Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/155

 Through these wild lands his prisoner; and if now I lose her, and my prayer be vain, and thou Less fain to serve love's servants than of yore, Then surely shall I see her face no more. But if thou wilt, for love's sake of the bride Who lay most loved of women at thy side, Strike with me, straight then hence behoves us ride And rest between the moorside and the sea Where we may smite them passing: but for me, Poor stranger, me not worthy scarce to touch Thy kind strong hand, how shouldst thou do so much? For now lone left this long time waits thy wife And lacks her lord and light of wedded life Whilst thou far off art famous: yet thy fame, If thou take pity on me that bear thy name Unworthily, but by that name implore Thy grace, how shall not even thy fame grow more? But be thy will as God's among us done, Who art far in fame above us as the sun: Yet only of him have all men help and grace.' And all the lordly light of Tristram's face Was softened as the sun's in kindly spring. 'Nay, then may God send me as evil a thing When I give ear not to such prayers,' he said, 'And make my place among the nameless dead When I put back one hour the time to smite And do the unrighteous griefs of good men right. Behold, I will not enter in nor rest Here in mine own halls till this piteous quest Find end ere noon to-morrow: but do thou, Whose sister's face I may not look on now,