Twice fifty stalwart Squires, in air The stranger's knightly pennon bore; Twice fifty Pages, pacing slow, Scatter his largess as they go; Calm through the crowd he pass'd, and, there, Rein'd in the Lists before. Light question in those elder days The heralds made of birth and name. Enough to wear the spurs of gold, To share the pastime of the bold. "Forwards!" their wands the Heralds raise, And in the Lists he came. Now rouse thee, rouse thee, bold Gawaine! Think of thy Lady's eyes above; Now rouse thee for thy Queen's sweet sake, Thou peerless Lancelot of the Lake! Vain Gawaine's might, and Lancelot's vain!-- _They_ know no Fairy's love. Before him swells the joyous tromp, He comes--the victor's wreath is won! Low to his Queen Sir Elvar kneels, The helm no more his face conceals; And one pale form amidst the pomp, Sobs forth--"My gallant son!" PART IV. Sir Elvar is the fairest knight That ever lured a lady's glance; Sir Elvar is the wealthiest lord That sits at good King Arthur's board; The bravest in the joust or fight, The lightest in the dance. And never love, methinks, so blest As his, this weary world has known; For, every night before his eyes, The charms that ne'er can fade arise-- A star unseen by all the rest-- A Life for him alone. And yet Sir Elvar is not blest-- He walks apart with brows of gloom-- "The meanest knight in Arthur's hall His lady-love may tell to all; He shows the flower that glads his breast-- His pride to boast its bloom! "And I who clasp the fairest form That e'er to man's embrace was given, Must hide the gift as if in shame! What boots a prize we dare not name? The sun must shine if it would warm-- A cloud is all my heaven!" Much proud Genevra[C] marvell'd, how A knight so fair should seem so cold; What if a love for hope too high, Has chain'd the lip and awed the eye? A second joust--and surely now The secret shall be told. For, _there_, alone shall ride the brave Whose glory dwells in Beauty's fame; Each, for his lady's honour, arms-- His lance the test of rival charms. Joy unto him whom Beauty gave The right to gild her name! Sir Lancelot burns to win the prize-- First in the Lists his shield is seen; A sunflower for device he took-- "_Where'er thou shinest turns my look._" So as he paced the Lists, his eyes Still sought the Sun--his Queen! "And why, Sir Elvar, loiterest thou?-- Lives there no fair thy lance to claim?" No answer Elvar made the King; Sullen he stood without the ring. "Forwards!" An armed whirlwind now On horse and horseman came! And down goes princely Caradoc-- Down Tristan and stout Agrafrayn,-- Unscath'd, alone, amidst the field, Great Lancelot bears his victor-shield; The sunflower bright'ning through the shock, And through that iron rain.