Idylls of the King (Unabridged). Alfred Tennyson

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       However that might chance! but an he work,

       Like any pigeon will I cram his crop,

       And sleeker shall he shine than any hog.’

      Then Lancelot standing near, ‘Sir Seneschal,

       Sleuth-hound thou knowest, and gray, and all the hounds;

       A horse thou knowest, a man thou dost not know:

       Broad brows and fair, a fluent hair and fine,

       High nose, a nostril large and fine, and hands

       Large, fair and fine! — Some young lad’s mystery —

       But, or from sheepcot or king’s hall, the boy

       Is noble-natured. Treat him with all grace,

       Lest he should come to shame thy judging of him.’

      Then Kay, ‘What murmurest thou of mystery?

       Think ye this fellow will poison the King’s dish?

       Nay, for he spake too fool-like: mystery!

       Tut, an the lad were noble, he had asked

       For horse and armour: fair and fine, forsooth!

       Sir Fine-face, Sir Fair-hands? but see thou to it

       That thine own fineness, Lancelot, some fine day

       Undo thee not — and leave my man to me.’

      So Gareth all for glory underwent

       The sooty yoke of kitchen-vassalage;

       Ate with young lads his portion by the door,

       And couched at night with grimy kitchen-knaves.

       And Lancelot ever spake him pleasantly,

       But Kay the seneschal, who loved him not,

       Would hustle and harry him, and labour him

       Beyond his comrade of the hearth, and set

       To turn the broach, draw water, or hew wood,

       Or grosser tasks; and Gareth bowed himself

       With all obedience to the King, and wrought

       All kind of service with a noble ease

       That graced the lowliest act in doing it.

       And when the thralls had talk among themselves,

       And one would praise the love that linkt the King

       And Lancelot — how the King had saved his life

       In battle twice, and Lancelot once the King’s —

       For Lancelot was the first in Tournament,

       But Arthur mightiest on the battle-field —

       Gareth was glad. Or if some other told,

       How once the wandering forester at dawn,

       Far over the blue tarns and hazy seas,

       On Caer-Eryri’s highest found the King,

       A naked babe, of whom the Prophet spake,

       ‘He passes to the Isle Avilion,

       He passes and is healed and cannot die’—

       Gareth was glad. But if their talk were foul,

       Then would he whistle rapid as any lark,

       Or carol some old roundelay, and so loud

       That first they mocked, but, after, reverenced him.

       Or Gareth telling some prodigious tale

       Of knights, who sliced a red life-bubbling way

       Through twenty folds of twisted dragon, held

       All in a gap-mouthed circle his good mates

       Lying or sitting round him, idle hands,

       Charmed; till Sir Kay, the seneschal, would come

       Blustering upon them, like a sudden wind

       Among dead leaves, and drive them all apart.

       Or when the thralls had sport among themselves,

       So there were any trial of mastery,

       He, by two yards in casting bar or stone

       Was counted best; and if there chanced a joust,

       So that Sir Kay nodded him leave to go,

       Would hurry thither, and when he saw the knights

       Clash like the coming and retiring wave,

       And the spear spring, and good horse reel, the boy

       Was half beyond himself for ecstasy.

      So for a month he wrought among the thralls;

       But in the weeks that followed, the good Queen,

       Repentant of the word she made him swear,

       And saddening in her childless castle, sent,

       Between the increscent and de-crescent moon,

       Arms for her son, and loosed him from his vow.

      This, Gareth hearing from a squire of Lot

       With whom he used to play at tourney once,

       When both were children, and in lonely haunts

       Would scratch a ragged oval on the sand,

       And each at either dash from either end —

       Shame never made girl redder than Gareth joy.

       He laughed; he sprang. ‘Out of the smoke, at once

       I leap from Satan’s foot to Peter’s knee —

       These news be mine, none other’s — nay, the King’s —

       Descend into the city:’ whereon he sought

       The King alone, and found, and told him all.

      ‘I have staggered thy strong Gawain in a tilt

       For pastime; yea, he said it: joust can I.

       Make me thy knight — in secret! let my name

       Be hidden, and give me the first quest, I spring

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