with good will.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0IV.\n \n Rode proudly on his coal-black steed\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sir Gawayne forth each morn,\n And blew defy to Launcelot,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And hailed with names of scorn.\n It shamed them sore that brave threescore,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Such knightly blot to bide;\n And will, or nill, Sir Launcelot,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Must Bors to battle ride.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0V. \n \n Out gate, and over drawbridge,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In fell career he's flung;\n But man and horse, in midway course,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To earth hath Gawayne dung.\n Spurred to his brother's help at need,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sir Lionel, in vain!\n With shivered lance, in ghostly trance,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He stretches on the plain.\n \n *****************************\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0VI.\n \n And thus each morn rode Gawayne,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And mocked them day by day,\n And evil fared the venturous knight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Would Gawayne's arm essay.\n Till traitor thrice, and coward too,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sir Launcelot he appealed;\n He clenched his teeth, he clutched his spear,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And rushed into the field.\n \n *****************************\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0VII.\n \n \"Or art thou man,\" thought Launcelot,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Or art thou evil fiend?\"\n But pause or parley as they fought\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For three hours an end.\n And many a bruise and buffet,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0On casque and coat he bore,\n For as his strength was waning,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But waxed Sir Gawayne's more,\n Sith unto him when shriven --\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0If sooth the story ran --\n This wondrous gift of grace was given\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0On prayer of holy man,\n That day by day, from morn to noon --\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And by a twelve month's space --\n His strength should go on waxing\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For long three long hours apace.\n But sooth or not, I nothing wot\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That gift, as others say,\n Was power from hell, and won by spell\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Him taught his aunt Le Fay,\n For spite she bore Queen Guinevere,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Led Arthur to her bower,\n The when she lay in sinful play\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Aclasp with paramour.\n \n *****************************\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0VIII.\n \n But now is passed the turn of noon,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sir Gawayne's gift is shent;\n He has no strength save but his own,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And that right sorely spent.\n In stirrup stark stood Launcelot,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And swayed his sword amain, --\n That stroke hath felled Sir Gawayne\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Astound upon the plain.\n \"Now use thy vantage -- slay me,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As I would thee outright;\"\n \"I slay me ne'er,\" said Launcelot,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"On field a fallen knight.\"\n Then proudly turned, and slowly\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To Benwyk took his way;\n Was loud rejoice in Benwyk,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In Arthur's host dismay.\n On litter low that wounded knight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To Arthur's tent they bore.\n The where on weary bed he lay\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A long three weeks and more.\n \n *****************************\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0IX.\n \n \"Go saddle me my starkest steed --\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Go fetch my stoutest spear --\n And bring me speed,\" cried Launcelot --\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"My trustiest battle-gear.\"\n Like thunder-clouds they clash, they crash,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Their staves a'flinter flee;\n That furious course dashed man and horse\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To earth right heavily.\n And foot to foot they counter,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And cross them shield with shield;\n More stern or stout in bloody bout\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I wot ne'er strove on field.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0X.\n \n But ever this time Sir Launcelot\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His buckler's fence below\n With patient art traced warily,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And traversed to and fro: --\n And long on casque and corslet\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Full grievous dint he bore,\n And many a fountain spirted\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Its crimson jet of gore!\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0XI.\n \n But when three hours were ended,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0By token sure he knew\n Sir Gawayne's strength was ebbing fast,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His blows fell faint and few: --\n And shouting loud his battle-cry,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He smote with main and might\n So fast, so fell, Sir Gawayne\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Swooned on the field outright.\n \n *****************************\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0XII.\n \n A wounded man, on sore sick-bed\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For weary months he lay,\n Till false Sir Mordred's treason\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Called Arthur's host away.\n \n \n \n \n \n \n \n Next: Joyous Garde, by Robert Buchanan [1859]","title":"Arthurian Miscellany: Gawayne's Revenge, by Robert Buchanan [1859]","type":"page"}