He answered, slow, then short, With labored breathing: "I?--one, Accolon,-- Of Gaul--a knight of Arthur's court--anon-- But to what end--yea, tell me--am I slain?"-- Then bent King Arthur nearer and again Drew back: then, anguish in his utterance, sighed: "One of my Table!"--Then asked softly, "Say, Whence hadst thou this, my sword? say, in what way Thou cam'st by it?"--But, wandering, that knight Heard with dull ears, divining but by sight The question asked; and answered, "Woe!--the sword!-- Woe worth the sword!--Lean down!--Canst hear my word?-- From Morgane! Arthur's sister, who had made Me king of all this kingdom, so she said-- Hadst thou not 'risen, accurséd, like a fate, To make our schemes miscarry!--Wait! nay, wait!-- A king! dost hear?--a gold and blood-crowned king, I!--Arthur's sister, queen!--No bird can wing Higher than her ambition! that resolved Her brother's death was needed, and evolved Plots that should ripen with the ripening year, And here be reaped, perhaps--nay, nay! not here!-- Farewell, my Morgane!--Yea, 'twas she who schemed While there at Chariot we loved and dreamed Gone some six months.--There nothing gave us care. Each morning was a liberal almoner Prodigal of silver to the earth and air: Each eve, a fiery dragon, cloud-enrolled, Convulsive, dying overwhelmed with gold; On such an eve it was, that, redolent, She sat by me and said,--'My message sent, Some night--within the forest--thou, my knight! Thou and the king!--my men--the forest fight!-- Murder perhaps.--But, well?--who is to blame?'... So with her blood-red thoughts to me she came. To me! that woman, brighter than a flame, And wooed my soul to hell, with love accurs'd; With harlot lips, from which my being first Drank hell and heaven. She, who was in sooth My heaven and hell.--But now, behind her youth She shrivels to a hag!--I see the truth!-- Harlot!--nay, spouse of Urience, King of Gore!-- Wanton!--nay, witch! sweet witch!--what wouldst thou more?-- Hast thou not had thy dream? and wilt thou grieve That death so ruins it?--Thou dost perceive How I still love thee! witness bear this field, This field and he to whom I would not yield!-- Would thou wert here to kiss me ere I die!"--