And then when turning to Lynette he told The tale of Gareth, petulantly she said, “Ay well—ay well—for worse than being fooled Of others, is to fool one’s self. A cave, Sir Lancelot, is hard by, with meats and drinks And forage for the horse, and flint for fire. But all about it flies a honeysuckle. Seek, till we find.” And when they sought and found, Sir Gareth drank and ate, and all his life Past into sleep; on whom the maiden gazed. “Sound sleep be thine! sound cause to sleep hast thou. Wake lusty! Seem I not as tender to him As any mother? Ay, but such a one As all day long hath rated at her child, And vext his day, but blesses him asleep— Good lord, how sweetly smells the honeysuckle In the hushed night, as if the world were one Of utter peace, and love, and gentleness! O Lancelot, Lancelot”—and she clapt her hands— “Full merry am I to find my goodly knave Is knight and noble. See now, sworn have I, Else yon black felon had not let me pass, To bring thee back to do the battle with him. Thus an thou goest, he will fight thee first; Who doubts thee victor? so will my knight-knave Miss the full flower of this accomplishment.” Said Lancelot, “Peradventure he, you name, May know my shield. Let Gareth, an he will, Change his for mine, and take my charger, fresh, Not to be spurred, loving the battle as well As he that rides him.” “Lancelot-like,” she said, “Courteous in this, Lord Lancelot, as in all.” And Gareth, wakening, fiercely clutched the shield; “Ramp ye lance-splintering lions, on whom all spears Are rotten sticks! ye seem agape to roar! Yea, ramp and roar at leaving of your lord!— Care not, good beasts, so well I care for you. O noble Lancelot, from my hold on these Streams virtue—fire—through one that will not shame Even the shadow of Lancelot under shield. Hence: let us go.” Silent the silent field They traversed. Arthur’s harp though summer-wan, In counter motion to the clouds, allured The glance of Gareth dreaming on his liege. A star shot: “Lo,” said Gareth, “the foe falls!” An owl whoopt: “Hark the victor pealing there!” Suddenly she that rode upon his left Clung to the shield that Lancelot lent him, crying, “Yield, yield him this again: ’tis he must fight: I curse the tongue that all through yesterday Reviled thee, and hath wrought on Lancelot now To lend thee horse and shield: wonders ye have done; Miracles ye cannot: here is glory enow In having flung the three: I see thee maimed, Mangled: I swear thou canst not fling the fourth.” “And wherefore, damsel? tell me all ye know. You cannot scare me; nor rough face, or voice, Brute bulk of limb, or boundless savagery Appal me from the quest.”