Of Urience bent above it, browed with might; One red swol'n arm, that pinned the hairy fright, Strong as a god's, iron at the gullet's brawn: Dug in its midriff, the close knees, updrawn, Wedged, as with steel, the glutton sides that strove,-- A shaggy bulk,--with hoofs that drove and drove. And then she saw how Urience swiftly slipped One arm, the monster's tearing tusks had ripped And ribboned redly, to the dagger's hilt,-- Which at his hip hung long, its haft gold-gilt;-- Flame-like it flashed; and then, as bright as ice, Plunged, and replunged; again, now twice, now thrice; And the huge boar, stretched out in sullen death, Lay, bubbling blood, with harsh, laborious breath. Then how he brought her water from a well, That rustled freshly near them as it fell From its full-mantled urn, in his deep casque, And begged her drink; then bathed her brow, a task That had accompanying tears of joy and vows Of love, and intercourse of eyes and brows, And many kisses: then, beneath the boughs, His wound dressed, and her steed still violent From fear, she mounted and behind him bent And clasped him on the same steed; and they went On through the gold wood tow'rds the golden west, Till, on one low hill's forest-covered crest, Gray from the gold, his castle's battlements pressed. And then she felt she'd loved him till had come Fame of the love of Isoud, whom, from home, Tristram had brought across the Irish foam; And Guenevere's for Launcelot of the Lake: Then how her thought from these did seem to take Reflex of longing; and within her wake Desire for some great lover who should slake; And such found Accolon. And then she thought How far she'd fallen, and how darkly fraught With consequence was this. Then what distress Were hers and his--her lover's--and success How doubly difficult if, Arthur slain, King Urience lived to assert his right to reign. So she stood pondering with the sword; her lips Breathless, and tight as were her finger-tips About the weapon's hilt. And so she sighed, "Nay, nay! too long hast lived who shouldst have died Even in the womb, my sorrow! who for years Hast leashed my life to thine, a bond of tears, A weight of care, a knot that thus I part! Thus harshly sever! Ugly that thou art Into the elements naked!"