{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/arthur/art123.htm","path":"neu/arthur/art123.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/arthur/art123.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 SIR FLORIS\n by\n JOHN PAYNE\n \n \n THE ROMAUNT OF SIR FLORIS\n \n In this sweet world and fair to see,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 There is full many a mystery,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 That toil and misery have wrought\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 To banish from the sight and thought\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Of striving men in this our air\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Of pain and doubt, and many a fair\n Sweet wonder that doth live and move\n Within the channel of Christ's love.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And of these, truly, aforetime\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Was made full many a tender rhyme\n And lay of wonder and delight;\n And by full many a noble knight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And minstrel was the story told,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 With the sweet simple faith of old,\n Of how the questing was fulfill'd\n Of that Sangreal that was will'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 By the dear God to Galahad,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And how by many a one was had\n Rare venture in the holy Quest,\n Albeit very few were blest\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 With comfort in the sight of it;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And by that menestrel, to wit,\n (Oh sweetest of all bards to me\n And worthiest to Master be\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of all that sing of Christ His knight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And Questing of the Grail!) that hight\n Of Eschenbach, that tale was writ\n Of Percivale, that now doth sit\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Within the bosom of the Lord,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And how he strove with spear and sword\n Full many a year for Christ His grace.\n And with delight of those old lays,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There long has murmur'd in my brain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A song that often and again\n Has cried to me for utterance;\n And now---before the sad years chance\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To bear all thought of holiness\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From men with mirk of pain and stress\n Of toil---it wearies me to tell\n Of all that unto Floris fell,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And all his toil and all his bliss\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And grace in winning to Christ's kiss.\n Wherefore, I pray you, hearkneth\n The while with scant and feeble breath\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I tell to you a quaint old tale,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wherein is neither sin nor bale,\n But some sweet peace and sanctity:\n And there not only wonders be,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But therewithal a breath of love\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Is woven round it and above,\n That lovers in the Summer-prime\n May clasp warm hands o'er this my rhyme,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As finding there some golden sense\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of Love's delicious recompense:\n For what withouten love is life?\n And if therein is any strife,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or therewithal offences be,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I pray you pardon it to me:\n Wherefore, Christ hearten you, I say,\n Et Dieu vous doint felicit\u00e9. \n \n I. THE FIRST COMING OF THE DOVE.\n \n Hard by the confluence of Rhone\n A castle of old times alone\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon a high grey hill did stand,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And look'd across the pleasant land:\n And of the castle castellain\n And lord of all the wide domain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of golden field and purple wood\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And vineyards where the vine-rows stood\n In many a trellis, Floris was;\n A good knight and a valorous,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in all courtesies approved,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That unto valiantise behoved.\n Full young he was and fair of face,\n And among ladies had much grace,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And favour of all men likewise:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For in such stout and valiant guise\n His years of manhood had he spent\n In knightly quest and tournament,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There was no knight in all the land\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Whose name in more renown did stand,\n And the foe quaked to look upon\n The white plume of his morion,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0When through the grinding shock of spears\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sir Floris' war-cry pierced their ears\n And over all the din was blown\n The silver of his clarion.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So was much ease prepared for him,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And safety from the need and grim\n Hard battle against gibe and sneer\n That must full oft be foughten here--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For evil fortune and the lack\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of strength to thrust the envious back--\n By many a noble soul and true;\n And had he chosen to ensue\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The well-worn path that many tread\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For worship, all his life were spread\n Before him, level with delight.\n But if in shock of arms and fight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of squadrons he disdain\u00e8d not\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To win renown, the silken lot\n Of those that pass their days in ease\n And dalliance on the flower'd leas\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of life was hateful to his soul;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And so--when once the battle's roll\n And thunder was from off the lands\n Turn'd back and from the war-worn hands\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The weapons fell--he could not bring\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His heart to brook the wearying\n Of peace and indolent disport\n Of ease. Wherefore he left the court--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So secretly that no one knew\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Awhile his absence--and withdrew\n A season to his own demesne,\n And there in solitude was fain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To yearn for some fair chance to hap\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And win his living from the lap\n Of drowsy idlesse with some quest,\n That should from that unlovely rest\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Redeem him to the old delight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of plucking--in the bold despite\n Of danger--from the brows of Fate\n Some laurel. Nor had he to wait\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The cooling of his knightly fire;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There was vouchsafed to his desire,\n Ere long, a very parlous quest,\n That should unto the utterest\n Assay his knightly worth and test\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The temper of his soul full well\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And sore. And in this wise it fell.\n \n It chanced one night,--most nigh the time\n When through the mist-wreaths and the rime\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The hours begin to draw toward\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The enchanted birthnight of the Lord,--\n That in the midnight, on his bed,\n He heard in dreams, a voice that said\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Arise, Sir Floris, get thee forth,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0An thou wouldst prove thee knight of worth!\"\n Gross slumbers of the middle night\n So held and clipp'd the valiant knight,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He might him not to speak address\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For slumber and for heaviness.\n \n Again it rang out loud and clear,\n So that might not choose but hear,\n And in his heart he quaked for fear;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But still he lay and answer'd not,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Such hold had sleep upon him got.\n \n A third time through the chamber past\n The voice, as 'twere a trumpet's blast:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Arise, Sir Floris, harness thee,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For love of Christ that died on tree!\"\n \n He started up from sleep for fear\n And groped to find a sword or spear,\n Thinking some enemy was near;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But of no creature was he ware.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He saw the moon hang in the air--\n As 'twere a cup of lucent pearl--\n And in the distance heard the swirl\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of waters through the silence run;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But other sight or sound was none.\n \n The moon's light lay across the night\n In one great stream of silver-white,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And folded round the Christ that stood\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At bedhead, carven in black wood;\n And Floris, looking on the way\n Of light that through the chamber lay,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was ware of a strange blossoming--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As of some birth of holy thing--\n That in the bar of silver stirr'd;\n And as he gazed, a snow-white bird\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Grew slowly into perfect shape,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As if some virtue did escape\n From that strange silver prisonhouse\n Into the city perilous\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of life, and for its safety's sake\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The likeness of a fowl did take.\n The light seem'd loth to let it go\n Into this world of sin and woe\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0(So pure and holy) and put out\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Long arms of white the dove about,\n As if to net it safely in:\n But, as the holy bird did win\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0It way and through the meshes rent,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The rays of light together blent\n And fell into a cross of white,\n Whereon the silver dove did light\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Above the image benedight.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sir Floris wonder'd at the sight,\n And looking on the cross, he deem'd\n That from the Christ a glory gleam'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And lay in gold towards the door;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And something bade him go before.\n \n He rose and girt himself upon\n With helm and with habergeon,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in his hand his sword full bright\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He bore, that Fleurdeluceaunt hight.\n \n The dove flew out into the air,\n And Floris follow'd through the bare\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Dumb ways and chambers to the gate,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Whose open leaves for them did wait,\n And as into the night they past,\n Together were behind them cast.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The night was dumb, the moon did glower\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon them, like a pale sick flower\n That in the early chill of spring\n Mocks at the summer's blossoming,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And over every hill and stowe\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The ways were white and sad with snow.\n \n So pass'd he, with the silver dove\n That went before him and above,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Within the sheeny moon\u00e9s light--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wherewith her outspread plumes were dight\n So that it seem'd each wing became\n And grew into a silver flame--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Until the hollow'd snow was track'd \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Into a woodway, where there lack'd\n The moonlight, and the mountain-side\n With drooping ash and linden vied\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To keep the hollow place from ray\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or glimmer of the silver-play.\n \n The dove flew in, and, following,\n Sir Floris heard a muffled ring\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of silver in the mountain's womb,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As if dead music there had tomb.\n Here the dove folded wings and smote\n The part wherefrom the sound did float.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The mountain open'd, and they went,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0By force of some strange wonderment,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Into a place of flowers, all sprent\n With jewels of the blossom-time;\n And all the air was sweet with rhyme:\n There reign'd an endless summer-prime.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Tall green was there of leaf\u00e9d trees,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in the blossom'd walks the breeze\n Was music, such as winds and plays\n About the May-sweet woodland ways,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0When spring is fresh and hope is clear;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in the place where leaves are sere\n On earth, there lay great heaps of gold,\n Yweft my wonderment untold\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To semblance of the Autumn's waste,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Through which the sweet wind play'd and chased\n Its frolic breaths with perfume laden.\n \n In grass stood many a white maiden\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That lily in the outworld hight;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And roses all the herbage dight.\n Bright plaited beds of jewel-flowers\n Were thick-set in the garden bowers,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And many a row of sunflowers stood\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Along the marges of the wood,\n And to the sapphire heaven turn'd,\n As if towards the sun they burn'd.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0About the blossoms, round and over,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Strange golden-crested birds did hover\n That flash'd and sparkled like a flight\n Of wing\u00e8d starlets in the night;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And, as they went, their pinions beat\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The air of that serene retreat\n To rush and sweep of magic song,\n And through the trees was sweet and strong\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The trill of lark and nightingale.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There was not any note of wail\n In song of birds or sweep of wind,\n Such as in woodlands calls to mind\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The last year's winter and the next,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wherewith the listener's soul is vext\n And thinks how short the spring will be,\n And how the flower-times change and flee\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Towards the dreary month of snows.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The full glad passion of the rose\n Was joyous in the garden air,\n And every sight and sound was fair\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With unalloy'd contentedness.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There could not enter any stress\n Of labour or of worldly woe;\n But ever through the place did flow\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A silver sound of singing winds,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A breath of jasmine and woodbinds,\n As if all joy were gather'd there\n And prison'd in the golden air.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And as Sir Floris wonder\u00e8d\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At those sweet flow'rets white and red,\n And at the stream's sweet song that set\n The garden-breezes all afret\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With breaking waves of melody,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And at the bird's sweet minstrelsy,--\n There came to him a damozel\n (How fair she was no man can tell),\n And said, \"Fair knight, now wit thou well\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That thou hast gather'd great renown\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In that sad world where trees are brown\n And ways are white in winter-time,\n And hast in many a maker's rhyme\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Been celebrate for gentilesse\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And valiant doings in the press\n Of arm\u00e8d knights and battle-play,\n In tournament and in mellay;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And over all the land is known\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0How, many a time, thy horn has blown\n To succour maidens in distress,\n And oftentimes have had redress\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The needy by thy stroke of sword.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So that to him, that is the lord\n Of this fair place, the fame has won\n Of all that thou hast dared and done\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In perfectness of chivalry;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And he, who uses well to see\n Great deeds of arms and shock of spears,\n Has seen no one in all these years\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That may be chosen for thy peer; \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And therefore has he brought thee here,\n To try thee if thou canst endure\n Battle and venture, forte et dure\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Beyond the wont of men on earth;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wherein if thou canst prove thy worth,\n He will advance thee to his grace\n And set thee surely in high place\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Among his knights.\"\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Fair damozel,\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Said Floris, \"liketh me full well\n The quest, by what you say of it:\n But now, I pray you, let me wit\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Who is this lord, whose hest you bear,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That is so high and debonair?\n And what adventure must I prove\n Before that I can win his love?\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And she, \"His name I may not tell;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Hereafter shalt thou know it well;\n But thou shalt see his presently.\"\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then did she join her bended palms,\n And falling down upon her knee\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Among the knitted herbs and haulms,\n Did softly sing a full sweet rhyme;\n And in a little space of time\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was visible among the treen--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Against a trellised work of green\n That at the garden's farthest end\n Among the leaves did twine and blend--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A man, that walk'd among the flowers\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As softly as the evening hours\n Walk in the summer-haunted treen.\n Full tall and stately was his mien,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And down his back the long hair lay,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Red-gold as is the early day,\n Whereon a crown of light was set.\n Whoever saw might ne'er forget.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The sweetness of his majesty.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But in no wise could Floris see\n Or win to look upon his face;\n For, as he went, he turn'd aside\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His visage, as it were to hide\n The light of its unearthly grace\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From mortal eyes.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then Floris said,\n \"I pray thee of thy kindlihead,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Fair maid, that I may come to look\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0On this lord's visage.\" But she shook\n Her head, and \"Patience!\" did she say.\n \"Thou must in fear and much affray\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For this fair place, and for the fame\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of him that master of the same\n And sovereign is, be purged and tried,\n And through much venture must abide,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ere thou mayst look upon his face\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And win the guerdon of his grace,\n And now the time is come to prove\n Battle and hardship for his love.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Adieu, sir knight: be bold and true!\"\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Whereat she sped beyond his view,\n And eke that figure vanish\u00e8d;\n But Floris, lifting up his head,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was ware of a strange hand that bare\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A cross and stood in middle air,\n And on the white plume of his crest\n Did for a moment lie and rest.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Therewith great ease was given him,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And healing freedom from all dim\n Sad doubts of fortune and of fate\n In that great strife, that did await\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His proving; and the strength of men\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In him was as the strength of ten\n Redoubled. Then he saw, beside\n His feet, a flower-bed fair and wide\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of roses mingled red and white,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Full sweet of smell and fair of sight,\n That in a trellised red-gold grate\n Did hold a sweet and lovely state\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And spread around such wealth of balm,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Their scent seem'd one great golden psalm\n Of perfume to the praise of God.\n \n Then Floris knelt upon the sod\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of that fair place, and praying thrice\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Most heartily, did take advice\n That up the silver-spangled grail--\n That through the green did twine and trail\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of that bright garden's goodliness--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Some gruesome thing towards him did press.\n As 'twere the roses to despoil.\n So sprang he lightly from the soil,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And from its scabbard iron-blue\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His falchion Fleurdeluceaunt drew,\n And kiss'd its fair hilt cruciform;\n Wherewith his heart wax'd bold and warm\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With courage past the use of men.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now was a loathly thing, I ween,\n Made visible to him--that might\n Well strike the boldest with affright.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For up the sward to him did run\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A beast yet never saw the sun;\n As 'twere a dog with double head,\n Whose hinder parts were fashion\u00e8d\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Into the likeness of a worm.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Full black and grisly was his form,\n And blazing red his eyes and tongue\n With raging choler, such as stung\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His lusting heart to rob and tear\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The flowers that in the garden were.\n But as he came anigh the place\n Wherein those roses all did grace\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The greensward, to his troubled sight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was visible that valiant knight,\n That in whole armour of blue steel\n Before the flowery shrine did kneel,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To save the emblems of Love's joy\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From his most foul and rude annoy.\n Wherefore at him with open mouth \n The monster ran, as 'twere its drouth\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And ravening lust to wreak and slake\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon the knight. Then did he take\n His sword, and with so stout a blow\n Upon the beast's twin neck did throw\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The edge, that with the dolorous stroke\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The thread of its foul life he broke\n In twain, and from the sunder'd veins\n The black blood strew'd with loathly stains\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The tender grass and herbs therein;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And as among the flower-stalks thin\n The hideous purple gore was sprent,\n From out the stain (O wonderment\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And grace of Mary merciful!)\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There open'd out the petals full\n And lovesome of that snowy bloom\n That is in all earth's sin and gloom\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The fairest of all flowers to see,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The lily of white chastity.\n \n Right glad was Floris of the sight,\n And of the scent that from the white\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Gold-hearted bells to him was lent;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And as he o'er the calyx bent\n To breathe its fragrance, suddenly\n There came a sound across the lea,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That was as if a lion roar'd;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And truly o'er the blossom'd sward\n There ran to him a tawny beast,\n Red-maned, that never stay'd nor ceased\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To roar, until the knight could feel\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His hot breath through the grated steel\n That barr'd his vizor, and his claws\n Sought grimly for some joint or pause\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In the hard mail, where he might set\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His tusks and through the rent veins let\n The knight's life-blook upon the sward.\n But Floris, lifting up his sword,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Him with such doughty strokes oppress'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon his red and haughty crest,\n That soon he made him loose his hold;\n And in a while, no longer bold\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And arrogant, he would have fled,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But that Sir Floris on his head\n With the sharp edge smote such a blow,\n The red blood from the rift did flow,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And with the blood the life did pass:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wherefore from out the bloodied grass\n There was uplift the rose of love,\n With scent and blossom fair enough,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I trow, to guerdon many a toil\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And many a battle in the coil\n Of earthly woes.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But there was yet\n No time for Floris to forget\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His trouble in the red flower's sight:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He must again in deathly fight\n Be join'd for the security\n Of that fair garden's purity.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For swiftly in the lion's place\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A raging leopard came, the grace\n Of those sweet roses to despoil;\n And as he came, the very soil\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Quaked underneath him, such a might\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To wreak his cholerick despite\n 'Gainst him that was the sovereign\n Of that fair place, and such disdain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Did rage in him, that he could see\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0No thing for anger. So was he \n Against the roses well nigh come,\n Nay, was in act to spoil their bloom,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0When through his heart the deadly blade\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Slid cold; and turning round, he made\n At Floris with a vengeful roar,\n And with his claws his thigh he tore\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A hand's-breadth in his agony.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then down upon the grass fell he\n And died; and in the tender sward,\n Whereon his felon blood was pour'd,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The sign of humbleness was set,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The flower that men call violet.\n \n Full faint was Floris with the loss\n Of blood, that from the wound across\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His thigh did run in many a rill,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And would have fain awhile been still\n Without reproof. But no repose\n Must he expect (nor one of those\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That in God's battle fight on earth)\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor pleasance of delight and mirth,\n But many a dint and many a blow\n Unceasing, till God will his woe\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Be ended and the goal be won.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And so, as there he sat, anon,\n Whilst wearily he look'd along\n The fair wide path, he saw the long \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Slow travel of a hideous snake,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That with much toil its way did make\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Towards the roses where he stood.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So faint he was with failing blood,\n He might not summon any strength\n To smite its black and gruesome length\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At vantage, crawling, but must wait\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Until, with slow and tortuous gait,\n It won to him. So weak he was,\n He could not choose but let it pass\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Towards the trellis; and eftsoon,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0By him that lay in some half swoon,\n Across the grass it slid and twined\n Around the grating that confined\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The flowers, its black and hideous length,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And breathed on them with all the strength\n Of hate its envying soul could know\n To gather in a breath, and so\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To spoil their fresh and goodly bloom:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Whereat the blossoms with the gloom\n Of its black coils, that shut the light\n From over them, and with affright\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And sickness of its loathsome breath,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Came very nigh to take their death.\n For with such potent spells the air\n Its venom darken'd of despair\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And malice, that the lovely red\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And white of their bright goodlihead\n Was to a sickly pallor turn'd,\n As if some loathly fever burn'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Within their hearts: and in a while\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0No kiss of breeze or golden smile\n Of sun had won them back to life,\n So spent were they with the fell strife\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of that curs'd beast,--had not a sweep\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of wings awaken'd from the sleep\n Of pain Sir Floris, and the scream\n Of a great bird, whose plumes did seem\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To brush his forehead, roused his sense\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From the constraint of indolence.\n \n Then sprang he up in strength renew'd;\n And when he saw the serpent lewd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And hideous, that in his embrace\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Did strangle all the life and grace\n From out the flowers, he made at him\n And with a grip so fierce and grim\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Oppres'd his scaly swollen neck,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That with the dolour and the check\n Of blood within his venom'd veins,\n The snake must needs relax the chains\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In which he held the rosery;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in the act so mightily\n Had leapt at Floris, that he wound\n His arms and body closely round\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With scaly rings, and so uneath\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Did grip the knight, that little breath\n Seem'd in his body to be left;\n But, summoning all strength, he reft\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The horrid fetters from his breast,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And flung the worm with utterest\n His might full length against the ground.\n \n There whiles it lay in seeming swound;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And Floris, thinking it was dead,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Would have lain down his weary head\n Upon the grass, to take some ease\n Awhile. Then from among the trees\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There came that fowl, that had awoke\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Him with its passing pinions' stroke,\n And with so hard a buffet drove\n Him down to earth, he could nor move\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor speak awhile, but lay as dead:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And that foul bird, with eyes of red\n And vulture claws, did strive the while\n At every joint and crack of mail\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To wound him with its noisome beak.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At last a place it found where weak\n The armour was, and with such spite\n Into Sir Floris' flesh did bite,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That for the fierceness of the pain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He started up from sleep again\n And with so fierce and stout a blow\n The vulture strake, the steel did go\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Athwart the pinions and the crest,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And riving down the armour'd breast,\n Did hew the gruesome snake in twain,\n In whom the life began again\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To flutter. So the loathly two\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With that stroke died; and with the dew\n Of their foul blood, the lovely green\n Of the fair sward did such a spleen\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And hate of its despiteous hue\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Conceive, that quickly sprang to view\n A twine of slow-white clematis,\n The sign of sweet content that is;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And where the bird in death was cold,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There grew the glad bright marigold,\n That in its gay and golden dress\n Was ever symbol of largesse,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Since all along the meads there run\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Its mimic mirrors of the sun,\n Withouten any speck or flaw.\n \n But none of this Sir Floris saw,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor how the roses lightly wore\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The freshness of their bloom once more;\n So weary was he and so worn\n With strife, and therewithal so torn\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With claws and beak of that fierce bird,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He lay aswoon and saw nor heard\n Or sight or sound.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now must I tell\n A wondrous thing that here befell,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Through grace of God and Christ, His Son:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For, while he lay aswoon, came one\n In white and shining robes array'd,\n And touch'd him on the lips and said,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Arise, Sir Floris, whole of wound,\n And fill thy quest!\" And so was gone.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And Floris started up from ground,\n And was all whole in flesh and bone\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And full of heart the end to dare\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of that hard venture.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then the air\n Was of a sudden darken'd o'er\n With some foul thing, that semblance wore\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of a half bird, and a half worm,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Join'd in one foul and loathly form;\n And with the rattle of the scales\n Upon its wings--that (as huge flails\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon the golden garnered wheat \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With ceaseless rhythmic pulse do beat)\n Did lash and wound the golden air--\n The songs of breezes deadn'd were,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And all was dumb for much dismay:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And with its sight the lift grew gray.\n And as it wheel'd on open wings,\n With many blows and buffetings\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0It strove to daunt that valiant knight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And enforce him for sheer affright\n To yield to it and let it fill\n Its hungry maw at its foul will\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With those fair flowers. But Floris stood\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Undaunted, and with many a good\n Stout stroke of point did wound the beast,\n Werewith it bled and much increased\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Its ravenous rage. Then, suddenly,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He felt sharp claws about his knee,\n And, looking down, no little wroth,\n He saw a huge and monstrous sloth,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That with such force did hug his thighs\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And gript his arms in such hard wise,\n That he could scarce with bended shield\n Resist him, nor with power could wield\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His trusty sword; and as he strove\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That monster from his grip to move,\n The dragon with so fell a swoop\n Against him from on high did stoop,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That down upon the ground he fell,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in the falling did repel\n The sloth from off him. Then the twain\n With such foul rage at him again\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Did press and buffet, that the life\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Out of his breast with that fierce strife\n Was well nigh chased: but, by good hap,\n It chanced he fell into the lap\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of those fair blooms of various kind\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That did his victory call to mind\n Against the cruel beaten foes; \n And, falling heavily from blows\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of beak and tallons, he with such\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A grinding weight did press and crush\n The blossoms in the harsh and rude\n Encounter, they must needs exude\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From out their chalices the sweet\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And precious essences that meet\n To make the perfume of a flower,\n And on his face and hands did shower\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Their gracious balms. So sweet they were\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And of a potency so rare\n For salving every earthly pain,\n The life began in every vein\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With their pure touch to run and glow;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And soon the weary weight and woe\n That lay on Floris was dispell'd.\n Then, with new strength, from him he fell'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That hideous sloth; and being free\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0An instant from his tyranny\n And harsh oppression, to his feet\n He sprang once more, and to defeat\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The wing\u00e8d worm himself address'd.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That tore and ravish'd at his crest\n With ceaseless fury; but it drew\n Beyond his reaching, when it knew\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Its comrade worsted, and was fain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To wait till it revived again.\n But Floris, with a doubled hand,\n Smote at the bear with his good brand\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So fell a stroke, the sharp death slid\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Through bone and sinew and forbid\n Returning life to enter in\n That loathly dwelling, foul with sin\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And sloth;--and so the thing was dead.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And from the blood its slit veins bled\n There came to life the blossoms sweet\n And gold-eyed of the Marguerite,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Incoronate with petals white.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But that foul serpent with the sight\n Of that good blow so sorely grieved\n And fill'd with rage to be bereaved\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of its grim comrade was, it threw\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0All fear aside and fiercely flew\n At Floris, with the arm\u00e8d sting\n Of its writhed tail all quivering\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In act to strike, and with so strong\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A swoop the dart did thrust and throng\n Through dent and ring of riven mail,\n The deadly point it did prevail\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To bury deep in Floris' breast.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Whereat such rage the knight possess'd\n That all the dolour he forgot\n (Though very fierce it was, God wot,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And sad) and throwing down his blade,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With such a mighty force he laid\n To drag that scorpion from his side,\n The serpent's tail in twain he wried\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in such hideous wounds it rent,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That from the body coil'd and bent\n With anguish it must needs divide.\n Wherewith the cleft did open wide,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And such a flood therefrom did flow\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of blood upon the herbs below\n That needs it seem'd the flowers must die;\n And with the pain so fierce a cry\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of agony the dragon gave,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There is no heart of man so brave\n And firm but he must quake at it.\n \n And now the doom of death was writ\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In heaven for that unholy beast;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in a little while it ceased\n To cry, and down upon the ground\n It fell and died; and all around\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The firm earth quaked. And as it died,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The blood--that wither'd far and wide\n The herbs and 'mid the stalks did boil\n For rage--was dried into the soil;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wherefore there sprang from out the stain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The holy purple of vervain,\n The plant that purgeth earth's desire.\n \n Now may Sir Floris well aspire\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To have that peace he needeth so,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And easance after toil and woe:\n For there is none to fight with him\n Of all those beasts so fell and grim;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor any sign of further foe\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Within the garden is, I trow,\n To let him from his victory;\n And all around the place was free\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From fear; the breezes were atune\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Again with birdsongs, and the boon\n Of scent within the flowers once more\n Was golden, nor the heavens wore\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The hue of horror and dismay:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And so me may be blithe and gay\n And have sweet pleasance.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But alas!\n No thought of this for Floris was.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Within his veins the venom 'gan\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To curdle, and the red blood ran\n With frozen slowness, as the sting\n Of pain went ever gathering\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Fresh fierceness through him. Very nigh\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0It seem'd to him he was to die.\n He felt the chill of the last hour\n Creep through him and the deathsweats pour\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Adown his brow: such agony\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Along his every vein did flee,\n He could no longer up endure,\n Nor hope for any aid or cure;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But down upon the earth he sank\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Aswoon, with faded lips that drank\n The dews of death, and, with a prayer\n Half mutter'd in his last despair,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The sense forsook him. So he lay\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Aswoon, poor knight, and (well-a-way!)\n Most like to die.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But there was thought\n In heaven for him that thus had fought\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For that fair garden's sake. The love\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of the dear God that dwells above\n Was mindful of him, though he knew\n It not. And so to him there drew\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A tender dream,--as there he lay\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Smitten to death with that fierce fray,--\n And fill'd his thought; and it did seem\n To him, by virtue of the dream,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That over him an angel stood,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And with a sweet compassion view'd\n His piteous state, and whiles did strew\n Soft balms upon him, strange and new\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Unto his sense,--so comforting\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And sweet of scent, they seem'd to bring\n To him the airs of Paradise;\n And with their touch the cruel ice\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of death, that bound his every sense,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was melted wholly; and the dense\n And cruel anguish, that untied\n The threads of living, did subside;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And gradually peace came back\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Into his spirit, and the rack\n Of pain and agony from him\n Was lifted. So upon the rim\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of the sad soul a little life\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Began to hover, as at strife\n With Death, reluctant to forego\n His late assur\u00e8d prey; and so\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The breath came back by slow degrees\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To the spent soul, and in great ease\n Awhile he lay: and whiles he dream'd\n He was in heaven, and it seem'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He heard the golden harpings stir\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The air to glory, and the choir\n Of seraphim that stand around\n The throne, with one sweet pulse of sound\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Co\u00f6rder'd, lift descant of praise\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To Him that is the Lord of Days\n And Ancient.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then he seem'd to hear\n A voice that murmur'd in his ear--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As 'twere a ring of broken chords\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Angelic, mingled with sweet words\n (So silver-clear it was)--and bade\n Him open eyes: and then one laid\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Soft hand upon his lids, and drew\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The darkness from them. So the blue\n Of heaven again was visible\n To him, as 'twere some great sweet bell\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of magic flowerage in some prime\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of summer in old fairy-time:\n And drinking slowly use of light\n And sense of life and its delight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Back into eyes and brain, he turn'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His gaze from where the heaven burn'd\n With full sweet summer, and was ware\n Of a fair champion standing there,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Past mortal beauty. All in white\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And spotless mail was he bedight,\n So clear that there is nothing fair\n And goodly but was mirror'd there,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And yet no evil thing nor sad\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was there. Upon his helm he had\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A fair gold cross. Upon his crest\n A fair gold cross, and on his shield\n The semblance of a lamb did wield\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A fair gold cross. Upon his crest \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The snows of a fair plume did rest\n And waved; and eke his pennoncel\n Was white as is the new-blown bell\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of that fair flower that loves the wind,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And round his dexter arm was twined\n A snow of silk. Full glorious\n The splendour of his harness was,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And wonder-lovely to behold:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But as white silver and red gold\n Are pale beside the diamond,\n So was his visage far beyond\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His arms in glory and delight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of beauty. There was such a might\n Of stainless virtue and of all\n Perfection pictured, and withal\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So woundrous tender in asp\u00e8ct\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He was, it seem'd as if the Elect\n Of Christ on earth in him did live;\n That, with glad eyes, men might arrive,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Beholding him, to know that love\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And gentilesse of God and prove\n In him the sweetness of that grace\n That shin\u00e8d ever in Christ's face\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0On earth.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And so in very deed\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0It seem'd to Floris that the need\n Of earth was over, and his soul\n Was won thereto where life is whole--\n Withouten any stress or dole--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At last in joyance, and his eyes\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Did view, in robes of Paradise,\n That tender angel of the Lord,\n That into men's sore bosoms pour'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sweet balms and comfort, being set\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To temper justice and the fret\n Of life with love most pitiful.\n And whilst he thus did gaze his full\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon the radiance of that wight,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The soft and undefiled delight,\n That in his eyes did hold full sway,\n So purged all Floris' awe away\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And eke such boldness to him gave\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That he was fain of him to crave\n His name.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then, \"I am Galahad,\n Christ's knight,\" he said.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Whereat full glad\n was Floris, and all reverently\n Unto the earth he bent his knee\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Before the knight, and (an he list)\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Would fain the broider'd hem have kiss'd\n Of his white robe; but Galahad\n Did raise him quickly up and bade\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Him henceforth kneel to God alone,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That on the height of Heaven's throne\n Is for man's soul the only one\n Of worship, save sweet Christ, His Son.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And Mary mother pitiful;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And henceforth were no kings that rule\n So blest as Floris now should be,\n Since that with such high constancy\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And noble faith he had withstood\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The shock of that unholy brood,\n And if fair fight had vanquish'd them.\n Wherefore for crown and diadem\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of triumph, on the greensward freed\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From those foul beasts that there did bleed\n Their life away beneath his blade,\n In goodly order were array'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For him those pleasant blooms and fair,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That not alone so debonair\n And blithe of aspect were, but eke\n Had virtues--more than one might speak\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In wearing of a summer's day--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For purging fleshly lusts away\n And cleansing from his heart--who wore\n Their beauty fairly--all the sore\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sad doubts and weariness of earth,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So that with an immortal mirth\n And constant faith his soul was glad,\n And evermore sweet peace he had\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In love of God and eke of Christ,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The which against all ills sufficed \n Of mortal life. And as he spoke\n From the slight stems those flowers he broke\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That 'midst the herbage did entreat\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The eye with blossom very sweet\n And gracious; and (O wonderment!)\n Being in his hand conjoin'd, they blent\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Their essences in such rare wise,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0It seem'd from each sweet bell did rise\n A sweeter perfume, and more bright\n Their semblance grew, as 'twere some might\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of amity was moved in them--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Being so join'd into one stem--\n To heighten each one's loveliness\n With all its fellows did possess\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of blithe and sweet. And therewithal,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0When from the grass those flow'rets all\n Were gather'd, to Sir Floris came\n That noblest knight, and in Christ's name,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With fairest look and friendliest speech,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Him of kindness did beseech\n That he from him those blooms would take\n And breathe their fragrance.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Scarce awake\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From swoon was Floris yet; and so\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He took them with dull hands and slow,\n And did address himself to scent\n Their breath, as one half indolent\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With sleep; but when the gracious smell\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was won to him, that from each bell\n Did float and hovering was blent\n Into some wondrous ravishment\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of sweets,--there smote him such a sense\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of gladsome ease and recompense\n Of all his labours, that the dull\n Gross drowsiness, that did annul\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The soul within the man, forsook\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Him wholly; and withal he took\n Such gladness, that in every vein\n The life seem'd blithely born again;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And through his frame so fresh a flood\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of ardour pour;d, it seem'd the blood--\n That in men's pulses sluggishly\n Does throb and flutter--was made free\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From earthly baseness and was turn'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To heavenly ichor. For there burn'd\n Within him such a fire of hope,\n He felt his soul no more did grope\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Within the dreary dusk of earth,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But on the wings of a new birth\n Towards the highest heaven did soar.\n Nor was there for him any more\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A thought of weariness or woe;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But from the earth he rose, and so\n Was ready for all venturing\n And all the quest of holy thing\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0God might appoint him.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then that knight,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That was apparell'd all in white,--\n Most brightly smiling at the new\n Glad ardour that did straight ensue\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In Floris with those blossoms' scent,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And at the holy joy that brent\n Upon the dial of his face,--\n Within his arms did him embrace\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And kiss'd him very lovingly.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then in this wise to him spake he,\n With grave sweet speech.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Beyond the brine,\n Where in the Orient first the sign\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of dawn upon the sky is set,--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In that sweet clime where men forget\n The winter, and the summer lies\n So lovingly upon the skies,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That of a truth the very night\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Is lucent and the cruel sprite\n Of darkness never wholly hides\n The flowers, but aye some light abides,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wherefore men call it morning-land,--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A fair and stately house doth stand,\n Wherein, by help of God His grace,\n Unto my lot it fell to place\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That holy token of the Lord,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That He to mortals did afford\n Awhile on earth to look upon\n For consolation; but anon,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Moved to slow anger by their sin\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And stubborn wickedness, within\n His mystery He did withdraw\n The bless\u00e8d thing: but yet the law\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of that sad doom He temper\u00e8d--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of His great grace and kindlihead--\n With mercy. For it was ordain'd\n That of one kept himself unstain'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And pure from every lust and sin,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A virgin, he should surely win\n And come to taste of that sweet food\n Of the Redemeer's flesh and blood.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And unto me such grace was given\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That of all champions that have striven\n I have been chosen from the rest\n For winning of the Holy Quest;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Since that, as in the Writ we read,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0God of the humblest may indeed\n Be pleased to make His instrument,\n Even unto me that joy was sent,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Surpassing all that of old time\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Is told for us in minstrel's rhyme\n Of Heaven's mercy: and, God wot,\n Were pass\u00e8d o'er Sir Lancelot\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And sweet Sir Tristam, that again\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The world shall never of those twain\n Behold the like, such debonair\n And perfect gentle knights they were.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Wherefore to God it seem\u00e8d fit\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That a fair dwelling over it\n Should for its safe keeping be built:\n And that no breath of sin or guilt\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Might there approach, there was enroll'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A band of knight, in whom the gold\n Of virtue had been smelted out\n And purified from sin and doubt\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0By toil and venture perilous.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in that high and holy house\n In goodly fellowship they dwell,\n Until to God it seemeth well--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For long good service done--to call\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0One of the brethren from the thrall\n Of earthly life, and with His blest\n In Paradise to give him rest.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wherefore, when one is call'd away,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0It is ordain'd that from the grey\n Of the sad world another knight--\n To fill his place who, benedight,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Has won the guerdon of his strife--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Be chosen out, to cast off life\n And with much labour and much pain\n Be purified from earthly stain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And tried with woe. If he endure\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And from the furnace come out pure\n Of sin and lusting, he shall stand\n For the dead brother in the band\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Angelical, and shall be set\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With those that, pure of earthly fret,\n Do guard the shrine miraculous.\n \n \"In such a wise enroll\u00e8d was\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sir Percivale; and Lohengrin\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0By like adventuring did win\n Among the holy knights to sit;\n And many more of whom ye wit.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And lately it the Lord hath pleased\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That yet another should be eased\n Of his long service and preferr'd\n Among the angels to be heard\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And scent the breath of heaven's rosen.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in his stead hast thou been chosen\n In much hard strife to be assay'd\n And for Christ's service fitting made.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wherefore this venture has been given\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To thee, in which thou now hast striven\n So wonder-well, that thou mightst win\n To purge thyself of earthly sin.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And having in good sooth prevail'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Against all dangers that assail'd\n Thee and this garden's purity,\n There is great bliss ordain'd for thee;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For that thy name shall be enroll'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Among those knights in ward that hold\n The blessed Grail; and thou with me\n Beyond the billows of the sea\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Shalt come to where that house is fair\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Withouten any pain or care,\n And shalt awhile taste heaven's bliss,\n And on thy mouth shalt have the kiss\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of Christ the Lord, that doth assoil\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0All weariness of earthly toil\n And gives unto all sorrows peace\n Undying.\"\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So the strain did cease\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of his sweet speaking, and awhile\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The very sweetness of his smile\n Did hinder Floris from reply:\n And eke the thought of bliss so nigh\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His lips and all the ravishment\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of promise that he did prevent\n In his imagining and lack\n Of words for utterance held back\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His tongue from speaking anything.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But Galahad for answering\n Stay'd not, but, with a doubled grace\n Of sweet assurance in his face,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Began to say, in very deed,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That presently there was great need\n They should withouten more delay\n Towards the dawning take their way,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For many a mile the voyage was\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And for great distance tedious.\n \n Then Floris said to him, \"Fair knight,\n That in whole armour of pure white\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Dost serve God in all chastity,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I pri'thee, lightly show to me\n How we may gain that distant land\n That by the rising sun is scann'd,--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Since neither boat is here nor had?\"\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Whereat no word spake Galahad\n But with his hand the sign he made,\n That makes all evil things afraid\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And compasses all good about\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With armour against sin and doubt;\n And straightway with the holy sign\n A white cross in the air did shine\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A second, as for answering;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And then the stream's soft murmuring\n Grew louder to the sweep of waves\n Along the reed-crests and the glaives\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of rushes, and its silver thread\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Into a river's mightihead\n Was stretch'd; and on the stream did float\n The silver wonder of a boat,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Gold-keel'd and fair with silken sails,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Such boat as, in old Eastern tales,\n The genii bring at the command\n Of some enchanter's magic wand.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And on the prow of cymophane--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Translucent as the pearly wane\n Of that fair star that rules the night,\n With an internal glory bright--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The milk-white holy bird did sit\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And spread soft pinions over it,\n That flutter'd with desire of flight.\n \n Therein stepp'd Galahad, Christ's knight;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And after him did Floris come\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At beckoning, wholly dazed and dumb\n With wonders of that wondrous time.\n And as into the stern did climb\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The valiant knight, the soft sweet wind\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That 'mid the blossom'd trees was twined,\n Ceased from its disport in the flowers\n And leafage of those magic bowers,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And with such strong yet gentle stress\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Within the silken sails did press\n Towards the dawning, that the keel\n Slid through the waters blue as steel\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As swiftly as the morning sun\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Shears through the mists when night is done\n And day is golden in the sky.\n And as it through the lymph did fly\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of that enchanted rivulet,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The golden keel to song did fret\n The thronging currents, and the ring\n Of murmurous water-notes did sing\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And ripple in the diamond deeps,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Such music as the West wind sweeps\n From out the harps of Fairyland,\n When elves are met on some sweet strand\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of Broceliaund or Lyonesse,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For revel and for wantonness.\n \n On all sides round them as they went\n The dim grey woods were sad and spent\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With weariness of winter-time,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in the fields the rugged rime\n Held all things in the sleep of death,\n Stern white, and void of living breath;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And with the weary weight of snow\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The laden boughs were bent and low.\n But in their sails a breath there blew\n Of April zephyrs, and there drew\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Unto their course a summer cloud\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With scents of flowers and birdsongs strow'd;\n And echoings of July woods--\n When in the green the bluebell broods--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Were thick and sweet about their way,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And ever round the boat's prow lay\n The scent of grass-swaths newly mown;\n And wildflowers in gold grain and brown\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Waved in the sweet dream-haunted air.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So went they,--while the night was bare\n Of sound or breath to break the sleep\n Of winter,--through the woodlands deep,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And past the well-remember'd plains\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And towns and meadows, where the lanes\n And streets were hush'd with winter-time,--\n And saw no creature on the rime,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Save some stray sheep shut out from fold\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or wolf, that from his forest hold\n Was by hard hunger forced to seek\n Scant prey upon the moorlands bleak.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So ever without cease they sped\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Above that swift sweet river's bed;\n And truly, as the golden morn\n From out the dim grey mists was born\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And all things 'gan to wake from sleep,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0They heard the silver rush and sweep\n Of waves upon a pebbled shore;\n And gliding past the meadows frore,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0They came to where the river's tide\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was fleck'd with foam, and far and wide\n The main, as far as eye could see,\n Slept in a sweet serenity.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Far out to seaward fled their boat,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Across the wild white flowers that float\n And blossom on the azure leas;\n And swiftly as the culver flees\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Among the trees with shadow twined,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0They left the frozen fields behind,\n And saw the spangled foam divide\n The firmament on every side.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The golden calm of summer seas\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was there, and eke the July breeze\n That waves upon the silver foam,\n When in the azure heaven's dome\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The sign of summer-prime is set:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And still no winds opposed they met,\n Nor break of billows in their way;\n But through the dancing ripples' play\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The shallop sped towards the dawn,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As by some starry influence drawn\n Over the ridges of the main\n Unstirr'd and clear. And still the rain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of blossoms fell about the stem,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And still sweet odours breathed on them\n Of rose and jasmine, and the song\n Of birds about the sail was strong.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So over silver seas they went,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And heaven, wide-eyed for wonderment,\n Hung o'er them open blue the while,\n As though all nature were asmile\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To see the lovely way they made:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And ever round the sharp keel play'd\n The fretted lacework of the foam,\n And through the jewell'd deeps did roam\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Great golden fish, and corals red\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Waved in the dim sweet goodlihead\n Of that clear blue; and through the wave\n The shells of many a rich cave\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Were visible, wherein the sea\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Held in a sweet security\n Treasures of pearl and lovely gold,\n That eye of man might ne'er behold\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Until the main should leave its bed;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And over all the deeps was shed\n A glancing play of emerald light,\n So that the unembarrass'd sight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Pierced through the cool sweet mystery\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of folded billows, and the eye\n Was free in shadows jewel-clear.\n Nor was there anything of fear\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For them in lapse of hyaline\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or silver breakers of the brine;\n Nor in the crystals of the air\n Was anything but blithe and fair,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sweet winds and glitter of fair birds,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Whose song was sweeter than sweet words\n Between the pauses of a kiss,\n When lovers meet in equal bliss.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So many a day they sail'd and long,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Lull'd by the breezes' flower-sweet song\n And pipe of jewel-birds that went\n Above them, fair to ravishment;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Until, one morn, athwart the lift\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of blue was visible a rift\n Of purple mountain; and a spire\n Of amethyst rose ever higher\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Into the sapphire firmament.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And drawing nigh, they saw where blent\n Its silver currents with the blue\n Of that bright ocean, blithe to view,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A fair clear river that outpour'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Its waters 'twixt soft green of sward\n And slope of flower-besprinkled banks,\n Where rushes stood in arching ranks,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Tipt with a jewel of fair flower\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As blue as is the morning hour,\n When in the golden prime of May\n The sweet dawn blends into the day.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The swift keel slid between the rows\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of ripples,--as a steed that knows\n The road of some familiar place,--\n And past the bubbled foamy race\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of eddies, through the sapphire cleft\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of that bright pass, and quickly left\n The billows of the sea behind,\n As on that goodly stream the wind\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Did urge it far into the land.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Surely was never kingdom spann'd\n On earth by river such as this,\n Where ever some enchanted bliss\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ran in the ripples, and the stream\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With liquid gold and pearl did seem\n To glitter. There is nought more fair\n Beneath the regions of the air\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Than this same river; nor in all\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Birdnotes is aught more musical\n Than the delight of its clear flow\n Across the pebbles, soft and low.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in the banks were wondrous things,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0All lovely creatures that bear wings;\n And every precious thing of green,\n And flower of gold and jewell'd sheen,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was there in such a perfect shape,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Its essence must full needs escape\n The grasp of my poor minstrelsy.\n The very grass was fair to see\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Beyond the fairest flower of earth;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For with the gold of some new birth\n It burnt, and was aflame with bright\n Sweet gladness. Very flames of light\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The flowers seem'd, zaffiran and blue\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And crystal-clear with wonder-dew.\n It seem'd their scent so heavenly was,\n That into music it must pass\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And soar into a perfumed song.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And as the boat was borne along\n The golden ripples, in its speed\n Dividing many a woven weed,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That with its many-colour'd mesh\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of trailing leaves and flowers did stretch\n And wave upon the waters bright,--\n Sir Floris, with what prayers he might,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That gracious Galahad besought\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That from his lips he might be taught\n What was that river and that realm,\n That all earth's sweets did hide and whelm\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In one etern forgetfulness,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And made all joys that men possess\n Seem poor and naught with the delight\n Of its exceeding lovely might.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And without pausing, Galahad\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To him made answer fair and glad.\n \n \"Fair knight, this land through which we pass,\n About the city of Sarras\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Doth lie; and all the golden plain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Beyond thy vision, for demesne--\n By grace and favour of high Heaven--\n Unto the Holy Town was given,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Where lies in hold the blessed Grail.--\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Before from Paradise did fail\n Adam and Eva for their sin,\n These happy fields and glades within \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The golden gates of Eden were\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wherein was nothing but was fair:\n And this same river of those four\n Was one, that of old times did pour\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Blithe waters over all the plain,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0When life was young and free from stain,\n And angels walk'd upon the earth.\n And (for their flow) came never dearth\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of kindly fruits nor any drought\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of summer-time the place about;\n Nor for the warmth of their clear flood\n Might winter nip the flowery bud\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of the perpetual spring, that rain'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Fresh blossoms there; nor ever waned\n The balms of summer in the air,\n But evermore the place was fair\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With all May-sweets and summer-spells.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And still,-although the cloister'd dells\n Of the lost garden no more stand\n Upon the peace of the fair land,--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Around its precincts, as of old,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A silver stream with sands of gold\n Flows ever, which no foot of man,\n Or eye, without Christ's leave, can span;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of all the four the only one\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That still with murmurous waves doth run\n In the old channel. Very fair\n Its marges are with all things rare;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And over all the land is strown\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thick bdellium and the onyx-stone.\"\n \n And many another wondrous thing\n Unto Sir Floris, listening,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Spake Galahad of that fair land,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That eye of man hath never scann'd,\n Save he have won to Christ His grace.\n And and as he spoke, came on apace\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The tender day, and gilded all\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The ripples; and the golden ball\n Of the sweet sun rose high in heaven;\n And unto every thing was given\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0New ravishment and new delight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of very waking. Fairer sight\n Saw mortal never (nor indeed\n So fair within our earthly need\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Is compass'd) than the morning hour\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That open'd into full sweet flower\n With many a rosy flush and rain\n Of golden sunlight over plain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And mead, and many a tender shade\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Kiss'd into warmth--that in green glade\n Lay waiting for the frolic light--\n And changed to fleecy gold the white\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of dawn-clouds over hill and wold.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0It was so gracious to behold\n The day in that sweet Paradise,\n There is no man with mortal eyes\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Could drink its beauty wholly in,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For dust of care and mirk of sin\n That hide much loveliness from men.\n \n And Floris ever and again\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was dumb with awe of much delight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And wonderment; as with swift flight\n The boat sped through the flowers that shone\n With blazon'd gold and blue upon\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That magic river of a dream,\n He sat and stored the influence\n Of the lush balms within his sense,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And watch'd the ripples all agleam\n With jewels, and the constant smile\n Of the sweet sunlight. And the while\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The songs of his birds co-ordinate\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And zephyrs with a peace so great\n And sweet upon his soul did seize,\n And whiles his spirit had such ease\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In that sweet speech of Galahad,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He needs forgot that aught of sad\n Or dreary in this life is set,\n Or weariness of earthly fret;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And did, without a backward glance,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yield up himself into the trance\n Of that new joy.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So sped they on\n Towards the orient: and anon,--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Whenas the noon was borne along\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The midmost heaven, to the song\n Triumphal of the joyous choir\n Of birds and breezes, ever higher\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Soaring in one sweet antiphon,--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There rose in the sweet sky--upon\n The fair broad hem of woven gold,\n That marged with many a fleecy fold\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The sapphire-chaliced firmament--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A glitter of tall spires, that brent\n With an unearthly radiance;\n And many a jewel-colour'd lance\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of belfry pierced the golden air\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0On the horizon: and there bare\n The wind to them a strain of song\n Ineffable, the stream along--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Faint for great distance--that for joy\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And triumph over earth's annoy\n With such a rapturous sweetness smote\n On Floris, he could neither note\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The kingdom's varied loveliness\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor the sweet antiphonal stress\n Of winds and birds and rivulet,\n But it alone could hear, nor let\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Himself from striving up to it;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For with its melody was knit\n About his soul an influence\n So strong, it seem'd his every sense\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Must press towards it. And at last,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For ecstasy he would have cast\n Himself headlong into the stream,\n That therewithal, as he did deem,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He might the swiftlier win toward\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That wondrous singing and the ward\n Of that bright town miraculous.\n But Galahad the good knight was \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Mindful of him, and by his arm\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Withholding him therefrom, did charm\n His soul with such sweet words, that he\n Must for a while contented be\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To wait the progress of the boat,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That very speedily did float,\n God wot, across the ripples' race,\n To where the turrets of the place\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Were clear.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And so they came at last\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To where the running river pass'd\n From the long lapse of pleasant wood\n And meadow with enchantments strew'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of flowers and sun-gold, and were ware\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of the bright town that all the air\n With towers and pinnacles did fill,\n Set on the slope of a soft hill,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That in the sun wore one clear hue\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of purple blending into blue,\n Most like a great sweet amethyst.\n \n And now the gunwale softly kiss'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The golden shore; and, thick with gem\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And coral, round the entering stem\n Was wrinkled up the glittering sand.\n Then Galahad upon the strand\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Stepp'd lightly out; and as his feet\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon the grain\u00e8d gold did meet\n Of the rich shingle, there was borne\n To them the noise of a blown horn,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That was as if a warder blew\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To challenge, from some tower of view\n Within the amber-gated town;\n Wherefrom to them it floated down\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And fill'd the air with echoings\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So sweet, there is no bird that sings\n Could find such music in his throat\n Melodious. And as the note\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of welcome swell'd and waned around\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The hollows of the hills,--unwound\n From his mail'd breast Sir Galahad\n A silver horn he thereon had\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In its white baldrick, and therein\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Breathing, its hollow bell did win\n Unto so sweet an answering blast,\n It seem'd to Floris that at last\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He heard the trumps angelical.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then at the silver clarion's call\n The beryl gates were open'd wide\n Of the fair town; and on the side\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of the soft hill there was to them\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Made visible--upon the hem\n Of woven grass with blue-bells strew'd\n And asphodels--a multitude\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of holy knights, that down the sward\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In a bright painted pageant pour'd,\n With many a waving pennoncel\n Of gold and azure; and the swell\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of clarions, co-ordinate\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To mystic harmonies, did wait,\n With cadences most grave and sweet,\n Upon the rhythm of their feet.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So goodly were they of asp\u00e8ct\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in such pictured raiment deck'd\n Of say and samite, there is none,\n Minstrel or bard, beneath the sun,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That could have sung of their array\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As it befits to sing it,--nay\n Not even he who many a day\n In F\u00e4erie enchanted lay\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And learnt full many a year and long\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The cadences of elfin song,\n True Thomas; nor that couthliest wight\n In gramarye, that Merlin hight.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Full bright their arms and lucent were\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And of a sheen so wonder-fair,\n The sun seem'd of a nobler kind\n To glitter, when his beamings shined\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon the silver-mirror'd mail.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And at the sight of them did fail\n Sir Floris' courage, that till now\n Had never seen thing high enow\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To give him pause; for there did come\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So strange a fear on him, that dumb\n And cold he grew, and haply might\n Have swoon'd away for sheer affright\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of wonder and great reverence\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That lay upon his every sense.\n Indeed, awhile the blood did leave\n Its courses and great awe did weave\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Strange terrors in him; and with pain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And fear despiteous, he was fain\n To hide his visage from the might\n Of that much brightness.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then that knight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sir Galahad laid hands on him,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And quickly freed him from the grim\n Sad grasp of that unreal fear,\n And bade him that of right good cheer\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He should become, for knighthood's sake,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And for his honour comfort take\n And new stout heart, for shame it was\n And despite, one so valorous\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And bold in arms should faint and fail,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Where he most surely should prevail,\n 'Midst those that now his comrades were\n And fellow-knights: and with much fair\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Discourse did win him from affright.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So that at last he dared the sight\n Of those fair knights, and saw they gazed\n Right courteously on him and praised\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His hard-won victory. So he took\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0New heart, and with assur\u00e8d look\n Leapt out upon the jewell'd sand:\n And as the twain were come to land,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From those knights all so sweet a sound\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of songful greeting did resound,\n The blue of heaven could never tire\n Of answering; and from many a lyre\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And cithern the alternate joy\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of harpings join'd in sweet alloy\n Its silver with that golden song.\n \n So Floris was among that throng\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of knights received, with many a kiss\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And glad embracement: nor, I wis,\n Fail'd Galahad that he should name\n Each knight that to the greeting came.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To him was Titurel made known,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And Percivale, to whom was shown--\n With Bors--such grace of God most high,\n By reason of much purity,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That they alone with Galahad\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon the earthly questing had\n The blessed vision of the Grail:\n Nor Lohengrin to him did fail;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And may another noble knight\n Of fabled prowess and approved\n In gentilesse and all Christ loved,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Did there rejoice him with his sight.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So, for the meed of his good fight,\n Into the wonder-town they bare\n Sir Floris,--wherein many a rare\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Delight to him appointed was.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Bright was the place and glorious\n With glory of the abiding love\n Of God and Christ, that is above\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0All splendours marvellous and fair;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And luminous its ramparts were\n With pearls and rubies constellate\n And diamonds into such state\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And harmony as, save in heaven,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Unto no place or thing is given\n To wear or look on: such a blaze\n Of joy was there, without amaze;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For all was gracious and sweet\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With Christ His grace. The very feet\n That fell upon the jewell'd stones\n Compell'd them to such silver tones\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of music, and the ruffled air\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was stirr'd to harmonies so fair,\n And, for mere passage through the place,\n Was won to such a subtle grace\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of perfume, that therein to be\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And move, was one long ecstasy:\n And there the dole of earth and stress\n Of hope unfill'd and weariness\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was purged, and life was one delight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of perfect function, by the might\n Unfailing of the doubtless soul;\n And every act and thought was whole\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In strifeless \u00e0ccord. If one spoke,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The hinder'd voice no longer broke\n Into harsh sadness, spent and wried\n With weary effort, but did glide\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Into an unconstrain'd consent\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of harmony and ravishment\n Unstressful; and the every geste\n Was with like subtle grace possess'd,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And every faculty was cast\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In symmetry, what time one pass'd\n The portals of the place, and heard\n The echoes of his feet that stirr'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The holy quiet.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So the spell\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of the charm'd place on Floris fell\n Transfiguringly, as the wide\n Gold-trellised leaves on either side\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Swung back for him: there came a change\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon his senses, and a strange\n Sweet ease of life, as if the soul,\n Way-worn and rusted with the dole\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And fret of earth, were softly riven\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From him, and its stead were given\n To him a new and perfect one,\n In a whole body as the sun\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Lucent, and worthy for the seat\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of the fair spirit.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Up the street\n Gold-paven and with chrysolite\n And jacinth marged, they brought the knight,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Past many a goodly hostelry\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And many a dwelling fair to see,\n Unto a portal sculptured all\n With handiwork angelical,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In stories of the love of Christ,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And all the time it hath sufficed\n To win sad living to much ease;--\n And passing through with harmonies\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of choral song, they came unto\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A vaulted courtyard, stretching through\n A cloister'd vista to fair halls\n Of alabaster, where the walls\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With many a colour'd crystal shone\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of jewell'd casement; and thereon\n The questing of the Holy Grail,\n In many a wonder-lovely tale,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was with bright gold and wonderment\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of colour'd jewel-fretwork blent\n To harmony, depictur\u00e8d.\n And there, in truth, Sir Floris read,--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Beside much other venturing,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And many another goodly thing\n Achieved in service of the Lord,--\n The fight that he with his good sword\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Had in the wonder-garden fought.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor, therewithal, was missing aught\n Of all that did that night befall\n Unto him: but upon the wall\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was in bright colours pictured forth\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The tale of all his knightly worth\n And service.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Little strange it is\n If much he wonder'd was at this,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And could for wonder scarce believe\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His eyes, that any should achieve\n So vast a work and of such grace\n And splendour in so scant a space\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of time. But Lohengrin besought\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Him very fairly that of nought\n He saw he should be wonder\u00e8d,\n Nor any venture have in dread;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Since that to that high Lord, that there\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Did reign, all wonders easy were\n And wonderless; nor of His grace\n Was anything in all that place\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That might avail for any fear\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or doubt, but rather to give cheer\n And love and confidence was fit,\n So sweet a peace did dwell in it\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of amity and holiness.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then with slow feet they did address\n Their further steps,--by a long aisle\n Of cloister'd pearl, wherethrough the smile\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of sunlight filter'd lingeringly\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And lay in one sweet soften'd sea\n Of gold upon the silver mail,--\n Towards the temple of the Grail.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in a vestibule, that was\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thereto adjacent, did they pause\n And in fair garments clad the knight,\n With silver radiant and white.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And then into an armoury\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0They led him, very fair to see\n With noble weapons, all arow\n Against the wainscot. There a snow\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of plumes upon his crest they bound,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And from the swords that hung around\n A goodly blade was given him,\n That to the sound of many a hymn\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And many a golden litany,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Had in the glorious armoury\n Of highest heaven forg\u00e8d been:\n So trenchant was it and so keen,--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Being in celestial fires assay'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in strange dews of heaven made\n Attemper'd,--there might none withstand\n The thunderstroke of that good brand,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Except his bosom armour'd were\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With equal virtue. Then the fair\n Graven presentment of a dove\n With eyes of gold ws set above\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His helm,--most like the fowl that brought\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Him to the garden where he wrought\n Such deeds of arms; and on the field\n Coerulean of his virgin shield\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There was a like resemblant set,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That men might know him, when they met\n In sharp sword-play or battle-throng.\n \n Then, with a ripple of sweet song,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The golden doors were backward roll'd,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That in sweet mystery did fold\n The holy place; and Floris came\n Into a hall, where with a flame\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of jewell'd light the air was gilt;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And therewithin the walls were built\n Of that clear sapphire jewelry \n That can in nowise elsewhere be\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Save for the pavement of the sky\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And for the throne of God most high.\n And under foot the floor was bright\n With one clear topaz, as the light\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of the sweet sun in hue. Above\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There was y-sprad a flower-bell roof\n Of that sweet colour of deep blue\n One in the spring may chance to view,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0When in the golden-threaded moss\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The deep wood-dells are odorous\n With violets and the cluster'd bells\n Of bee-loved hyacinths, or else\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The deep clear colours pers and inde\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of wild-flowers in the gold corn twined\n With many a tassel of bright blue,\n When summer in the skies is new.--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in the bell were golden lights,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Most like the tender eye-delights\n Of the gold kingcups in the green,\n That in quaint wise were set between\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The fretted azure of the dome.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And therethrough did meteors roam,\n As 'twere in truth the very heaven,\n And the sweet symbols of the seven\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Great angels that do rule the skies\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Where therein jewell'd. In such wise\n The varied lights were mixt and blent\n With those that heavenward were sent\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From walls and pavement,--all the air\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was with that lightsomeness most fair\n And tender fill'd, that in the May\n Is weft about the sweet young day,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0When whiles it seems the sky is dight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With one great primrose of soft light,\n Most pure and tender. On the ground\n There stood fair statues all around,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Deep-set in woven flowers and green\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of lavish leafage, stretch'd between\n Tall carven pillars of that bright\n Jewel that chrysoberyl hight,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And many another precious stone.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor there were images alone\n Of holy things, as one might deem;\n But eke full many a lovely dream\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of tender love and constancy\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was in clear gold and ivory\n With loving hand made manifest.\n For there was nothing there confess'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of sin or wantonness in love,--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As ancient doctors teach, that prove\n All pleasant things that are, to be\n Unloved of God. And verily\n Sir Floris wonder'd there to see\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The histories that makers tell\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of Parisate and Floridelle,\n The tale of Tristan and Ysolde,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of Lancelot and Guenevere,\n And many another tale of old,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That men on earth do dully lere\n That we should count accurst and ill:\n But there depictured were they still,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In very piteous fashion told;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And on the wall in words of gold\n Was writ this legend, \"Quiconque aime\n Complait a Dieu en pechi\u00e9 mesme.\" \n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And while Sir Floris stood and gazed\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon the statues,--much amazed\n At all that he did hear and see\n Within the temple,--suddenly\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There was a fluted singing heard,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As of some wonder-lovely bird.\n And then one took him by the hand,\n And led him where a gold screen spann'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The topaz paved work of the floor.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then was he ware of a high door,\n That with much wonderwork of gold\n And unknown metals was enscroll'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In many a trellis of fair flowers\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And fronds enough fair for the bowers\n Of Paradise; and in the leaves\n There sat a bird, that was as sheaves\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of ripen'd corn in hue, and sang--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That therewithal the temple rang--\n Of unknown glories of the May,\n Therein where life is one long day\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of spring and never change is there,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor any sadness in the air.\n And as he sang, the golden gate\n Swung open slowly, and the great\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sweet hollow of a pure white pearl\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Lay clear behind that golden merle,\n Into a chamber fashion\u00e8d.\n \n There was an altar built and spread\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With tapestry of silver white,\n Woven with lilies; and thereon\n Was set a chalice, out of one\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Great emerald moulded,--with samite,\n The colour of the heart's best blood,\n Enshrouded; and thereover stood\n A great white cross and fill'd the air\n With living radiance, as it were\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A sculptured work of very light.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then with the wonder of the sight\n Was Floris fill'd; and for great awe\n And reverence of all he saw\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Within the pearl, straightway he fell\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon his knees. But Titurel\n With counsel very fair and wise\n Required of him that he should rise\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From off the ground and without fear\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Unto the altar should draw near\n And for an offering thereon\n Should lay those blossoms he had won\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In parlous fight, and much duresse,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That of their blended goodliness\n And eke their perfume's ravishment,\n There might a sacrifice be sent,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To God and Christ acceptable.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And now a wondrous thing befell,\n (God grant us all the like to see);\n For as Sir Floris reverently\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon the silver cloth did lay\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The holy flowers (that, sooth to say\n Were bright of bloom and sweet of scent,\n Unfaded, as when first they sprent\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The greensward) and withdrawing thence\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A little space, in reverence\n The issue did await,--there came\n A hand all shapen out of flame,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And from the emerald of the cup\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The crimson samite lifted up;\n And as this thing was done, there fell--\n As 'twere from out the midmost bell--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A light that through the emerald sped\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And mingled with the holy bread;\n And with the light, came one that pass'd\n Thought-swift athwart the air and cast\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Himself into the cup,--as 'twere\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The angel of a child,--most fair\n And awful. Wherewithal thereout\n There went a fire the place about,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And fill'd the temple with its breath,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wherein was neither hurt nor death;\n But of its contact there were given\n To Floris very balms of heaven\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For consecration; and to eat\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There was vouchsafed him food so sweet\n And goodly such as no man knows.\n \n Then from the chaliced gem there rose\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The semblance of a face, that was\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With such a splendour glorious\n And awful--and withal as mild\n And tender as a little child--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There is no bard can sing of it\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As it befitteth, save he sit\n (And hardly then) among the choirs,\n That to the throb of golden lyres\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Do praise God ever night and day\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With music such as no man may.--\n There is but one of woman born\n By whom such aspect can be worn\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of perfect love and perfect awe\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Commingled.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And when Floris saw\n The glory of the eyes, and knew\n The holy love, that like a dew\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From out their radiant deeps was shed\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon his soul,--for very dread\n Of ravishment he could not gaze\n Upon their light, but with amaze\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And wonderment of joy was fain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Down to the earth to bend again\n His face: but ere he ceased to see\n The vision, of a surety\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0It was made known to him (although\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He wist not how he came to know)\n That heavenly face no other's was\n Than that same Lord's who erst did pass\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Before his vision in the green\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of the fair garden, all beseen\n With glittering hair.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then as he knelt,\n Unseeing, suddenly he felt\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon his mouth a burning kiss,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That with such sharp unearthly bliss\n His soul did kindle into flame\n Of ravishment, the wayworn frame\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Could not for frailty sustain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The rapturous ecstatic pain\n Of that strange joyance, nor the spright\n Embodied, 'gainst the fierce delight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Endure of that unearthly boon;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And so for bliss he fell aswoon,\n And heard therein a great sweet voice,\n That bade him fear not, but rejoice,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For Christ the Lord his lips had kiss'd;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And therewithal the Eucharist\n Was borne into his mouth, with sound\n Of harps angelic all around\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Soft-smitten; nor therefore did break\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His charm\u00e8d sleep.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then did one speak\n To him as in the trance he lay,\n And with a murmurous voice did say,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That for the service of that Lord, \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To whom was sacred now his sword,\n It was ordain'd that for a space\n He should return unto his place\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon the earth, and in all things\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That life on earth to mortals brings,\n Should for his Master's honour strive,\n Until the order'd time arrive\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0When God should set him free from soil\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And weariness of earthly toil.\n And there was given him a sign\n When it should please the Lord Divine\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To make His will beneficent\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Patent to him,--there should be sent,\n Twice more before the period set\n For his release from earthly fret,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To him the self-same silver dove,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The holy symbol of the love\n Of Christ and of His chivalry.\n And it was told him that when he\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of the white messenger had wit, \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He should leave all and follow it:\n For when it should of him be seen\n Anew, as it of late had been,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He should be ware that God had need\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of him elsewhere--in very deed--\n Upon the earth, and will'd essay\n His service yet within the way\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of living: but what time he heard \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The thrice-said summons, and the bird\n Miraculous unto him came\n A third time, in the holy name,--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He should, in following, be freed\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From toil and labour and the need\n And weariness of day and night,\n And from the knowledge and the sight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of men be ravish'd, to abide\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In that fair town beatified,\n And serve the Grail, till it seem'd fit\n Unto the Lord that he should sit\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Among the blest in Paradise\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And praise Him ever.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In this wise\n It seem'd to Floris that one spoke\n To him with soft sweet speech, that broke\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His slumber not, as he did lie\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In that long swoon; and, suddenly,\n The murmur of the speech forsook\n His hearing wholly; nor with look\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or ears awhile was anything\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Apparent to him, that could bring\n The wonders of the holy town\n Back to his senses; but the brown\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And fleecy-plumaged wings of sleep\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Inclosed him wholly. In a deep\n And senseless dream awhile he lay,\n Until it seem'd to him the gray\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of night that compass'd him about\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was by a radiance from without\n Transmicate, and the fluted song\n Of the gold merle again was strong\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon his hearing. Then the dim\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Gray webs of slumber were from him\n Unfolded slowly, and there burst\n A golden light on him. At first\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The drowsy cumber on his eyes\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Allow'd him not to recognize\n The place wherein he was, nor know\n Wherefrom the amber-colour'd glow\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of light was borne: but speedily\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He was aware that he did lie\n Upon his bed, and through the fold\n Of silken tapestries the gold\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of the young sun upon his face\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was shed; and past the window-space,\n Without the casement, could he see,--\n Snow-pure against brown stem and tree,--\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The charm\u00e8d flowerage of that thorn\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That ever on the Christmas morn\n Is--for a memory and delight\n Of the Lord's birth--with blossoms white\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Transfigurate. And on a spray\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There sat a mavis brown and grey,\n That sang as if his heart were shed\n Into his minstrelsy and fled\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0On wings of music heavenward,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A sacrifice of song outpour'd\n To God most high.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Awhile it seem'd\n To Floris he had surely dream'd\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The coming of the dove to him\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And all his strife against the grim\n Fierce beasts, and all the after-bliss\n And wonderment, and Christ His kiss.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But looking closelier, he was ware\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At bed-head of his helm that bare\n A silver dove with eyes of gold,\n That on the crest did sit and fold\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0White wings above it; and he knew\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The holy semblant on the blue\n Of his fair shield, and eke the blade\n Celestial, by his harness laid\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Naked at bedfood. So the doubt\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was from his spirit blotted out;\n And he was surely certified\n That verily he did abide\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That wondrous venture, and had known\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Awhile the glories that alone\n For those that many a toil have dared\n In Christ His service, are prepared\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Within the city of the Grail,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wherein is neither pain nor wail,\n But ever holiness and peace\n And ravishment without surcease,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In very perfectness of rest.\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0* * * *\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So hath Sir Floris found his quest;\n And so the tale is told and done,\n Of how, before life's rest was won,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The first time unto Floris came\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The holy dove, in Lord Christ's name.\n \n Christmas, 1868 \n \n \n \n Next: Sir Hornbook; or, Childe Lancelot's Expedition, A Grammatico-Allegorical Ballad, by Thomas Love Peacock [1814]","title":"Arthurian Miscellany: The Romaunt of Sir Floris, by John Payne [1870]","type":"page"}