Lest this green earth become but hell

  If folk thereon should ever dwell.

  Full little most men think of this,

  But half in woe and half in bliss

  They pass their lives, and die at last

  Unwilling, though their lot be cast

  In wretched places of the earth,

  Where men have little joy from birth

  Until they die; in no such case

  Were those who tilled this pleasant place.

  There soothly men were loth to die,

  Though sometimes in his misery

  A man would say “Would I were dead!”

  Alas! full little likelyhead

  That he should live for ever there.

  So folk within that country fair

  Lived on unable to forget

  The longed-for things they could not get,

  And without need tormenting still

  Each other with some bitter ill;

  Yea, and themselves too, growing grey

  With dread of some long-lingering day,

  That never came ere they were dead

  With green sods growing on the head;

  Nowise content with what they had,

  But falling still from good to bad

  While hard they sought the hopeless best;

  And seldom happy or at rest

  Until at last with lessening blood

  One foot within the grave they stood.

  Now so it chanced that in this land

  There did a certain castle stand,

  Set all alone deep in the hills,

  Amid the sound of falling rills

  Within a valley of sweet grass,

  To which there went one narrow pass

  Through the dark hills, but seldom trod.

  Rarely did horse-hoof press the sod

  About the quiet weedy moat,

  When unscared did the great fish float;

  Because men dreaded there to see

  The uncouth things of faërie;

  Nathless by some few fathers old

  These tales about the place were told

  That neither squire nor seneschal

  Or varlet came in bower or hall,

  Yet all things were in order due,

  Hangings of gold and red and blue,

  And tables with fair service set;

  Cups that had paid the Cæsar’s debt

  Could he have laid his hands on them;

  Dorsars, with pearls in every hem,

  And fair embroidered gold-wrought things,

  Fit for a company of kings;

  And in the chambers dainty beds,

  With pillows dight for fair young heads;

  And horses in the stables were,

  And in the cellars wine full clear

  And strong, and casks of ale and mead;

  Yea, all things a great lord could need.

  For whom these things were ready there

  None knew; but if one chanced to fare

  Into that place at Easter-tide,

  There would he find a falcon tied

  Unto a pillar of the Hall;

  And such a fate to him would fall,

  That if unto the seventh night,

  He watched the bird from dark to light,

  And light to dark unceasingly,

  On the last evening he should see

  A lady beautiful past words;

  Then, were he come of clowns or lords,

  Son of a swineherd or a king,

  There must she grant him anything

  Perforce, that he might dare to ask,

  And do his very hardest task.

  But if he slumbered, ne’er again

  The wretch would wake for he was slain

  Helpless, by hands he could not see,

  And his corpse mangled wretchedly.

  Now said these elders — Ere this tide

  Full many folk this thing have tried,

  But few have got much good thereby;

  For first, a many came to die

  By slumbering ere their watch was done;

  Or else they saw that lovely one,

  And mazed, they knew not what to say;

  Or asked for some small thing that day

  That easily they might have won,

  Nor staked their lives and souls thereon;

  Or asking, asked for some great thing

  That was their bane; as to be king

  One asked, and died the morrow morn

  That he was crowned, of all forlorn.

  Yet thither came a certain man,

  Who from being poor great riches wan

  Past telling, whose grandsons now are

  Great lords thereby in peace and war.

  And in their coat-of-arms they bear,

  Upon a field of azure fair,

  A castle and a falcon, set

  Below a chief of golden fret.

  And in our day a certain knight

  Prayed to be worsted in no fight,

  And so it happed to him: yet he

  Died none the less most wretchedly,

  And all his prowess was in vain,

  For by a losel was he slain,

  As on the highway side he slept

  One summer night, of no man kept.

  Such tales as these the fathers old

  About that lonely castle told;

  And in their day the king must try

  Himself to prove that mystery,

  Although, unless the fay could give

  For ever on the earth to live,

  Nought could he ask that he had not:

  For boundless riches had he got,

  Fair children, and a faithful wife;

  And happily had passed his life,

  And all fulfilled of victory,

  Yet was he fain this thing to see.

  So towards the mountains he set out

  One noontide, with a gallant rout

  Of knights and lords, and as the day

  Began to fail came to the way

  Where he must enter all alone,

  Between the dreary walls of stone.

  Thereon to that fair company

  He bade farewell, who wistfully

  Looked backward oft as home they rode.

  But in the entry he abode

  Of that rough unknown narrowing pass,

  Where twilight at the high noon was.

  Then onward he began to ride:

  Smooth rose the rocks on every side,

  And seemed as they were cut by man;

  Adown them ever water ran,

  But they of living things were bare,

  Yea, not a blade of grass grew there;

  And underfoot rough was the way,

  For scattered all about there lay

  Great jagged pieces of black stone.

  Throughout the pass the wind did moan,

  With such wild noises, that the King

  Could almost think he heard something

  Spoken of men; as one might hear

  The voices of folk standing near

  One’s chamber wall: yet saw he nought

  Except those high walls strangely wrought,

  And overhead the strip of sky.

  So, going onward painfully,

  He met therein no evil thing,

  But came about the sunsetting

  Unto the opening of the pass,

  And thence beheld a vale of grass

  Bright with the yellow daffodil;

  And all the vale the sun did fill

  With his last glory. Midmost there

  Rose up a stronghold, built four-square,

  Upon a flowery grassy mound,

  That moat and high wall ran around.

  Thereby he saw a walled pleasance,

  With walks and sward fit for the dance

  Of Arthur’s court in its best time,

  That seemed to feel some magic clime;

  For though through all the vale outside

  Things were as in the April-tide,

  And daffodils and cowslips grew

  And hidden the March violets blew,

  Within the bounds of that sweet close

  Was trellised the bewildering rose;

  There was the lily over-sweet,

  And starry pinks for garlands meet;

  And apricots hung on the wall

  And midst the flowers did peaches fall,

  And nought had blemish there or spot,

  For in that place decay was not.

  Silent awhile the King abode

  Beholding all, then on he rode

  And to the castle-gate drew nigh,

  Till fell the drawbridge silently,

  And when across it he did ride

  He found the great gates open wide,

  And entered there, but as he passed

  The gates were shut behind him fast,

  But not before that he could see

  The drawbridge rise up silently.

  Then round he gazed oppressed with awe,

  And there no living thing he saw

  Except the sparrows in the eaves,

  As restless as light autumn leaves

  Blown by the fitful rainy wind.

  Thereon his final goal to find,

  He lighted off his war-horse good

  And let him wander as he would,

  When he had eased him of his gear;

  Then gathering heart against his fear.

  Just at the silent end of day

  Through the fair porch he took his way,

  And found at last a goodly hall

  With glorious hangings on the wall,

  Inwrought with trees of every clime,

  And stories of the ancient time,

  But all of sorcery they were.

  For o’er the dais Venus fair,

  Fluttered about by many a dove,

  Made hopeless men for hopeless love,

  Both sick and sorry; there they stood

  Wrought wonderfully in various mood,

  But wasted all by that hid fire

  Of measureless o’er-sweet desire,

  And let the hurrying world go by

  Forgetting all felicity.

  But down the hall the tale was wrought

  How Argo in old time was brought

  To Colchis for the fleece of gold.

  And on the other side was told

  How mariners for long years came

  To Circe, winning grief and shame.

  Until at last by hardihead

  And craft, Ulysses won her bed.

  Long upon these the King did look

  And of them all good heed he took;

  To see if they would tell him aught

  About the matter that he sought,

  But all were of the times long past;

  So going all about, at last

  When grown nigh weary of his search

  A falcon on a silver perch,

  Anigh the daïs did he see,

  And wondered, because certainly

  At his first coming ’twas not there;

  But ‘neath the bird a scroll most fair,

  With golden letters on the white

  He saw, and in the dim twilight

  By diligence could he read this: —

  “Ye who have not enow of bliss,

  And in this hard world labour sore,

  By manhood here may get you more,

  And be fulfilled of everything,

  Till ye be masters of the King.

  And yet, since I who promise this

  Am nowise God lo give man bliss

  Past ending, now in time beware,

  And if you live in little care

  At this time get you back again,

  Lest unknown woe you chance to gain

  In wishing for a thing untried.”

  A little while did he abide,

  When he had read this, deep in thought,

  Wondering indeed if there were aught

  He had not got, that a wise man

  Would wish; yet in his mind it ran

  That he might win a boundless realm,

  Yea, come to wear upon his helm

  The crown of the whole conquered earth;

  That all who lived thereon, from birth

  To death should call him King and Lord,

  And great kings tremble at his word,

  Until in turn he came to die.

  Therewith a little did he sigh,

  But thought, “Of Alexander yet

  Men talk, nor would they e’er forget

  My name, if this should come to be,

  Whoever should come after me:

  But while I lay wrapped round with gold

  Should tales and histories manifold

  Be written of me, false and true;

  And as the time still onward drew

  Almost a god would folk count me,

  Saying, ‘In our time none such be.’

  But therewith did he sigh again,

  And said, “Ah, vain, and worse than vain!

  For though the world forget me nought,

  Yet by that time should I be brought

  Where all the world I should forget,

  And bitterly should I regret

  That I, from godlike great renown,

  To helpless death must fall adown:

  How could I bear to leave it all?”

  Then straight upon his mind did fall

  Thoughts of old longings half forgot,

  Matters for which his heart was hot

  A while ago: whereof no more

  He cared for some, and some right sore

  Had vexed him, being fulfilled at last.

  And when the thought of these had passed

  Still something was there left behind,

  That by no torturing of his mind,

  Could he in any language name,

  Or into form of wishing frame.

  At last he thought, “What matters it,

  Before these seven days shall flit

  Some great thing surely shall I find,

  That gained will not leave grief behind,

  Nor turn to deadly injury.

  So now will I let these things be

  And think of some unknown delight.”

  Now, therewithal, was come the night,

  And thus his watch was well begun;

  And till the rising of the sun,

  Waking, he paced about the hall,

  And saw the hangings on the wall

  Fade into nought, and then grow white

  In patches by the pale moonlight,

  And then again fade utterly

  As still the moonbeams passed them by;

  Then in a while, with hope of day,

  Begin a little to grow grey,

  Until familiar things they grew,

  As up at last the great sun drew,

  And lit them with his yellow light

  At ending of another night.

  Then right glad was he of the day,

  That passed with him in such like way;

  For neither man nor beast came near,

  Nor any voices did he hear.

  And when again it drew to night

  Silent it passed, till first twilight

  Of morning came, and then he heard

  The feeble twittering of some bird,

  That, in that utter silence drear,

  Smote harsh and startling on his ear.

  Therewith came on that lonely day

  That passed him in no other way;

  And thus six days and nights went by

  And nothing strange had come anigh.

  And on that day he well-nigh deemed

  That all that story had been dreamed.

  Daylight and dark, and night and day,

  Passed ever in their wonted way;

  The wind played in the trees outside,

  The rooks from out the high trees cried;

  And all seemed natural and fair,

  With little signs of magic there.

  Yet neither could he quite forget

  That close with summer blossoms set,

  And fruit hung on trees blossoming,

  When all about was early spring.

  Yea, if all this by man were made,

  Strange was it that still undecayed

  The food lay on the tables still

  Unchanged by man, that wine did fill

  The golden cups, still bright and red.

  And all was so apparelled

  For guests that came not, yet was all

  As though that servants filled the hall.

  So waxed and waned his hopes, and still

  He formed no wish for good or ill.

  And while he thought of this and that

  Upon his perch the falcon sat

  Unfed, unhooded, his bright eyes

  Beholders of the hard-earned prize,

  Glancing around him restlessly,

  As though he knew the time drew nigh

  When this long watching should be done.

  So little by little fell the sun,

  From high noon unto sun-setting;

  And in that lapse of time the King,

  Though still he woke, yet none the less

  Was dreaming in his sleeplessness

  Of this and that which he had done

  Before this watch he had begun;

  Till, with a start, he looked at last

  About him, and all dreams were past;

  For now, though it was past twilight

  Without, within all grew as bright

  As when the noon-sun smote the wall,

  Though no lamp shone within the hall.

  Then rose the King upon his feet,

  And well-nigh heard his own heart beat,

  And grew all pale for hope and fear,

  As sound of footsteps caught his ear

  But soft, and as some fair lady,

  Going as gently as might be,

  Stopped now and then awhile, distraught

  By pleasant wanderings of sweet thought.

  Nigher the sound came, and more nigh,

  Until the King unwittingly

  Trembled, and felt his hair arise,

  But on the door still kept his eyes.

  That opened soon, and in the light

  There stepped alone a lady bright,

  And made straight toward him up the hall.

  In golden garments was she clad

  And round her waist a belt she had

  Of emeralds fair, and from her feet

  She held the raiment daintily,

  And on her golden head had she

  A rose-wreath round a pearl-wrought crown,

  Softly she walked with eyes cast down,

  Nor looked she any other than

  An earthly lady, though no man

  Has seen so fair a thing as she.,

  So when her face the King could see

  Still more he trembled, and he thought

  “Surely my wish is hither brought,

 

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