For Arthur on the Whitsuntide before Held court at old Caerleon upon Usk.
There on a day,he sitting high in hall,Before him came a forester of Dean,Wet from the woods,with notice of a hart Taller than all his fellows,milky-white,First seen that day:these things he told the King.
Then the good King gave order to let blow His horns for hunting on the morrow morn.
And when the King petitioned for his leave To see the hunt,allowed it easily.
So with the morning all the court were gone.
But Guinevere lay late into the morn,Lost in sweet dreams,and dreaming of her love For Lancelot,and forgetful of the hunt;But rose at last,a single maiden with her,Took horse,and forded Usk,and gained the wood;There,on a little knoll beside it,stayed Waiting to hear the hounds;but heard instead A sudden sound of hoofs,for Prince Geraint,Late also,wearing neither hunting-dress Nor weapon,save a golden-hilted brand,Came quickly flashing through the shallow ford Behind them,and so galloped up the knoll.
A purple scarf,at either end whereof There swung an apple of the purest gold,Swayed round about him,as he galloped up To join them,glancing like a dragon-fly In summer suit and silks of holiday.
Low bowed the tributary Prince,and she,Sweet and statelily,and with all grace Of womanhood and queenhood,answered him:
'Late,late,Sir Prince,'she said,'later than we!'
'Yea,noble Queen,'he answered,'and so late That I but come like you to see the hunt,Not join it.''Therefore wait with me,'she said;'For on this little knoll,if anywhere,There is good chance that we shall hear the hounds:
Here often they break covert at our feet.'
And while they listened for the distant hunt,And chiefly for the baying of Cavall,King Arthur's hound of deepest mouth,there rode Full slowly by a knight,lady,and dwarf;Whereof the dwarf lagged latest,and the knight Had vizor up,and showed a youthful face,Imperious,and of haughtiest lineaments.
And Guinevere,not mindful of his face In the King's hall,desired his name,and sent Her maiden to demand it of the dwarf;Who being vicious,old and irritable,And doubling all his master's vice of pride,Made answer sharply that she should not know.
'Then will I ask it of himself,'she said.
'Nay,by my faith,thou shalt not,'cried the dwarf;'Thou art not worthy even to speak of him;'
And when she put her horse toward the knight,Struck at her with his whip,and she returned Indignant to the Queen;whereat Geraint Exclaiming,'Surely I will learn the name,'
Made sharply to the dwarf,and asked it of him,Who answered as before;and when the Prince Had put his horse in motion toward the knight,Struck at him with his whip,and cut his cheek.
The Prince's blood spirted upon the scarf,Dyeing it;and his quick,instinctive hand Caught at the hilt,as to abolish him:
But he,from his exceeding manfulness And pure nobility of temperament,Wroth to be wroth at such a worm,refrained From even a word,and so returning said:
'I will avenge this insult,noble Queen,Done in your maiden's person to yourself:
And I will track this vermin to their earths:
For though I ride unarmed,I do not doubt To find,at some place I shall come at,arms On loan,or else for pledge;and,being found,Then will I fight him,and will break his pride,And on the third day will again be here,So that I be not fallen in fight.Farewell.'
'Farewell,fair Prince,'answered the stately Queen.
'Be prosperous in this journey,as in all;
And may you light on all things that you love,And live to wed with her whom first you love:
But ere you wed with any,bring your bride,And I,were she the daughter of a king,Yea,though she were a beggar from the hedge,Will clothe her for her bridals like the sun.'
And Prince Geraint,now thinking that he heard The noble hart at bay,now the far horn,A little vext at losing of the hunt,A little at the vile occasion,rode,By ups and downs,through many a grassy glade And valley,with fixt eye following the three.
At last they issued from the world of wood,And climbed upon a fair and even ridge,And showed themselves against the sky,and sank.
And thither there came Geraint,and underneath Beheld the long street of a little town In a long valley,on one side whereof,White from the mason's hand,a fortress rose;And on one side a castle in decay,Beyond a bridge that spanned a dry ravine:
And out of town and valley came a noise As of a broad brook o'er a shingly bed Brawling,or like a clamour of the rooks At distance,ere they settle for the night.
And onward to the fortress rode the three,And entered,and were lost behind the walls.
'So,'thought Geraint,'I have tracked him to his earth.'
And down the long street riding wearily,Found every hostel full,and everywhere Was hammer laid to hoof,and the hot hiss And bustling whistle of the youth who scoured His master's armour;and of such a one He asked,'What means the tumult in the town?'
Who told him,scouring still,'The sparrow-hawk!'
Then riding close behind an ancient churl,Who,smitten by the dusty sloping beam,Went sweating underneath a sack of corn,Asked yet once more what meant the hubbub here?
Who answered gruffly,'Ugh!the sparrow-hawk.'
Then riding further past an armourer's,Who,with back turned,and bowed above his work,Sat riveting a helmet on his knee,He put the self-same query,but the man Not turning round,nor looking at him,said:
'Friend,he that labours for the sparrow-hawk Has little time for idle questioners.'
Whereat Geraint flashed into sudden spleen:
'A thousand pips eat up your sparrow-hawk!
Tits,wrens,and all winged nothings peck him dead!
Ye think the rustic cackle of your bourg The murmur of the world!What is it to me?
O wretched set of sparrows,one and all,Who pipe of nothing but of sparrow-hawks!
Speak,if ye be not like the rest,hawk-mad,Where can I get me harbourage for the night?
And arms,arms,arms to fight my enemy?Speak!'
