Held that alone, a king might be. On either side of these, a lord Stood heedfully before the board, And in their hands held bread and wine For service; behind these did shine The armour of the guards, and then The well-attiréd serving-men, The minstrels clad in raiment meet; And over against the royal seat Was hung a lamp, although no flame Was burning there, but there was set Within its open golden fret A huge carbuncle, red and bright; Wherefrom there shone forth such a light That great hall was as clear by it, As though by wax it had been lit, As some great church at Easter-tide. Now set a little way aside, Six paces from the daïs stood An image made of brass and wood, In likeness of a full-armed knight Who pointed 'gainst the ruddy light A huge shaft ready in a bow. Pondering how he could come to know What all these marvellous matters meant, About the hall the Scholar went, Trembling, though nothing moved as yet; And for awhile did he forget The longings that had brought him there In wondering at these marvels fair; And still for fear he doubted much One jewel of their robes to touch. But as about the hall he passed He grew more used to them at last, And thought, "Swiftly the time goes by, And now no doubt the day draws nigh Folk will be stirring: by my head A fool I am to fear the dead, Who have seen living things enow, Whose very names no man can know, Whose shapes brave men might well affright More than the lion in the night Wandering for food;" therewith he drew Unto those royal corpses two, That on dead brows still wore the crown; And midst the golden cups set down The rugged wallet from his back, Patched of strong leather, brown and black. Then, opening wide its mouth, took up From off the board, a golden cup The King's dead hand was laid upon, Whose unmoved eyes upon him shone And recked no more of that last shame Than if he were the beggar lame, Who in old days was wont to wait For a dog's meal beside the gate. Of which shame nought our man did reck. But laid his hand upon the neck Of the slim Queen, and thence undid The jewelled collar, that straight slid Down her smooth bosom to the board. And when these matters he had stored Safe in his sack, with both their crowns, The jewelled parts of their rich gowns, Their shoes and belts, brooches and rings, And cleared the board of all rich things, He staggered with them down the hall. But as he went his eyes did fall Upon a wonderful green stone, Upon the hall-floor laid alone; He said, "Though thou art not so great To add by much unto the weight Of this my sack indeed, yet thou, Certes, would make me rich enow, That verily with thee I might Wage one-half of the world to fight The other half of it, and I The lord of all the world might die;-- I will not leave thee;" therewithal He knelt down midmost of the hall,