The Chapel In Lyoness

SIR OZANA LE CURE HARDY. SIR GALAHAD. SIR BORS DE GANYS.                 SIR OZANA.     All day long and every day,     From Christmas-Eve to Whit-Sunday,     Within that Chapel-aisle I lay,         And no man came a-near.     Naked to the waist was I,     And deep within my breast did lie,     Though no man any blood could spy,         The truncheon of a spear.     No meat did ever pass my lips     Those days. Alas! the sunlight slips     From off the gilded parclose, dips,         And night comes on apace.     My arms lay back behind my head;     Over my raised-up knees was spread     A samite cloth of white and red;         A rose lay on my face.     Many a time I tried to shout;     But as in dream of battle-rout,     My frozen speech would not well out;         I could not even weep.     With inward sigh I see the sun     Fade off the pillars one by one,     My heart faints when the day is done,         Because I cannot sleep.     Sometimes strange thoughts pass through my head;     Not like a tomb is this my bed,     Yet oft I think that I am dead;         That round my tomb is writ,     'Ozana of the hardy heart,         Knight of the Table Round,     Pray for his soul, lords, of your part;         A true knight he was found.'     Ah! me, I cannot fathom it.            [He sleeps.                 SIR GALAHAD.     All day long and every day,     Till his madness pass'd away,     I watch'd Ozana as he lay         Within the gilded screen.     All my singing moved him not;     As I sung my heart grew hot,     With the thought of Launcelot         Far away, I ween.     So I went a little space     From out the chapel, bathed my face     In the stream that runs apace         By the churchyard wall.     There I pluck'd a faint wild rose,     Hard by where the linden grows,     Sighing over silver rows         Of the lilies tall.     I laid the flower across his mouth;     The sparkling drops seem'd good for drouth;     He smiled, turn'd round towards the south.         Held up a golden tress.     The light smote on it from the west;     He drew the covering from his breast,     Against his heart that hair he prest;         Death him soon will bless.                 SIR BORS.     I enter'd by the western door;         I saw a knight's helm lying there:     I raised my eyes from off the floor,         And caught the gleaming of his hair.     I stept full softly up to him;         I laid my chin upon his head;     I felt him smile; my eyes did swim,         I was so glad he was not dead.     I heard Ozana murmur low,         'There comes no sleep nor any love.'     But Galahad stoop'd and kiss'd his brow:         He shiver'd; I saw his pale lips move.                 SIR OZANA.     There comes no sleep nor any love;         Ah me! I shiver with delight.     I am so weak I cannot move;         God move me to thee, dear, to-night!     Christ help! I have but little wit:     My life went wrong; I see it writ,     'Ozana of the hardy heart,         Knight of the Table Round,     Pray for his soul, lords, on your part;         A good knight he was found.'     Now I begin to fathom it.            [He dies.                 SIR BORS.     Galahad sits dreamily;     What strange things may his eyes see,     Great blue eyes fix'd full on me?     On his soul, Lord, have mercy.                 SIR GALAHAD.     Ozana, shall I pray for thee?     Her cheek is laid to thine;     No long time hence, also I see         Thy wasted fingers twine     Within the tresses of her hair         That shineth gloriously,     Thinly outspread in the clear air         Against the jasper sea.