Beyond, the hart a tangled labyrinth weaves Through deeper boscage; and it seems the sun Makes many shadowy stags of this wild one, That lead in different trails the foresters: And in the trees the ceaseless wind, that stirs, Seems some strange witchcraft, that, with baffling mirth, Mocks them the unbayed hart, and fills the earth With rustling sounds of running.--Hastening thence, Galloped King Arthur and King Urience, With one small brachet-hound. Now far away They heard their fellowship's faint horns; and day Wore on to noon; yet, there before them, they Still saw the hart plunge bravely through the brake, Leaving the bracken shaking in his wake: And on they followed; on, through many a copse, Above whose brush, close on before, the tops Of the great antlers swelled anon, then, lo, Were gone where beat the heather to and fro. But still they drave him hard; and ever near Seemed that great hart unwearied, and 'twas clear The chase would yet be long, when Arthur's horse Gasped mightily and, lunging in his course, Lay dead, a lordly bay; and Urience Reined his gray hunter, laboring. And thence King Arthur went afoot. When suddenly He was aware of a wide waste of sea, And, near the wood, the hart upon the sward, Bayed, panting unto death and winded hard. So with his sword he slew him; then the pryce Wound loudly on his hunting-bugle thrice. [Illustration: In her ecstasy a lovely devil Page 303 _Accolon of Gaul_ ]