"My books command me to lay bare The secret thou art bent on keeping: Here must a high attest be given, 249 _What_ Bridegroom was for her ordained by Heaven: And in my glass significants there are Of things that may to gladness turn this weeping. "For this, approaching, One by One, Thy Knights must touch the cold hand of the Virgin; So, for the favoured One, the Flower may bloom 255 Once more: but, if unchangeable her doom, If life departed be for ever gone, Some blest assurance, from this cloud emerging, "May teach him to bewail his loss; Not with a grief that, like a vapour, rises 260 And melts; but grief devout that shall endure, And a perpetual growth secure Of purposes which no false thought shall cross, A harvest of high hopes and noble enterprises." "So be it," said the King;--"anon, 265 Here, where the Princess lies, begin the trial; Knights each in order as ye stand Step forth."--To touch the pallid hand Sir Agravaine advanced; no sign he won From Heaven or earth;--Sir Kaye had like denial. 270 Abashed, Sir Dinas turned away; Even for Sir Percival was no disclosure; Though he, devoutest of all Champions, ere He reached that ebon car, the bier Whereon diffused like snow the Damsel lay, 275 Full thrice had crossed himself in meek composure. Imagine (but ye Saints! who can?) How in still air the balance trembled-- The wishes, peradventure the despites That overcame some not ungenerous Knights; 280 And all the thoughts that lengthened out a span Of time to Lords and Ladies thus assembled. What patient confidence was here! And there how many bosoms panted! While drawing toward the car Sir Gawaine, mailed 285 For tournament, his beaver vailed, And softly touched; but, to his princely cheer And high expectancy, no sign was granted. Next, disencumbered of his harp, Sir Tristram, dear to thousands as a brother, 290 Came to the proof, nor grieved that there ensued No change;--the fair Izonda he had wooed With love too true, a love with pangs too sharp, From hope too distant, not to dread another. Not so Sir Launcelot; from Heaven's grace 295 A sign he craved, tired slave of vain contrition; The royal Guinever looked passing glad. When his touch failed.--Next came Sir Galahad; He paused, and stood entranced by that still face Whose features he had seen in noontide vision. 300