"O Jesu," said Sir Launcelot, "What may this marvel mean?" "That is," she said, "the richest thing That any man hath seen." "O Jesu," said Sir Launcelot, "What may this sight avail?" "Now wit ye well," said maid Elaine, "This is the Holy Grail." And then a nimbus light hung o'er Her brow so fair and meek; And turned to orient pearls the tears That glistered down her cheek. And a sound of music passing sweet Went in and out again. Sir Launcelot made the sign of the cross, And knelt to maid Elaine. "Name him whatever name thou wilt, But be his sword and mail Thrice tempered 'gainst a wayward world, That lost the Holy Grail." Sir Launcelot sadly took his leave And rode against the morn. And when the time was fully come Sir Galahad was born. Also he was from Jesu Christ, Our Lord, the eighth degree; Likewise the greatest knight this world May ever hope to see. THE DEATH OF SIR LAUNCELOT Sir Launcelot had fled to France For the peace of Guinevere, And many a noble knight was slain, And Arthur lay on his bier. Sir Launcelot took ship from France And sailed across the sea. He rode seven days through fair England Till he came to Almesbury. Then spake Sir Bors to Launcelot: The old time is at end; You have no more in England's realm In east nor west a friend. You have no friend in all England Sith Mordred's war hath been, And Queen Guinevere became a nun To heal her soul of sin. Sir Launcelot answered never a word But rode to the west countree Until through the forest he saw a light That shone from a nunnery. Sir Launcelot entered the cloister, And the queen fell down in a swoon. Oh blessed Jesu, saith the queen, For thy mother's love, a boon. Go hence, Sir Launcelot, saith the queen, And let me win God's grace. My heavy heart serves me no more To look upon thy face. Through you was wrought King Arthur's death, Through you great war and wrake. Leave me alone, let me bleed, Pass by for Jesu's sake. Then fare you well, saith Launcelot, Sweet Madam, fare you well. And sythen you have left the world No more in the world I dwell. Then up rose sad Sir Launcelot And rode by wold and mere Until he came to a hermitage Where bode Sir Bedivere. And there he put a habit on And there did pray and fast. And when Sir Bedivere told him all His heart for sorrow brast. How that Sir Mordred, traitorous knight Betrayed his King and sire; And how King Arthur wounded, died Broken in heart's desire. And so Sir Launcelot penance made, And worked at servile toil; And prayed the Bishop of Canterbury His sins for to assoil. His shield went clattering on the wall To a dolorous wail of wind; His casque was rust, his mantle dust With spider webs entwined. His listless horses left alone Went cropping where they would, To see the noblest knight of the world Upon his sorrow brood.