"From pleading, or upbraiding glance, Each gallant turns aside, And only thought, 'If speeds my lance, A queen becomes my bride! She has fair Strath-Clyde, and Reged wide, And Carlisle tower and town; She is the loveliest maid, beside, That ever heired a crown.' So in haste their coursers they bestride, And strike their visors down. "The champions, arm'd in martial sort, Have throng'd into the list, And but three knights of Arthur's court Are from the tourney miss'd. "Now caracol'd the steeds in air, Now plumes and pennons wanton'd fair, As all around the lists so wide In panoply the champions ride. King Arthur saw, with startled eye, The flower of chivalry march by, The kingdom's shield in hour of need, Too late he thought him of the woe Might from their civil conflict flow; For well he knew they would not part Till cold was many a gallant heart. His hasty vow he 'gan to rue, And Gyneth then apart he drew; To her his leading-staff resign'd, But added caution grave and kind. "'Thou see'st my child, as promise-bound, I bid the trump for tourney sound. Take thou my warder, as the queen And umpire of the martial scene; But mark thou this:--as Beauty bright Is polar star to valiant knight, As at her word his sword he draws, His fairest guerdon her applause, So gentle maid should never ask Of knighthood vain and dangerous task; And Beauty's eyes should ever be Like the twin stars that soothe the sea, And Beauty's breath should whisper peace, And bid the storm of battle cease. I tell thee this, lest all too far These knights urge tourney into war. Blithe at the trumpet let them go, And fairly counter blow for blow:-- No striplings these, who succour need, For a raised helm or fallen steed. But, Gyneth, when the strife grows warm, And threatens death or deadly harm, Thy sire entreats, thy king commands, Thou drop the warder from thy hands. Trust thou thy father with thy fate, Doubt not he choose thee fitting mate; Nor be it said, through Gyneth's pride A rose of Arthur's chaplet died.'