A morning gray with mist that gathered drops Of drizzle on the ever dripping leaves. And then the mist divided: ghostly mail, Spears and limp pennons, and the shadowy steeds Of shadowy knights and chieftains. And it seemed A host of phantoms come to lay dim siege To phantom walls whose warriors were ghosts. Afar a bugle flourished in the fog, Disconsolate; no echo of the wood To bear its music burden. To the moat Advanced a herald. And within the wall The grate was opened; and the gaunt-eyed youth Held parley with him: "How the Earl would make End of the long dispute to-day, and leave, 'Twixt three a single combat to decide." So Peredur bade arm him, and prepare His horse for battle; and bade give the Earl His answer for the Castle: "That one knight Would try the hauberks of the banded three." And he rode forth: and one rode up and scoffed,-- A knight in russet armor with loud words,-- "Small means to large results, forsooth! Thou boast! A vicious palate hath thy appetite That feasted long with hunger and must now Conclude the banquet with three deaths!--Sir Death, Here is thy death!" and hacked at Peredur A heavy stroke that gashed his chain camail. But, rising in stiff stirrups, ere he passed, Two-handed swung the sword of Peredur, And helm and head of him who fell were twain, Halved like an apple. And the walls were glad. Then came another, clad in silver mail, As he were Galahad; and in the mist Glimmered like moonlight. And with levelled spear Demanded: "Whence and what art thou? this stroke Was never fathered by long fasting."--Then Quoth Peredur, "I am of Arthur's Court."-- Then sneered the other with a mocking laugh, "A goodly service truly that of his, Since all his knights, whom I have met, have died!"-- Quoth Peredur: "Thy falsehood choke thee dead! Within thy throat thus do I nail thy lie!" And at his gorget hurled his ponderous spear, Ere that one met him, spurring at full speed, Disdainful. And the desperate stroke of him Who had wrought havoc with the Table Round, Glanced shattering from the sloping shield, while he, Bent backwards o'er his saddle, rolled--his tongue Cleft at the root. And all the walls were glad.