Sir Galahad, A Christmas Mystery

It is the longest night in all the year,         Near on the day when the Lord Christ was born;     Six hours ago I came and sat down here,         And ponder'd sadly, wearied and forlorn.     The winter wind that pass'd the chapel door,         Sang out a moody tune, that went right well     With mine own thoughts: I look'd down on the floor,         Between my feet, until I heard a bell     Sound a long way off through the forest deep,         And toll on steadily; a drowsiness     Came on me, so that I fell half asleep,         As I sat there not moving: less and less     I saw the melted snow that hung in beads         Upon my steel-shoes; less and less I saw     Between the tiles the bunches of small weeds:         Heartless and stupid, with no touch of awe     Upon me, half-shut eyes upon the ground,         I thought: O Galahad! the days go by,     Stop and cast up now that which you have found,         So sorely you have wrought and painfully.     Night after night your horse treads down alone         The sere damp fern, night after night you sit     Holding the bridle like a man of stone,         Dismal, unfriended: what thing comes of it?     And what if Palomydes also ride,         And over many a mountain and bare heath     Follow the questing beast with none beside?         Is he not able still to hold his breath     With thoughts of Iseult? doth he not grow pale         With weary striving, to seem best of all     To her, 'as she is best,' he saith? to fail         Is nothing to him, he can never fall.     For unto such a man love-sorrow is         So dear a thing unto his constant heart,     That even if he never win one kiss,         Or touch from Iseult, it will never part.     And he will never know her to be worse         Than in his happiest dreams he thinks she is:     Good knight, and faithful, you have 'scaped the curse         In wonderful-wise; you have great store of bliss.     Yea, what if Father Launcelot ride out,         Can he not think of Guenevere's arms, round     Warm and lithe, about his neck, and shout         Till all the place grows joyful with the sound?     And when he lists can often see her face,         And think, 'Next month I kiss you, or next week,     And still you think of me': therefore the place         Grows very pleasant, whatsoever he seek.     But me, who ride alone, some carle shall find         Dead in my arms in the half-melted snow,     When all unkindly with the shifting wind,         The thaw comes on at Candlemas: I know     Indeed that they will say: 'This Galahad         If he had lived had been a right good knight;     Ah! poor chaste body!' but they will be glad,         Not most alone, but all, when in their sight     That very evening in their scarlet sleeves         The gay-dress'd minstrels sing; no maid will talk     Of sitting on my tomb, until the leaves,         Grown big upon the bushes of the walk,     East of the Palace-pleasaunce, make it hard         To see the minster therefrom: well-a-day!     Before the trees by autumn were well bared,         I saw a damozel with gentle play,     Within that very walk say last farewell         To her dear knight, just riding out to find     (Why should I choke to say it?) the Sangreal,         And their last kisses sunk into my mind,     Yea, for she stood lean'd forward on his breast,         Rather, scarce stood; the back of one dear hand,     That it might well be kiss'd, she held and press'd         Against his lips; long time they stood there, fann'd     By gentle gusts of quiet frosty wind,         Till Mador de la porte a-going by,     And my own horsehoofs roused them; they untwined,         And parted like a dream. In this way I,     With sleepy face bent to the chapel floor,         Kept musing half asleep, till suddenly     A sharp bell rang from close beside the door,         And I leapt up when something pass'd me by,     Shrill ringing going with it, still half blind         I stagger'd after, a great sense of awe     At every step kept gathering on my mind,         Thereat I have no marvel, for I saw     One sitting on the altar as a throne,         Whose face no man could say he did not know,     And though the bell still rang, he sat alone,         With raiment half blood-red, half white as snow.     Right so I fell upon the floor and knelt,         Not as one kneels in church when mass is said,     But in a heap, quite nerveless, for I felt         The first time what a thing was perfect dread.     But mightily the gentle voice came down:         'Rise up, and look and listen, Galahad,     Good knight of God, for you will see no frown         Upon my face; I come to make you glad.     For that you say that you are all alone,         I will be with you always, and fear not     You are uncared for, though no maiden moan         Above your empty tomb; for Launcelot,     He in good time shall be my servant too,         Meantime, take note whose sword first made him knight,     And who has loved him alway, yea, and who         Still trusts him alway, though in all men's sight,     He is just what you know, O Galahad,         This love is happy even as you say,     But would you for a little time be glad,         To make ME sorry long, day after day?     Her warm arms round his neck half throttle ME,         The hot love-tears burn deep like spots of lead,     Yea, and the years pass quick: right dismally         Will Launcelot at one time hang his head;     Yea, old and shrivell'd he shall win my love.         Poor Palomydes fretting out his soul!     Not always is he able, son, to move         His love, and do it honour: needs must roll     The proudest destrier sometimes in the dust,         And then 'tis weary work; he strives beside     Seem better than he is, so that his trust         Is always on what chances may betide;     And so he wears away, my servant, too,         When all these things are gone, and wretchedly     He sits and longs to moan for Iseult, who         Is no care now to Palomydes: see,     O good son Galahad, upon this day,         Now even, all these things are on your side,     But these you fight not for; look up, I say,         And see how I can love you, for no pride     Closes your eyes, no vain lust keeps them down.         See now you have ME always; following     That holy vision, Galahad, go on,         Until at last you come to ME to sing     In Heaven always, and to walk around         The garden where I am.' He ceased, my face     And wretched body fell upon the ground;         And when I look'd again, the holy place     Was empty; but right so the bell again         Came to the chapel-door, there entered     Two angels first, in white, without a stain,         And scarlet wings, then, after them, a bed     Four ladies bore, and set it down beneath         The very altar-step, and while for fear     I scarcely dared to move or draw my breath,         Those holy ladies gently came a-near,     And quite unarm'd me, saying: 'Galahad,         Rest here awhile and sleep, and take no thought     Of any other thing than being glad;         Hither the Sangreal will be shortly brought,     Yet must you sleep the while it stayeth here.'         Right so they went away, and I, being weary,     Slept long and dream'd of Heaven: the bell comes near,         I doubt it grows to morning. Miserere!     Enter Two Angels in white, with scarlet wings; also, Four Ladies in gowns of red and green; also an Angel, bearing in his hands a surcoat of white, with a red cross.                 AN ANGEL.     O servant of the high God, Galahad!         Rise and be arm'd: the Sangreal is gone forth     Through the great forest, and you must be had         Unto the sea that lieth on the north:     There shall you find the wondrous ship wherein         The spindles of King Solomon are laid,     And the sword that no man draweth without sin,         But if he be most pure: and there is stay'd,     Hard by, Sir Launcelot, whom you will meet         In some short space upon that ship: first, though,     Will come here presently that lady sweet,         Sister of Percival, whom you well know,     And with her Bors and Percival: stand now,         These ladies will to arm you.                 FIRST LADY, putting on the hauberk.                             Galahad,     That I may stand so close beneath your brow,         I, Margaret of Antioch, am glad.                 SECOND LADY, girding him with the sword.     That I may stand and touch you with my hand,         O Galahad, I, Cecily, am glad.                 THIRD LADY, buckling on the spurs.     That I may kneel while up above you stand,         And gaze at me, O holy Galahad,     I, Lucy, am most glad.                 FOURTH LADY, putting on the basnet.                                     O gentle knight,         That you bow down to us in reverence,     We are most glad, I, Katherine, with delight         Must needs fall trembling.                 ANGEL, putting on the crossed surcoat.                                  Galahad, we go hence,     For here, amid the straying of the snow,         Come Percival's sister, Bors, and Percival.                                 [The Four Ladies carry out the bed, and all go but Galahad.                 GALAHAD.     How still and quiet everything seems now:         They come, too, for I hear the horsehoofs fall.                 Enter Sir Bors, Sir Percival, and his Sister.     Fair friends and gentle lady, God you save!         A many marvels have been here to-night;     Tell me what news of Launcelot you have,         And has God's body ever been in sight?                 SIR BORS.     Why, as for seeing that same holy thing,         As we were riding slowly side by side,     An hour ago, we heard a sweet voice sing,         And through the bare twigs saw a great light glide,     With many-colour'd raiment, but far off;         And so pass'd quickly: from the court nought good;     Poor merry Dinadan, that with jape and scoff         Kept us all merry, in a little wood     Was found all hack'd and dead: Sir Lionel         And Gauwaine have come back from the great quest,     Just merely shamed; and Lauvaine, who loved well         Your father Launcelot, at the king's behest     Went out to seek him, but was almost slain,         Perhaps is dead now; everywhere     The knights come foil'd from the great quest, in vain;         In vain they struggle for the vision fair.