"Sound, trumpets--sound!--to South and North! I, Lancelot of the Lake, proclaim, That never sun and never air, Or shone or breathed on form so fair As hers--thrice, trumpets, sound it forth!-- Our Arthur's royal dame!" And South and North, and West and East, Upon the thunder-blast it flies! Still on his steed sits Lancelot, And even echo answers not; Till, as the stormy challenge ceased, A voice was heard--"He lies!" All turn'd their mute, astonish'd gaze, To where the daring answer came, And lo! Sir Elvar's haughty crest!-- Fierce on the knight the gazers press'd;-- Their wands the sacred Heralds raise,-- Genevra weeps for shame. "Sir Knight," King Arthur smiling said (In smiles a king should wrath disguise), "Know'st thou, in truth, a dame so fair, Our Queen may not with her compare? Genevra, weep, and hide thy head-- Sir Lancelot, yield the prize." "O, grace, my liege, for surely each The dame he serves should peerless hold, To loyal eye and faithful breast The loved one is the loveliest." The King replied, "Not crafty speech-- Bold deeds--excuse the bold! "So name thy fair, defend her right! A list!--Ho Lancelot, guard thy shield. Her name?"--Sir Elvar's visage fell: "A vow forbids the name to tell." "Now out upon the recreant Knight Who courts yet shuns the field! "Foul shame, were royal name disgraced By some light leman's taunting smile! Whoe'er--so run the tourney's laws-- Would break a lance in Beauty's cause, Must name the Highborn and the Chaste-- The nameless are the vile." Sir Elvar glanced, where, stern and high, The scornful champion rein'd his steed; Where o'er the Lists the seats were raised, And jealous dames disdainful gazed, He glanced, nor caught one gentle eye-- Courts grow not friends at need: "King! I have said, and keep my vow." "Thy vow! I pledge thee mine in turn, Ere the third sun shall sink,--or bring A fair outshining yonder ring, Or find mine oath as thine is now Inflexible and stern. "Thy sword, unmeet to serve the right,-- Thy spurs, unfit for churls to wear, Torn from thee;--through the crowd, which heard Our Lady weep at vassal's word, Shall hiss the hoot,--'Behold the knight, Whose lips belie the fair!' "Three days I give; nor think to fly Thy doom; for on the rider's steed, Though to the farthest earth he ride,-- Disgrace once mounted, clings beside; And Mockery's barbed shafts defy Her victim's swiftest speed." Far to the forest's stillest shade, Sir Elvar took his lonely way: Beneath the oak, whose gentle frown Still dimm'd the noon, he laid him down, And saw the Fount that through the glade Sang sparkling up to day.