“O my new mother, be not wroth or grieved At your new son, for my petition to her. 780 When late I left Caerleon, our great Queen, In words whose echo lasts, they were so sweet, Made promise, that whatever bride I brought, Herself would clothe her like the sun in Heaven. Thereafter, when I reach’d this ruin’d hold, 785 Beholding one so bright in dark estate, I vow’d that could I gain her, our kind Queen, No hand but hers, should make your Enid burst Sunlike from cloud—and likewise thought, perhaps, That service done so graciously would bind 790 The two together; for I wish the two To love each other: how should Enid find A nobler friend? Another thought I had; I came among you here so suddenly, That though her gentle presence at the lists 795 Might well have served for proof that I was loved, I doubted whether filial tenderness, Or easy nature, did not let itself Be moulded by your wishes for her weal; Or whether some false sense in her own self 800 Of my contrasting brightness, overbore Her fancy dwelling in this dusky hall; And such a sense might make her long for court And all its dangerous glories: and I thought, That could I someway prove such force in her 805 Link’d with such love for me, that at a word (No reason given her) she could cast aside A splendour dear to women, new to her, And therefore dearer; or if not so new, Yet therefore tenfold dearer by the power 810 Of intermitted custom; then I felt That I could rest, a rock in ebbs and flows, Fix’d on her faith. Now, therefore, I do rest, A prophet certain of my prophecy, That never shadow of mistrust can cross 815 Between us. Grant me pardon for my thoughts; And for my strange petition I will make Amends hereafter by some gaudy-day, When your fair child shall wear your costly gift Beside your own warm hearth, with, on her knees, 820 Who knows? another gift of the high God, Which, maybe, shall have learn’d to lisp you thanks.” He spoke: the mother smil’d, but half in tears, Then brought a mantle down and wrapt her in it, And claspt and kiss’d her, and they rode away. 825 Now thrice that morning Guinevere had climb’d The giant tower, from whose high crest, they say, Men saw the goodly hills of Somerset, And white sails flying on the yellow sea; But not to goodly hill or yellow sea 830 Look’d the fair Queen, but up the vale of Usk, By the flat meadow, till she saw them come; And then descending met them at the gates, Embrac’d her with all welcome as a friend, And did her honour as the Prince’s bride, 835 And cloth’d her for her bridals like the sun; And all that week was old Caerleon gay, For by the hands of Dubric, the high saint, They twain were wedded with all ceremony.