And then King Arthur woke, and woke mid groans

      Of dolorous knights; and 'round him lay the bones

      Of many woful champions mouldering;

      And he could hear the open ocean ring

      Wild wasted waves above. And so he thought

      "It is some nightmare weighing me, distraught

      By that long hunt;" and then he sought to shake

      The horror off and to himself awake;

      But still he heard sad groans and whispering sighs,

      And deep in iron-ribbéd cells the eyes

      Of pale, cadaverous knights shone fixed on him

      Unhappy; and he felt his senses swim

      With foulness of that cell, and, "What are ye?

      Ghosts of chained champions or a company

      Of phantoms, bodiless fiends? If speak ye can,

      Speak, in God's name! for I am here – a man!"

      Then groaned the shaggy throat of one who lay

      A dusky nightmare dying day by day,

      Yet once of comely mien and strong withal

      And greatly gracious; but, now hunger-tall,

      With scrawny beard and faded hands and cheeks:

      "Sir knight," said he, "know that the wretch who speaks

      Is but an one of twenty knights here shamed

      Of him who lords this castle, Damas named,

      Who mews us here for slow starvation keen;

      Around you fade the bones of some eighteen

      Tried knights of Britain; and God grant that soon

      My hunger-lengthened ghost will see the moon,

      Beyond the vileness of this prisonment!"

      With that he sighed and round the dungeon went

      A rustling sigh, like saddened sin, and so

      Another dim, thin voice complained their woe: —

      "He doth enchain us with this common end,

      That he find one who will his prowess bend

      To the attainment of his livelihood.

      A younger brother, Ontzlake, hath he; good

      And courteous, withal most noble, whom

      This Damas hates – yea, ever seeks his doom;

      Denying him to their estate all right

      Save that he holds by main of arms and might.

      And thro' puissance hath he some fat fields

      And one rich manor sumptuous, where he yields

      Belated knights host's hospitality.

      Then bold is Ontzlake, Damas cowardly.

      For Ontzlake would decide by sword and lance

      Body for body this inheritance;

      But Damas dotes on life so courageless;

      Thus on all knights perforce lays coward's stress

      To fight for him or starve. For ye must know

      That in his country he is hated so

      That no helm here is who will take the fight;

      Thus fortunes it our plight is such a plight."

      Quoth he and ceased. And wondering at the tale

      The King was thoughtful, and each faded, pale,

      Poor countenance still conned him when he spake:

      "And what reward if one this battle take?"

      "Deliverance for all if of us one

      Consent to be his party's champion.

      But treachery and he are so close kin

      We loathe the part as some misshapen sin,

      And here would rather dally on to death

      Than serving falseness save and slave our breath."

      "May God deliver you for mercy, sirs!"

      And right anon an iron noise he hears

      Of chains clanked loose and bars jarred rusty back,

      The heavy gate croak open; and the black

      Of that rank cell astonished was with light,

      That danced fantastic with the frantic night.

      One high torch sidewise worried by the gust

      Sunned that lorn den of hunger, death and rust,

      And one tall damsel vaguely vestured, fair

      With shadowy hair, poised on the rocky stair.

      And laughing on the King, "What cheer?" said she;

      "God's life! the keep stinks vilely! and to see

      So noble knights endungeoned hollowing here

      Doth pain me sore with pity – but, what cheer?"

      "Thou mockest us; for me the sorriest

      Since I was suckled; and of any quest

      To me the most imperiling and strange. —

      But what wouldst thou?" said Arthur. She, "A change

      I offer thee, through thee to these with thee,

      And thou but grant me in love's courtesy

      To fight for Damas and his livelihood.

      And if thou wilt not – look! thou seest this brood

      Of lean and dwindled bellies specter-eyed,

      Keen knights erst who refused me? – so decide."

      Then thought the King of the sweet sky, the breeze

      That blew delirious over waves and trees;

      Thick fields of grasses and the sunny earth

      Whose beating heat filled the red heart with mirth,

      And made the world one sovereign pleasure house

      Where king and serf might revel and carouse;

      Then of the hunt on autumn-plaintive hills;

      Lone forest chapels by their radiant rills:

      His palace rich at Caerlleon upon Usk,

      And Camelot's loud halls that thro' the dusk

      Blazed far and bloomed a rose of revelry;

      Or in the misty morning shadowy

      Loomed grave for audience. And then he thought

      Of his