A knight of fame was riding on the shore,
Bent low as one by holy love betrayed;
His horse, death's kinsmen, fine and prone to war,
Half dragging him through lands where both had served,
Till, from the dunes it seemed a quiet maid,
Of rarest beauty, towards him softly swerved.
She, by those looks, came slowly drawing near,
With love as pure as death and strong as fear.
A blood-like star, careering fast and wide,
Is seen to dash within the shepherd ’s field.
A cave illumes, where Gareth's former bride
Is chained, and where no sunlight e'er had kissed,
For who walked there, his nerves and stomach reeled;
As at its
edge there lay a ghostly mist,
Like spirits hovering round a sunken tomb,
To tempt young Gareth onward to his doom.
In vain all thoughts of death his mind assailed,
And still more vain the taunts of faithless youth,
In whom no faith nor fear of God prevailed.
But stronger far the man who sternly draws
His sword against the raging lion’s thews,
Who seeks no more, nor toys with other laws
Than those which spring from love and holiness;
For such confers a sure and steady rest.
The mouth, or jaws, of this wide cave was set
As on a stage, with wind-blown curtains spread,
Where snow-in-summer, phlox and ivy met,
Clothing the
dark with vivid brilliancy,
As beauty, seeking honor from the dead,
Stands
appareled for all to love and see.
Soft a prayer falls from his honest lips;
His sword,
with cautious hand, he fastly grips.
Gareth draws near: there comes a wizard glow,
And from
above, an oily liquid falls,
Which stains his vibrant armor, once as snow,
“By all that’s
good!” he cries, “this place is vile,”
But onward still he walks the haunted halls,
Spanning what
felt a long and weary mile.
A man appears – a lad, though gaunt and gray;
He speaks, but
as one dead for many a day.
“Why comest thou,” said he, “ o thrice blest
knight,
“Hast thou grown sad and weary of thy youth?”
“No sir, but in a dream intensely bright
“I did perceive a girl who once I loved -
“I sin if I tell not the utter truth –
“Crying in the too tempestuous night,
“Unavenged by all who near hath roved,
“And seems for scorn of death men dare not go.”
“Then draw thy sword!” thus spoke the man of wrath,
“For though whole armies sheathed in metal sought
“To purchase fame on this accursed path,
“There are, in truth, a few who might endure.
“If it’s your wish to stand among their lot,
“We’ll see if thou art strong as thou art pure,”
Their blades were crossed, and as the sparks shot out,
With heart afire, the knight began to doubt.
But still pursues the dark and twisted game,
The burn of
wounds afresh and rising flame.
He tires not, but like a love-lost king
Thus finding all is vain and shadow-born
If his dear bride would for another sing,
He calls to
her; and like the sun at morn,
Unviewed on the horizon, she appears,
Not
a jot depicted of her former fears.
His heart, his courage rises, and the force
Of his great
strength is by her image built
Into a fort that waxes ever worse.
The lights
within his eyes are holy fires;
So quick his hand he knows not what transpires.
The caitiff knight he pierces to the hilt:
With this departs his cruel and vast desires,
And lying
prone, the vanquished brigand sighs –
The light expires, and without hope he dies.
In soft embrace, and longing to be free,
With carmine
lips the trembling maid requests
To be led forth – her brave knight’s face to see,
Which granting
her, she low and softly cries,
“Oh, God, there is an evil in man’s breast!”
“Then turn,”
says he, “And look into my eyes.”
Like ash leaves strewn across a windy stream
He kisses her,
and there beholds his dream.
