Page:Once a Week Volume 5.djvu/20

10 Close to his face he felt her tangled hair In snake-like folds twining around his neck, While wan as wintry dawn did seem his face. Then, when a hollow gust swept down the gorge, Moaning and mocking like a thing of sin, In melancholy mood she crept to him, And hid her cold face close to his, and looked Into his wildered eyes, and clung to him And "Arthur!" cried, and all the mountain sides Echoed "Arthur!" Then when calmer grown, Because the storm was passed and it was light, She murmured "Not far off my land doth lie— Soft lawns, cool streams, and woodlands wondrous. Come, prithee, sweet, and let us leave this place." So ever on they went, until they came To a rare valley nestled 'mid the hills Like a sweet thought within a lover's heart; Wherein there was a little wood all filled With choicest scents and most delicious sounds, Which the sad clouds withdrew far off to hear; While full of love the tender moon came forth. "All this is mine, and may be thine," said she.

To which the king, a melancholy man: "Is this thy father's castle? Where are they, Thy brethren seven and thy sad sisters three? For whose dear sakes, and thine, and to add fame Unto my name and to the Table Round, Hither came I, led by thy guileful tongue. This is no earthly place: these sights and sounds Are most unholy; prithee, lead me forth And leave me to myself, and let me go To my brave knights and to my Guinevere!"

And even as he spoke this well-loved name His mind ran back unto the happy day When all the land was filled with holy joy Because he called his Guinevere "Dear wife!" But when he cast his eyes upon the ground And they met hers which passionately uplooked, A sickly sadness came and stayed with him.

Which seeing, she with anxious tone outspoke: "Now, good sir knight, I trow thou art not pleased. And wherefore? For these woods have sights to please. And all of them are mine; say what thou wilt. Should'st thou be merry?—then in truth no lack Of food for merriment shall here be found. And why not merry? I am never sad. Who most have cause to be; for now, alas! I see thou lov'st me not." To which the king: "Woman with flame-like hair and lustful eyes, Thy pretty syllables and dainty smiles, Nought heed I; for I know now who thou art. Not many moons have spent their mellow strength Since by such arts as thine was Merlin trapped; But, know thou that I am not one of those Whose passions are their masters, not their serfs; Soft arms and speechful eyes and rosy lips I hold as nothing; therefore let me go!" To which the guileful damsel, creeping close, And twining both her arms about his neck, And hiding his still face amid her hair. And pressing her hot lips upon his lips, With many a tearful start, replied, and said: "Some there are who are sad, and, yet, therein Find greater pleasure than in all their joys. So be it, sweet, with you when you are sad. And wherefore sad? Answer, ye moonlit woods! O sweet! for thou art sweeter than the dawn, Sweeter than violets by south winds kissed. Sweeter than coo of doves when love is young, Or than the moon when she is in her prime. I love thee! For it fell upon a day That coming up to Camelot at the jousts (When deeds of daring thick as daisies were) I saw thee with thy true and goodly knights. And then I swore that I would make thee mine Ere the young moon had burnt herself away."

While this she said, behold the mellow moon Grew wan and wanner; and the happy stars Slid from the sky like smiles from some fair face; All unattended came the simple dawn; The forest was astir with many sounds— Birds, brooks, and fairy footfalls everywhere, And gleeful laughter only half suppressed; Then high in heaven a lark sang sadly shrill, Like a lost spirit in a world of woe.

Then he: "If good things in this place there be, Or in the heavens above, or earth below. Who have of knighthood charge, I pray their aid." Thereat she smiled a weird and hollow smile. And put her lips close to his clammy brow. And strove to comfort him with honeyed words.

To which the king: "Thy tender voice I hear Sounding like whispers from the underworld; Thy eyes of flame my weary senses pierce; Thy snake-like tresses coil around my neck; Upon my parched lips hot kisses fall; And soft arms fold me in a fond embrace:— But not thy gleeful words, thy eyes of flame, Nor tangled hair which coils around my neck, Nor kisses hot, nor arms which fondly twine, Can make me break mine all-accustomed vows; For I am cold as stone, and cannot melt Before the white heat of a woman's love.

And thou wilt give me all these wondrous woods, And make me lord of many tables round! O wily snakes, that show your speckled sides, Ye are not wily as a woman's tongue! Take off thy lips, they seem as hot as flame, And when they fall upon my haggard face Do hiss like sparks that fall into a pool.

Come forth, O sun! and cheer me, or I faint.