Now ye shall know that the old chronicle, Wherein I read all this, doth duly tell Of all the gallant deeds that Ogier did, There may ye read them; nor let me be chid If I therefore say little of these things, Because the thought of Avallon still clings Unto my heart, and scarcely can I bear To think of that long, dragging, useless year, Through which, with dulled and glimmering memory, Ogier was grown content to live and die Like other men; but this I have to say, That in the council chamber on that day The Old Knight showed his wisdom well enow, While fainter still with love the Queen did grow Hearing his words, beholding his grey eyes Flashing with fire of warlike memories; Yea, at the last he seemed so wise indeed That she could give him now the charge, to lead One wing of the great army that set out From Paris' gates, midst many a wavering shout, Midst trembling prayers, and unchecked wails and tears, And slender hopes and unresisted fears.
Now ere he went, upon his bed he lay, Newly awakened at the dawn of day, Gathering perplexéd thoughts of many a thing, When, midst the carol that the birds did sing Unto the coming of the hopeful sun, He heard a sudden lovesome song begun 'Twixt two young voices in the garden green, That seemed indeed the farewell of the Queen.
_In the white-flowered hawthorn brake,_ _Love, be merry for my sake;_ _Twine the blossoms in my hair,_ _Kiss me where I am most fair--_ _Kiss me, love! for who knoweth_ _What thing cometh after death?_
_Nay, the garlanded gold hair_ _Hides thee where thou art most fair;_ _Hides the rose-tinged hills of snow--_ _Ah, sweet love, I have thee now!_ _Kiss me, love! for who knoweth_ _What thing cometh after death?_
_Shall we weep for a dead day,_ _Or set Sorrow in our way?_ _Hidden by my golden hair,_ _Wilt thou weep that sweet days wear?_ _Kiss me, love! for who knoweth_ _What thing cometh after death?_
_Weep, O Love, the days that flit,_ _Now, while I can feel thy breath,_ _Then may I remember it_ _Sad and old, and near my death._ _Kiss me, love! for who knoweth_ _What thing cometh after death?_
Soothed by the pleasure that the music brought And sweet desire, and vague and dreamy thought Of happiness it seemed to promise him, He lay and listened till his eyes grew dim, And o'er him 'gan forgetfulness to creep Till in the growing light he lay asleep, Nor woke until the clanging trumpet-blast Had summoned him all thought away to cast: Yet one more joy of love indeed he had Ere with the battle's noise he was made glad; For, as on that May morning forth they rode And passed before the Queen's most fair abode, There at a window was she waiting them In fair attire with gold in every hem, And as the Ancient Knight beneath her passed A wreath of flowering white-thorn down she cast, And looked farewell to him, and forth he set Thinking of all the pleasure he should get From love and war, forgetting Avallon And all that lovely life so lightly won; Yea, now indeed the earthly life o'erpast Ere on the loadstone rock his ship was cast Was waxing dim, nor yet at all he learned To 'scape the fire that erst his heart had burned. And he forgat his deeds, forgat his fame, Forgat the letters of his ancient name As one waked fully shall forget a dream, That once to him a wondrous tale did seem.