But Peredur remained,-- For, to be near her and to do for her Was all his happiness,--until the land Acknowledged her with all obedience. Her rights established, what more now remained To lend excuse unto his long delay?-- And so he went to her, and led her from Amid her maidens, and bespoke her how "He would ride hence and would but say farewell."
A while she gazed at him. And when she spoke The springs of tears seemed starting in her throat, Crystal and quivering. But with steady gaze, "Dost thou, my knight, desire then to go? Methought that thou wouldst tarry yet a while.-- A little while.--Well hast thou fought for me."
A moment was he silent; turning then, Ground iron strides along the lofty hall, And so returned with iron strides and said: "Ay, by my God! Who knows I have not fought _For_ thee but still _against_ thee. 'Tis my curse, To love thee, love thee, love thee all these years!-- I came not here to woo. Thou wouldst but laugh.-- Haply thou hast forgotten me--thou hast!-- Yea, hast forgotten, aye long, long ago, That son of Evrawc, Evrawc of the North, Who wooed thee once!... Hast memory of him yet?... Look in his eyes once more and say farewell."
"My soul, my soul!" she said; "O my true soul! This shall not be, my soul!"--He heard her low Voice pleading softly, and, deep in his heart, New life leapt up, and sang in every pulse, "She loves me! yea, she loves me!"--And it seemed He heard her as men hear the voice of hope Upon despair's black brink; and see one star Bloom, like a lily with a heart of fire Throbbing within it, slowly out of night. Each syllable the petal of a flower, A rose of music, welcome as the star, The first the eve gives silvery utterance to; Or as the firstling bud, the wildwood rose, Dropped from the rosy lips of laughing Spring:-- "I have remembered. Think'st thou I have not?-- O son of Evrawc, thou who couldst not see, 'Neath bells of folly and a merry mask, A girl's dear secret through her tinsel acts.-- Or was _thy_ love but fancy?--Ah, too soon, I heard the vapid ending of a tale Coquetry had begun for other end.-- But, if thou wilt, we can resume the tale; The beautiful story of true love.--Tell on! Tell on, my heart! Or have we reached the end? And is it wedlock?--Both were wrong. The one: Because his love was blind, impetuous, Nor saw the love that would have proved 'twas love, Not lust, before surrender. The other: that She sought for wisdom in the frivolous, And so made falsehood of her dearest truth, Deceived more than deceiving.--Wilt thou go?"