The Collected Works of William Morris :: :: University of Virginia Library

Meanwhile the Queen, affairs of state being done,
Went through the gardens with one dame alone,
Seeking for Ogier, whom at last she found
Laid sleeping on the daisy-sprinkled ground,
Dreaming I know not what, of other days.
Then on him for a while the Queen did gaze,
Drawing sweet poison from the lovely sight,
Then to her fellow turned: “The Ancient Knight—
What means he by this word of his?” she said;
“He were well mated with some lovely maid
Just pondering on the late-heard name of love.”

“Softly, my lady, he begins to move,”
Her fellow said, a woman old and grey;
“Look now, his arms are of another day;
None know him or his deeds; thy squire just said

243

He asked about the state of men long dead;
I fear what he may be; look, seest thou not
That ring that on one finger he has got,
Where figures strange upon the gold are wrought?
God grant that he from hell has not been brought
For our confusion, in this doleful war,
Who surely in enough of trouble are
Without such help.” Then the Queen turned aside
Awhile, her drawn and troubled face to hide,
For lurking dread this speech within her stirred;
But yet she said: “Thou sayest a foolish word;
This man is come against our enemies
To fight for us.” Then down upon her knees
Fell the old woman by the sleeping knight,
And from his hand she drew with fingers light
The wondrous ring, and scarce again could rise
Ere 'neath the trembling Queen's bewildered eyes
The change began; his golden hair turned white,
His smooth cheek wrinkled, and his breathing light
Was turned to troublous struggling for his breath,
And on his shrunk lips lay the hand of Death;
And scarce less pale than he, the trembling Queen
Stood thinking on the beauty she had seen
And longed for but a little while ago,
Yet with her terror still her love did grow,
And she began to weep as though she saw
Her beauty e'en to such an ending draw.
And 'neath her tears waking, he oped his eyes
And strove to speak, but nought but gasping sighs
His lips could utter; then he tried to reach
His hand to them, as though he would beseech
The gift of what was his: but all the while
The crone gazed on them with an evil smile;
Then holding toward the Queen that wondrous ring,
She said: “Why weep'st thou? having this fair thing,
Thou, losing nought the beauty that thou hast,
Mayst watch the vainly struggling world go past,

244

Thyself unchanged.” The Queen put forth her hand
And took the ring, and there awhile did stand
And strove to think of it, but still in her
Such all-absorbing longings love did stir,
So young she was, of death she could not think,
Or what a cup eld gives to man to drink;
Yet on her finger had she set the ring
When now the life that hitherto did cling
To Ogier's heart seemed fading quite away,
And scarcely breathing, with shut eyes he lay.
Then kneeling down, she murmured piteously:
“Ah, wilt thou love me if I give it thee,
And thou grow'st young again? what should I do
If with the eyes thou thus shalt gain anew
Thou shouldst look scorn on me?” But with that word
The hedge behind her, by the west wind stirred,
Cast fear into her heart of someone nigh,
And therewith on his finger hastily
She set the ring, then rose and stood apart
A little way, and in her doubtful heart
With love and fear was mixed desire of life.

But standing so, a look with great scorn rife
The elder woman, turning, cast on her,
Pointing to Ogier, who began to stir;
She looked, and all she erst saw now did seem
To have been nothing but a hideous dream,
As fair and young he rose from off the ground
And cast a dazed and puzzled look around,
Like one just waked from sleep in some strange place;
But soon his grave eyes rested on her face,
And turned yet graver seeing her so pale,
And that her eyes were pregnant with some tale
Of love and fear; she 'neath his eyes the while
Forced her pale lips to semblance of a smile,
And said: “O Ancient Knight, thou sleepest then?
While through this poor land range the heathen men

245

Unmet of any but my King and Lord:
Nay, let us see the deeds of thine old sword.”

“Queen,” said he, “bid me then unto this work,
And certes I behind no wall would lurk
Nor send for succour, while a scanty folk
Still followed after me to break the yoke:
I pray thee grace for sleeping, and were fain
That I might rather never sleep again
Than have such wretched dreams as I e'en now
Have waked from.”

Lovelier she seemed to grow
Unto him as he spoke; fresh colour came
Into her face as though for some sweet shame,
While she with tearful eyes beheld him so,
That somewhat even must his burnt cheek glow,
His heart beat faster. But again she said:
“Nay, will dreams burden such a mighty head?
Then may I too have pardon for a dream:
Last night in sleep I saw thee, who didst seem
To be the King of France; and thou and I
Were sitting at some great festivity
Within the many-peopled gold-hung place.”

The blush of shame was gone as on his face
She gazed, and saw him read her meaning clear,
And knew that no cold words she had to fear,
But rather that for softer speech he yearned.
Therefore, with love alone her smooth cheek burned,
Her parted lips were hungry for his kiss,
She trembled at the near approaching bliss.

Nathless, she checked her love a little while,
Because she felt the old dame's curious smile
Upon her, and she said: “O Ancient Knight,
If I then read my last night's dream aright,
Thou art come here our very help to be,
Perchance to give my husband back to me;
Come then, if thou this land art fain to save,

246

And show the wisdom thou must surely have
Unto my council; I will give thee then
What charge I may among my valiant men;
And certes thou wilt do so well herein,
That ere long, something greater shalt thou win:
Come then, deliverer of my throne and land,
And let me touch for once thy mighty hand
With these weak fingers.”

As she spoke, she met
His eager hand, and all things did forget
But for one moment, for too wise were they
To cast the coming years of joy away;
Then with her other hand her gown she raised
And led him thence, and o'er her shoulder gazed
At her old follower with a doubtful smile,
As though to say: “Be wise, I know thy guile!”

But slowly she behind the lovers walked,
Muttering: “So be it! thou shalt not be balked
Of thy desire; be merry! I am wise,
Nor will I rob thee of thy Paradise
For any other than myself; and thou
Mayst even happen to have had enow
Of this new love, before I get the ring,
And I may work for thee no evil thing.”