Page:A Legend of Camelot, Pictures and Poems, etc. George du Maurier, 1898.djvu/17



ALL Braunighrindas left her bed

At cock-crow with an aching head.

"I yearn to suffer and to do,"

She cried, "ere sunset, something new!

To do and suffer, ere I die,

I care not what. I know not why.

Some quest I crave to undertake,

Or burden bear, or trouble make."

She shook her hair about her form

In waves of colour bright and warm.

It rolled and writhed, and reached the floor:

A silver wedding-ring she wore.

She left her tower, and wandered down

Into the High Street of the town.

Her pale feet glimmered, in and out,

Like tombstones as she went about.

From right to left, and left to right;

And blue veins streakt her insteps white;

And folks did ask her in the street

"How fared it with her long pale feet?"

And blinkt, as though 'twere hard to bear

The red-heat of her blazing hair!

Sir Galahad and Sir Launcelot

Came hand-in-hand down Camelot;

Sir Gauwaine followed close behind;

A weight hung heavy on his mind.

"Who knows this damsel, burning bright,"

Quoth Launcelot, "like a northern light"?

Quoth Sir Gauwaine: "I know her not!"

"Who quoth you did?" quoth Launcelot.

"'Tis Braunighrindas!" quoth Sir Bors.

(Just then returning from the wars.)

Then quoth the pure Sir Galahad:

"She seems, methinks, but lightly clad!

The winds blow somewhat chill to-day.

Moreover, what would Arthur say!"

She thrust her chin towards Galahad

Full many an inch beyond her head. . ..

But when she noted Sir Gauwaine

She wept, and drew it in again!

She wept: "How beautiful am I!"

He shook the poplars with a sigh.

Sir Launcelot was standing near;

Him kist he thrice behind the ear.

"Ah me!" sighed Launcelot where he stood,

"I cannot fathom it!" . . . (who could?)

Hard by his wares a weaver wove,

And weaving with a will, he throve;

Him beckoned Galahad, and said,—

"Gaunt Braunighrindas wants your aid . ..

Behold the wild growth from her nape!

Good weaver, weave it into shape!"

The weaver straightway to his loom

Did lead her, whilst the knights made room;

And wove her locks, both web and woof,

And made them wind and waterproof;

Then with his shears he opened wide

An arm-hole neat on either side,

And bound her with his handkerchief

Right round the middle like a sheaf.

"Are you content, knight?" quoth Sir Bors

To Galahad; quoth he, "Of course!"

"Ah, me! those locks," quoth Sir Gauwaine,

"Will never know the comb again!"

The bold Sir Launcelot quoth he nought;

So (haply) all the more he thought.

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