"Three summer months had scantly flown, When Arthur, in embarrass'd tone, Spoke of his liegemen and his throne; Said, all too long had been his stay, And duties, which a monarch sway, Duties, unknown to humbler men, Must tear her knight from Guendolen. She listened silently the while, Her mood expressed in bitter smile; Beneath her eye must Arthur quail, And oft resume the unfinished tale, Confessing, by his downcast eye, The wrong he sought to justify. He ceased. A moment mute she gazed, And then her looks to heaven she raised; One palm her temples veiled, to hide The tear that sprung in spite of pride; The other for an instant pressed The foldings of her silken vest! "At her reproachful sign and look The hint the monarch's conscience took. Eager he spoke--'No, Lady, no! Deem not of British Arthur so, Nor think he can deserter prove To the dear pledge of mutual love. I swear by sceptre and by sword, As belted knight and Britain's lord, That if a boy shall claim my care, That boy is born a kingdom's heir; But, if a maiden Fate allows, To choose that maid a fitting spouse, A summer-day in lists shall strive My knights--the bravest knights alive,-- And he, the best and bravest tried, Shall Arthur's daughter claim for bride.'-- He spoke, with voice resolved and high-- The lady deigned him not reply. "At dawn of morn, ere on the brake His matins did a warbler make, Or stirred his wing to brush away A single dewdrop from the spray, Ere yet a sunbeam through the mist, The castle-battlements had kissed, The gates revolve, the drawbridge falls, And Arthur sallies from the walls. Doff'd his soft garb of Persia's loom, And steel from spur to helmet-plume, His Lybian steed full proudly trode, And joyful neighed beneath his load. The Monarch gave a passing sigh To penitence and pleasures by, When, lo! to his astonished ken, Appeared the form of Guendolen. "Beyond the utmost wall she stood, Attired like huntress of the wood: Sandalled her feet, her ankles bare, And eagle-plumage decked her hair; Firm was her look, her bearing bold, And in her hand a cup of gold. 'Thou goest!' she said, 'and ne'er again Must we two meet; in joy or pain. Full fain would I this hour delay, Thought weak the wish--yet wilt thou stay? --No! thou look'st forward. Still attend,-- Part we like lover and like friend.' She raised the cup--'Not this the juice The sluggish vines of earth produce; Pledge we, at parting, in the draught Which Genii love!'--she said and quaffed; And strange unwonted lustres fly From her flushed cheek and sparkling eye.