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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SIR LANCELOT: THE MAID OF ASCOLOT, by ANONYMOUS First Line: "an earl, he dwelt there at that tide" Last Line: "might tempt, his vows to thee to break.'" Subject(s): Arthurian Legend; "arthur, King; | |||
(Sir Lancelot would ride secretly to a Tournament.) AN earl, he dwelt there at that tide, The lord of Ascolot he hight, Thither Sir Lancelot would ride, Craving a shelter for the night. They welcomed him with fitting pride, A supper rich for him they dight; His name from all he fain would hide Saying, he was a stranger knight. Of sons the earl he had but two, And those two newly knighted were -- At that time was the custom so That, when young knights their shield would bear, Throughout the first year must they show One hue alone, whate'er that were, Or red, or yellow, white, or blue -- Thus of young knights the fashion fair. Then, as they sat at meat, forthright Sir Lancelot his host did pray: "Sir, is there here a youthful knight Who fain were for the Tourney's fray?" "I have two sons, dear to my sight, But one, he lieth sick to-day, An he a comrade found, 't were right The other sought the field alway." "Sir, an thy son will thither ride, His company I'll keep withal; There will I battle at his side, And help him there, lest harm befall." "Thy courtesy thou can'st not hide; Good knight art thou, 't is plain to all, Now till to-morrow here abide, My son shall ride with thee from hall." "Fain would I ask ye one thing more, I ask it here for better speed, Say, have ye armour here in store That I might borrow for my need?" "My son, he lies in sickness sore, Take ye his harness and his steed, Brethren they 'ld deem ye, an ye wore, The twain of ye, the same red weed." The earl, he had a daughter sweet, Fain was she Lancelot to see, (Her face was red as blossom meet, Or flower in field that springeth free.) Gladly she sat by him at meat, In sooth, a noble knight was he! Yet swift her tears adown they fleet, Fast set on him her heart shall be. Up rose that maiden fair and still, And to her bower she went in woe, Adown upon her couch she fell, Her heart, it well nigh brake in two. Sir Lancelot, he wist her will -- (The signs of love he well doth know,) He called her brother soft and still, And to her chamber swift they go. He sat him, for that maiden's sake, Down on the bed whereon she lay, In courteous wise to her he spake -- (He fain will comfort, an he may,) Then in her arms she doth him take And these the words she soft doth say: "Sir, save that ye the medicine make, No leech may save my life to-day!" "Lady, I prithee cease to fret, And do thyself for me no ill, My heart elsewhere is steadfast set, My love lies not within my will. Yet naught on earth henceforth will let Me from thy service, loud or still, Another time when we have met Thou mayest better speak thy fill." "Then, since I may no better fare, As thou be valiant knight, and free, I pray thee in this Tourney bear Some sign of mine, that men may see." "Lady, the sleeve thou now dost wear I'll take it for the love of thee, So much I did for lady ne'er Save her, who most hath loved me!" Then, on the morrow, when 't was day, They dined, and made them ready there, Then gat them forth upon their way In guise as tho' they brethren were -- (Then follows the account of the Tournament, in which Lancelot greatly distinguishes himself, but is badly wounded. The Maiden of Ascolot and her aunt tend him carefully. Meanwhile Arthur, who suspects the winner of the Tourney to be Lancelot, sends Gawain in search of him.) Then from the king, and from the queen, Sir Gawain took his leave that tide, Of all his comrades too, I ween, And busks himself, with mickle pride. To Ascolot, by wood-ways green, He hastes as fast as he may ride, Till he Sir Lancelot hath seen Nor night, nor day, would he abide. By that, Sir Lancelot, whole again, Made ready on his way to go, Leave of the folk hath courteous ta'en -- The maiden wept for grief and woe: "Sir, if your will thereto were fain, Since I of ye no more may know, I pray that I some gift may gain To look on, when my tears fast flow." Lancelot spake, with heart so free -- (The maiden's grief would he amend --) "Mine armour will I leave with thee, And in thy brother's hence will wend. Look that thou long not after me, No space within these walls to spend Have I, yet short the time shall be Before I either come or send." Sir Lancelot, he fain would ride, And on his way he went forthright, -- Sir Gawain came within that tide And tidings asked of such a knight. They welcomed him with mickle pride, And supper for him richly dight, The truth they have small care to hide -- "He left but now for fourteen night." Sir Gawain courteous mien doth make, He sat him down, that maid anear, And told of Lancelot du Lake, How in the world was none his peer. The maid, of Lancelot she spake, Said, how he to her heart was dear: "Yea, for his love he doth me take, His armour might I show you here." "Sweet Demoiselle," he saith anon, "Right glad am I the thing be so, For such a lover hast thou won That this world may no better show. Of lady fair there liveth none For wealth or beauty famed, that tho' Her heart were hard as steel or stone With love for him it would not glow. "But, Demoiselle, I'ld ask of thee That thou his shield to me would'st show, That if Sir Lancelot's it be By its device I well may know." That maiden was both frank and free, She led him to a chamber new, Lancelot's shield she bade him see, And all his armour forth she drew. Sir Gawain turned him swift about, And to the maiden gaily spake: "Lady," he quoth, "without a doubt He is Sir Lancelot du Lake! And Lady, that a knight so stout Should ye for true-love truly take Rejoiceth me, within, without, I am your servant, for his sake!" With that sweet maid he spake the night All that he had in heart to say, Till that his bed for him they dight Much mirth he made, and gladsome play. He took his leave of earl and knight At morrow morn, when dawned the day, Bade "Farewell," to that maiden bright, And gat him forth upon his way. He wist not where to seek that knight, Nor whither Lancelot would ride, For when he once was out of sight He wist right well his tracks to hide. He takes the road he knows aright, To Arthur's court he needs no guide, Welcome he was to king and knight, As hero courteous, true, and tried. Then it befell upon a tide The king and queen together spake, (Sir Gawain standing at their side,) Each to the other plaint doth make How long they must with sorrow bide His coming, Lancelot du Lake, Of Arthur's court abased the pride, And sore the sighing, for his sake. "Certes, an Lancelot did live So long from court he ne'er would be --" Swiftly Gawain doth answer give: "Nay, nay, no marvel 't is to me, The fairest lady that doth live Chosen unto his love hath he, Gladness to every man 't would give An he so fair a sight might see!" King Arthur, he was glad that day, Such tidings deemed he passing fair; Then of Gawain he straight did pray He would the maiden's name declare. "Earl's daughter she," (so doth he say,) "Of Ascolot, I well did fare Within that burg so blithe and gay, Lancelot's shield she shewed me there." The queen, she spake no word that day, She gat her to her bower with speed, And prone upon her couch she lay, Nay, well nigh mad was she, indeed. "Alas," she cried, and "Wellaway! That ever life on land I lead, Now have I lost, I trow for aye, The best knight who e'er spurred a steed!" The ladies who about her stood, And all her secrets well might know, They bade her be of comfort good, And to no man her sorrow show. They made her bed with sorry mood, And on her couch they laid her low, Ever she wept, as she were wood, -- Full sore they mourn their lady's woe. The queen thus sick for sorrow lay, Never her grief might solace know, Until it chanced, upon a day, Sir Lionel and Sir Hector go Forth to the forest, blithe and gay, 'Neath leafy branch, where sweet flowers blow, And as they rode the woodland way Sir Lancelot himself doth show. Small wonder they were glad, the twain, When they their master saw with sight, Upon their knees to fall are fain, Give thanks to God, for this, His Might. 'T was joy to see, and gladsome gain, The meeting with that noble knight, Nor can he question swift refrain: "How fares it with my Lady bright?" Straightway the knights they answer free: "The queen, she lies in sickness sore, 'T is dole enow to hear, and see, Such mickle grief ne'er lady bore. The king, a sorry man is he Since that to court ye come no more, He saith, that dead ye sure must be, So do the courtiers, less, and more. "Were it your will with us to fare, And speak a little with the queen, Methinks that blithe henceforth she were An she but once your face had seen. The king, he goes in grief and care, And so doth all the court, I ween, They deem no more in life ye were Since ye from court o'er long have been." He granteth them their prayer that day, Saith, he will homeward with them ride, Forsooth, those knights were glad and gay And busked them there with mickle pride. Straight to the court they take their way, Nor day nor night they would abide, Both king and court were blithe alway Whenas they heard the news that tide. The king, he stands on tower so high, And by him standeth Sir Gawain, When Lancelot they saw with eye Were never men on mold so fain! Whenas the gates he drew anigh They ran there-out, with might and main, Gave welcome glad, both low and high, And kissed him, king, and knight, and swain. The king him to a chamber led, Close in his arms he did him fold, And set him on a goodly bed That covered was with cloth of gold. No man, to serve him at that stead But strove, with labour manifold. With joy and gladness was he sped -- Then all his deeds to them he told. Of days in court he dwelt full three But never spake word with the queen, So fain the folk were him to see, The king, and all the court, I ween. That lady, fair as flower on tree, She wept her love, so long unseen, Ever her tears they flow so free Fain would she hide her mournful mien. Then did it chance upon a day The king, he would a-hunting ride, In forest fair he maketh gay And all his knights are at his side. Sir Lancelot, in bed he lay, Fain was he with the queen to bide, Thus to her bower he takes his way And greeteth her in knightly pride. He kissed that lady fair and sheen, And greeted her with gladsome glee, And all her ladies too, I ween, For joy, the tears flow fast and free. "Ah, wellaway!" thus sighed the queen, "Sir Lancelot, that I thee see, The love that was us two between That now it thus should severed be! "Alas, Sir Lancelot du Lake, That thou hast all my heart in hold, And now would'st the earl's daughter take Of Ascolot, so was it told. Now for her love thou wilt forsake Thy doughty deeds, thy ventures bold, So must I woeful weep and wake Till this, my heart, in clay be cold! "But, Lancelot, I beseech thee here, Since that of needs it must be so, That no man from thy lips shall hear The love that was betwixt us two! And never hold that maid so dear That ye should knightly deeds forego, Such tidmgs were to me full drear -- Henceforth I needs must walk in woe!" Then Lancelot, so still he stood, His heart was heavy as a stone, So sorrowful it waxed, his mood, For ruth his joy was all foregone. "Madam," he said, "by Holy Rood, What is the meaning of thy moan? By Him Who bought me with His Blood Of all these tidings knew I none. "But by these words it seemeth me That ye were fain I were away, In sooth no more ye shall me see, My Lady fair, have ye Good-day!" Forth from the chamber goeth he, In sooth grief o'er his heart held sway; The queen, she fell in swoonings three, Fain had she slain herself straightway. The knight his chamber sought with speed There, where his harness ready lay, He armed himself in knightly weed, Small joy was in his heart that day. As sparks from glowing embers freed, (Yet sorely grieving, sooth to say --) He sprang forth on his goodly steed, And to the forest went his way. (Here follows the death by poison of Mador de la Porte, and the accusation of the queen.) Now leave we Lancelot to dwell In hermit cell, in forest green, And forthwith of a venture tell That came to Arthur, king so keen. With Gawain would he counsel well, Full sore their mourning for the queen, So on a morn, as chance befell, The two met in a tower, I ween. And as they there in converse stood How best the thing might ordered be, The river fast beneath them flowed, And on the water, there they see A little boat, and passing good, That with the current floated free, No fairer sail was seen on flood, No better boat was wrought of tree. Whenas King Arthur saw that sight He wondered of the hangings fair Wherewith the boat was all bedight, So rich the coverture it bare. All arched above with cloth so bright Shining as gold, it saileth there -- Then quoth Gawain, that gentle knight: "This boat in costly wise doth fare!" "Forsooth," the king in answer spake: "Such boat I never saw before, I rede our way we thither take Some venture surely lies in store. Be it within of such-like make As 't is without, or may be more, An oath I'ld dare thereof to take Its wonders be not swiftly o'er!" Arthur the king, and good Gawain, Forth from the tower adown have gone. They to the boat to haste are fain, Swiftly they go, those two alone. They came as it hath harbour ta'en, And, sooth to say, they gaze anon, Then doth he raise the cloth, Gawain, That hides the boat, and steps thereon. When they were in, on either side Richly arrayed it was to see, A fair couch in the midst they spied Whereon a king might bedded be. Then with their hand they draw aside The coverture, right hastily, Its folds, a maiden's corpse they hide, Fairest of women once was she. Then to Gawain he spake, the king, "I trow Death here a wrong hath wrought, In that he hath so fair a thing Forth from the world untimely brought. Her beauty passeth everything, Tidings of her I fain had sought, Who might she be, this sweet darling? And where her life to end was brought." His eyes Sir Gawain on her cast, Beheld her face with heart so free, And well he knew her at the last, The Maid of Ascolot was she. (Whom he ere-while had wooed full fast, His love would fain have had her be, His proffered love she from her cast For Lancelot's alone was she.) Thus to the king he spake, Gawain: "Dost mind thee of a certain day How with the queen we stood, we twain, And made together jest and play? I of a maid to tell was fain Whom Lancelot loved well -- Now say?" "Forsooth," the king he spake again. "Now thou dost mind me of it, yea!" "Then, Sire, forsooth," Gawain doth say: "This is the maid whereof I spake, O'er all the world, I trow, alway She loved Sir Lancelot du Lake." "Then sure," King Arthur spake straightway, "Her death it rues me for his sake, Your words the cause full well betray For grief and love her heart it brake." Forthwith Gawain, the gentle knight, About that maiden fair he sought, A purse he found, so richly dight, With gold and pearls 't was all inwrought. Empty at first it seemed to sight, But when into his hand 't was brought, A letter lay therein, so light, Fain would they know if it told aught. The writing eager to behold Sir Gawain took it to the king, Bade him that letter swift unfold, Thereto he made small dallying, -- Within he found the story told From first to last, without leasing, 'T was but that tale both new and old How Love a maid to death may bring. "Unto the king, and all his knights Who to the Table Round belong, Who courteous be, of valiant might, Stable and steadfast, true, and strong; Most worshipful in fairest fight, Most helpful where men most have wrong, The Maid of Ascolot, aright Would greeting send, with truest tongue. "Thus to ye all my plaint I make, Bemoan the wrong that hath been wrought, Yet I would not ye undertake To mend the ill, 't would profit naught. This would I say, for this, your sake, That tho' men thro' the wide world sought Your like doth neither walk nor wake, For deeds with courage courteous wrought. "Wherefore to ye it shall be shown How I, in sooth, for many a day Such loyal love, and true, have known That Death hath fetched me hence away. But would ye know for whom alone, I thus so long in languor lay I'll tarry not the truth to own, Denial profits naught to-day. "And would I now rehearse the tale For whom I suffered all this woe, I say, Death wrought on me this bale For the best knight this earth may know! In doughty dints he doth not fail, Such royal mien may no man show, So churlish yet, 'neath silk, or mail, Have I found neither friend nor foe! "Of foe, or friend, the sooth to say, So harsh in deed was never none, His gentleness was all away, Such churlish manners he put on. For ne'er so straitly might I pray, Kneeling, with tears and rueful moan, To win his love, but he said 'Nay,' Vowing of leman he 'ld have none. "Therefore, my lords, for this, his sake, Grief to my heart I took and care, Till Death at last did me o'er-take, Forth from this life it did me bear. Thus for true love my heart I brake, And of my bliss was stripped all bare, For sake of Lancelot du Lake, An ye would know what knight it were!" Arthur, I ween, that noble king, He read the script, and knew the name, And quoth to Gawain, marvelling: "Lancelot here hath been to blame; Men shall account as evil thing That soileth much his knightly fame, That love this maid to death did bring -- That he denied her doth him shame!" Then to the king he quoth, Gawain: "I did but jest the other day When I said Lancelot was fain To take for love that gentle may, His love, it seeketh higher gain, Know ye it is but truth I say, A lowly love he doth disdain, He will some lady great and gay." "Sir Gawain," quoth King Arthur there: "Now say, what here shall be thy rede, How deal we with this maiden fair?" Sir Gawain quoth: "So God me speed, Methinks 't were well we should her bear, (An so it were your will indeed,) Within the town, for burial care In noble wise, as is her meed." The king, he gave assent withal; Sir Gawain called men, hastily, Straightway, unto the palace hall They bare that maiden tenderly. The king, he told his barons all. Whether of high or low degree, How she a prey to death did fall Since Lancelot's she might not be. Sir Gawain straightway went his way Unto the queen, and thus he spake: "Madam," he quoth, "I trow alway I wronged Sir Lancelot du Lake; I did but jest the other day When we together sport did make, In that I said he idle lay For the fair Maid of Ascolot's sake. "Of Ascolot, that maiden free, I said she was his love, I trow, That I so jested rueth me, For all the truth I know it now. He loved her not, that may we see, She lieth dead -- as snow on bough So white -- and writing there shall be With plaint of Lancelot enow!" The queen was wroth as winter wind, And to Sir Gawain thus began: "Forsooth, Sir, thou wert too unkind Thus to make jest of any man. 'T were best to keep it in thy mind, Or yea, or nay, howe'er it ran, Thy courtesy, it lagged behind When first thine idle jests began! "Much hast thou harmed thy knightly fame In wronging thus so good a knight, I trow he never wrought thee shame, Therefore thou hadst the lesser right To jest unseemly with his name, Behind his back, out of his sight, And Sir, thou know'st not, at this same, What harm may spring from words so light! "I deemed thee steadfast knight, and true, The mirror of all courtesie, Methinks, hast got thee manners new, Which all be turned to villainy! 'Gainst other knights thine envy grew, Therefore didst jest thus recklessly, Who honoured thee, it may them rue -- Now get thee from my companie." Sir Gawain swiftly went his way, He saw the queen was angered sore, No more he thought to her to say, Deeming she 'ld hate him ever more. The queen, she cried: "Ah, wellaway!" Wringing her hands, she wept full sore, "Most wretched I, I well may say, Of all whom ever mother bore! "My heart, alas, why wert so wood To trow that Lancelot du Lake So fickle were, so false of mood, That other love than thee he 'ld take? Nay, certes, all of this world's good He had despised for thy sake, And naught that knight, by field or flood, Might tempt, his vows to thee to break." (The end of the episode is missing.) | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SITTING BULL IN SERBIA by WILLIAM JAY SMITH TO THE EXCELLENT ORINDA by PHILO PHILIPPA EPIGRAM OCCASIONED BY CIBBER'S VERSES IN PRAISE OF NASH: 1 by ALEXANDER POPE THE GIFT OF THE GODS by JOHN GODFREY SAXE TO CHRISTOPHER NORTH by ALFRED TENNYSON BEAU NASH by CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER BEAU NASH AND THE ROMAN, OR THE TWO ERAS by CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER TIS A LITTLE JOURNEY by ANONYMOUS |
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