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Gawayne and the Green Knight, version 2

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<h2>CANTO IV</h2> <h2>CONCLUSION</h2> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> By noon the next day, Gawayne and his host Rode side by side along the perilous coast Of the gray Mere, from whose unquiet sleep Reverberating murmurs of the deep Startled the still December's listening air. The baron, shuddering, pointed seaward. "There," He said, "year in, year out, these voices haunt That fearful water; heaven knows what they want! Men tell me—and I have no doubt it's true— They are knights-errant whom the Green Knight slew! Woe unto him, the over-bold, who dares Adventure near that uncouth monster's snares!" Quoth Gawayne: "How have you escaped the net?" The baron answered: "I? We never met! When I'm about, he seems to shun the place, And where he is, I never show my face; But if we did meet, 't would be safe to say Not more than one of us would get away!" </div> <div class="stanza"> And then the baron told tales by the score About the Green Knight's quenchless thirst for gore, And kept repeating that no magic charm Was proof against the prowess of his arm; At his first blow each vain defense must fall, For he was arch-magician over all. And as from tale to tale the baron ran, Sir Gawayne, had he been another man, Would certainly have felt his heart's blood curdle, Despite his secret wearing of the girdle; But when the baron finally suggested Abandoning the venture, and protested That the whole monstrous business was absurd, Sir Gawayne simply said: "I gave my word." And when the baron saw he would not bend, He seemed to lose all patience. "Well, my friend, I'll go no further with you. On your head Shall be your own mad blood when you are dead. Yonder your two roads fork; pause there, I pray, And ponder well before you choose your way. One takes the hills, one winds along the wave; To Camelot this,—the other to your grave! Choose the high road, Sir Gawayne; shun the danger! Say you were misdirected by a stranger;— I swear by all that's sacred, I'll not tell One syllable to a soul:—and so farewell!" He galloped off without another word, And vanished where the road turned. Gawayne heard, Long after he had disappeared, the sound Of iron hoof-beats on the frozen ground, Till all died into silence, save those drear And hollow voices from the Murmuring Mere. </div> <div class="stanza"> But Gawayne chose the lower road, and passed Along the desolate shore. The die was cast. The western skies, as the red sun sank low, Cast purple shades across the drifted snow, And Gawayne knew that the dread hour was come For the fulfillment of his martyrdom. </div> <div class="stanza"> And now, from just beyond a jutting hill, Came hideous sounds, as of a giant mill That hisses, roars, and sputters, clicks and clacks;— It was the Green Knight sharpening his axe! And Gawayne, coming past the corner, found him, With ghastly mouldering skulls and bones strewn round him, In joyous fury urging the keen steel Against the surface of his grinding wheel. The place was a wild hollow, circled round With barren hills, and on the bottom ground Stood the Green Chapel, moss-grown, solitary;— In sooth, it seemed the devil's mortuary! The Green Knight's back was turned, and he stirred not Till Gawayne hailed him sharply; then he shot One glance—as when, o'erhead, a living wire Startles the night with flashes of green fire;— Then hurried forward, bland as bland could be, And greeted Gawayne with green courtesy. "Dear sir, I ask a thousand pardons; pray Forgive me. You are punctual to the day; That's good! Of course I knew you would not fail. How do you do? You look a trifle pale; I trust, with all my heart, you are not ill? Just the cold air? It does blow rather chill! What can I do to cheer you? Let me see;— Suppose I brew a cup of hot green tea? You'ld rather not? You're pressed for time? Of course, I understand; then just get off your horse, And I'll do all I can to expedite Our little business for you. There, that's right; And now your helmet? Thanks; and if you please Perhaps you'll kindly kneel down on your knees, As I did when I came to Camelot; So! Are you all ready? Will you bide the blow?" And Gawayne said "I will," in such soft notes As happy bridegrooms utter, when their throats Are paralyzed with blest anticipation;— (What Gawayne looked for was decapitation!) And then the Green Knight swung his axe in air With a loud whirr; and Gawayne, kneeling there, Shrank back an inch; and the green giant stayed His threatening hand, and with a cold sneer said: "You shrink, sir, from the axe; I can't hit true Unless you hold still, as I did for you." "Your pardon," Gawayne said, with bated breath; "This time I swear to hold as still as death." He did so, and the Green Knight swung again His axe, and whirled it round his head, and then, Pausing a second time, said: "Very good! You're holding quite still now; I knew you would!" Gawayne, in anger, said: "Jest, if you like, After the blow; tarry no longer; strike!" So once again the ponderous axe was raised; But this time down it came, and lightly grazed Sir Gawayne's neck. He felt the hot blood flow, And saw red drops that sank deep in the snow, And then he jumped up, faced his foe, and cried: "Enough: you owed me one blow, though I died; But be you man or beast or devil abhorred, I yield no further; with my mortal sword I do defy you; and if mortal man May hope against" ... But the Green Knight began A low melodious laugh, like running brooks Whose pebbly babble fills the shadowy nooks Of green-aisled woodlands, when the winds are still. "My friend, we bear each other no ill will. When first I swung my axe, you showed some fear; I owed you that much for your blow last year. The second time I swung,—yet spared your life,— That paid you for the kiss you gave my wife!" "Your wife!" "My wife, Sir Gawayne; 't was my word; And when I swung my weapon for the third And last time, then I made the red blood spirt For that green girdle underneath your shirt! You played me false, my friend!" And Gawayne knelt Once more, and casting off the magic belt, In bitter broken words confessed his shame, And begged the Green Knight to avenge the name Of injured knighthood, and with one last blow To end his guilty life. "Nay, nay, not so," The other softly said. "Be of good cheer; Your fault was small, for all men hold life dear. We tempted you, my friend, with all our might, And proved you in good sooth a noble knight; A veritable Joseph, sir, you are!" Quoth Gawayne drily, "Thanks, Lord Potiphar! But may I ask you why you played this part?" The other said: "Ask Lady Elfinhart!" </div> <div class="stanza"> He smiled, and from his smile a genial glow Of green mid-summer seemed to overflow, Filling with verdure all that barren place. The warm red blood rushed to Sir Gawayne's face; He caught his breath, and in his eager eyes There shone a sudden flash of dark surmise, And then he stood a long while pondering; But in his breast his heart began to sing The old, old music whose still echoes roll Forever voiceless through the listening soul. He said farewell to his good fairy friend As in a dream, where real and unreal blend In phantom unison, and with the light Of love to lead him home, rode through the night, Beside the tranquil murmurs of the Mere, And through the silence of the passing year; And earth and sea and starlit sky took part In the still exaltation of his heart, While all but love and wonder was forgot, Until he came to high-towered Camelot. </div> <div class="stanza"> To Camelot he came, and there he found The good King Arthur and his Table Round Awaiting his return in anxious doubt; But ere he passed the gates a mighty shout Rose from the watchmen on the outward wall And bore the tidings to the inmost hall. From every window flaunting flags were flung; From the high battlements brass trumpets sung; And great bells, chiming in the topmost tower, Pealed salutation to the joyous hour, As Gawayne, riding through the cullis-port, Faced the glad throng that filled the palace court. </div> <div class="stanza"> And with this tribute paid to knightly glory It seems most fitting to conclude my story. Entreat me not, dear reader, to impart Further of Gawayne, or of Elfinhart. Let your own fancy round the story out Whatever way you please; I cannot doubt The sequel; but when I, in silent thought, Had brought Sir Gawayne back to her, and sought With hand profane to lift the veil, behind Whose secret shelter their two hearts enshrined The mutual covenant of love's mystery, That pure fane would not desecrated be. But this alone I know: the power that wove Through human lives the warp and woof of love Wrought not in darkness, nor with hand unsure;— His fabric must forevermore endure. And hence I doubt not that these two were blest As none may be, save they who have confessed Allegiance to that mighty spirit's law, And trod his holy ground with reverent awe. </div> </div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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