Gawaine when gay, and Caradoc when grave, 101 Pleased: but young Lancelot, or grave or gay. As yet life's sea had roll'd not with a wave To rend the plank from those twin hearts away; At childhood's gate instinctive love began, And warm'd with every sun that led to man. The same sports lured them, the same labours strung, 102 The same song thrill'd them with the same delight; Where in the aisle their maiden arms had hung, The same moon lit them through the watchful night; The same day bound their knighthood to maintain Life from reproach, and honour from a stain. And if the friendship scarce in each the same, 103 The soul has rivals where the heart has not; So Lancelot loved his Arthur more than fame, And Arthur more than life his Lancelot. Lost here Art's mean distinctions! knightly troth, Frank youth, high thoughts, crown'd Nature's kings in both.[13] "Whither wends Arthur?" "Whence comes Lancelot?" 104 "From yonder forest, sought at dawn of day." "Why from the forest?" "Prince and brother, what, When the bird startled flutters from the spray, Makes the leaves quiver? What disturbs the rill If but a zephyr floateth from the hill? "And ask'st thou why thy brother's heart is stirr'd 105 By every tremor that can vex thine own? What in that forest hadst thou seen or heard? What was that shadow o'er thy sunshine thrown? Thy lips were silent,--be the secret thine; But half the trouble it conceal'd was mine. "Did danger meet thee in that dismal lair? 106 'Twas mine to face it as thy heart had done. 'Twas mine----" "O brother," cried the King, "beware, The fiend has snares it shames not man to shun;-- Ah, woe to eyes on whose recoiling sight Opes the dark world beyond the veil of light! "Listen to Fate; till once more eves in May 107 Welcome BAL-HUAN back to yon sweet sky,[14] The hunter's lively horn, the hound's deep bay, May fill with joy the VALE OF MELODY,[15] On spell-bound ears the Harper's tones may fall, Love deck the bower, and Pleasure trim the hall-- "But thou, oh thou, my Lancelot shalt mourn 108 The void, a life withdrawn bequeaths the soul; No mirth shall greet thee in the buxom horn-- Nor flash in liquid sunshine from the bowl; Sorrow shall sit where I have dwelt,--and be A second Arthur in its truth to thee. "Alone I go;--submit; since thus the Fates 109 And the great Prophet of our race ordain; So shall we drive invasion from our gates, Guard life from shame, and Cymri from the chain; No more than this my soul to thine may tell-- Forgive,--Saints shield thee!--now thy hand--farewell!"