[Illustration: In her ecstasy a lovely devil Page 303
As if each echo, which that wild horn's blast Roused from its sleep,--the solitude had cast For ages on it,--had, a silvery band Of moving sounds of gladness, hand in hand Arisen,--each a visible delight,-- Came three fair damsels, sunny in snowy white, From the red woodland gliding. They the knight,-- For so they deemed the King, who came alone,-- Graced with obeisance. And, "Our lord," said one, "Tenders you courtesy until the dawn, The Earl, Sir Damas. For the day is gone, And you are weary. Safe in his strong keep, Led thither with due worship, you shall sleep." And so he came, o'erwearied, to a hall, An owlet-haunted pile, whose weedy wall Towered, rock on rock; its turrets, crowding high, Loomed, ancient as the crags, against a sky Wherein the moon hung, owl-eyed, round and full: An old, gaunt giant-castle, like a gull Hung on the weedy cliffs, where broke the dull Vast monotone of ocean, that uprolled Its windy waters; and where all was old, And sad, and swept of winds, and slain of salt, And haunted grim of ruin: where the vault Of heav'n bent ever, clamorous as the rout Of the defiant headlands, stretching out Into the night, with their voluminous shout Of wreck and wrath forever. Arthur then, Among the gaunt Earl's followers, swarthy men, Ate in the wild hall. Then a damsel led, With flaring torch, the tired King to bed, Down lonely labyrinths of that corridored keep. And soon he rested, sunk in heavy sleep.
Then suddenly he woke; it seemed, 'mid groans And dolorous sighs: and round him lay the bones Of many men, and bodies mouldering. And he could hear the wind-swept ocean swing Its sighing surge above. And so he thought, "It is some nightmare weighing me, distraught By that long hunt." And then he sought to shake The horror off and to himself awake. But still he heard sad groans and whispering sighs: And gaunt, from iron-ribbéd cells, the eyes Of pale, cadaverous knights regarded him, Unhappy: and he felt his senses swim With foulness of that dungeon.--"What are ye? Ghosts? or chained champions? or a company Of fiends?" he cried. Then, "Speak! if speak ye can! Speak, in God's name! for I am here--a man!" Then groaned the shaggy throat of one who lay, A wasted nightmare, dying day by day, Yet once a knight of comeliness, and strong And great and young, but now, through hunger long, A skeleton with hollow hands and cheeks:-- "Sir knight," said he, "know that the wretch who speaks Is only one of twenty knights entombed By Damas here; the Earl who so hath doomed Us in this dungeon, where starvation lairs; Around you lie the bones, whence famine stares, Of many knights. And would to God that soon My liberated ghost might see the moon Freed from the horror of this prisonment!" With that he sighed, and round the dungeon went A rustling sigh, as of the damned; and so Another dim, thin voice complained their woe: "Know, he doth starve us to obtain this end: Because not one of us his strength will lend To battle for what still he calls his rights, This castle and its lands. For, of all knights, He is most base; lacks most in hardihood. A younger brother, Ontzlake, hath he; good And courteous; withal most noble; whom This Damas hates--yea, even seeks his doom; Denying him to his estate all right Save that he holds by main of arms and might. Through puissance hath Ontzlake some few fields And one right sumptuous manor, where he deals With knights as knights should, with an open hand, Though ill he can afford it. Through the land He is far-famed for hospitality. Ontzlake is brave, but Damas cowardly. For Ontzlake would decide with sword and lance, Body to body, this inheritance: But Damas, vile as he is courageless, Doth on all knights, his guests, lay this duress, To fight for him or starve. For you must know That in this country he is hated so There is no champion who will take the fight. Thus fortunes it our plight is such a plight." Quoth he and ceased. And, wondering at the tale, The King lay silent, while each wasted, pale, Poor countenance perused him; then he spake: "And what reward if one this cause should take?"-- "Deliverance for all if of us one Consent to be his party's champion. But treachery and he are so close kin We loathe the part as some misshapen sin; And here would rather with the rats find death Than, serving him, serve wrong, and save our breath, And on our heads, perhaps, bring down God's curse."