She told them of the fairy-haunted land Away the other side of Brittany, Beyond the heaths, edged by the lonely sea; Of the deep forest-glades of Broce-liande, Through whose green boughs the golden sunshine creeps, Where Merlin by the enchanted thorn-tree sleeps. For here he came with the fay Vivian, One April, when the warm days first began. He was on foot, and that false fay, his friend, On her white palfrey; here he met his end, In these lone sylvan glades, that April-day. This tale of Merlin and the lovely fay Was the one Iseult chose, and she brought clear Before the children’s fancy him and her. Blowing between the stems, the forest-air Had loosened the brown locks of Vivian’s hair, Which played on her flushed cheek, and her blue eyes Sparkled with mocking glee and exercise. Her palfrey’s flanks were mired and bathed in sweat, For they had travelled far and not stopped yet. A brier in that tangled wilderness Had scored her white right hand, which she allows To rest ungloved on her green riding-dress; The other warded off the drooping boughs. But still she chatted on, with her blue eyes Fixed full on Merlin’s face, her stately prize. Her ’havior had the morning’s fresh clear grace, The spirit of the woods was in her face; She looked so witching fair, that learned wight Forgot his craft, and his best wits took flight, And he grew fond, and eager to obey His mistress, use her empire as she may. They came to where the brushwood ceased, and day Peered ’twixt the stems; and the ground broke away In a sloped sward down to a brawling brook. And up as high as where they stood to look On the brook’s farther side was clear; but then The underwood and trees began again. This open glen was studded thick with thorns Then white with blossom; and you saw the horns, Through last year’s fern, of the shy fallow-deer Who come at noon down to the water here. You saw the bright-eyed squirrels dart along Under the thorns on the green sward; and strong The blackbird whistled from the dingles near, And the weird chipping of the woodpecker Rang lonelily and sharp; the sky was fair, And a fresh breath of spring stirred everywhere. Merlin and Vivian stopped on the slope’s brow, To gaze on the light sea of leaf and bough Which glistering plays all round them, lone and mild, As if to itself the quiet forest smiled. Upon the brow-top grew a thorn, and here The grass was dry and mossed, and you saw clear Across the hollow; white anemones Starred the cool turf, and clumps of primroses Ran out from the dark underwood behind. No fairer resting-place a man could find. “Here let us halt,” said Merlin then; and she Nodded, and tied her palfrey to a tree.