Idylls of the King quotes

“

A doubtful throne is ice on summer seas.

Ye come from Arthur’s court. Victor his men Report him! Yea, but ye—think ye this king— So many those that hate him, and so strong, So few his knights, however brave they be— Hath body enow to hold his foemen down?”

thou dost His will, The Maker’s, and not knowest, and I that know, Have strength and wit, in my good mother’s hall Linger with vacillating obedience, Prisoned, and kept and coaxed and whistled to— Since the good mother holds me still a child!

Good mother is bad mother unto me!

A worse were better; yet no worse would I.

And one—they called her Fame; and one—O Mother, How can ye keep me tethered to you—Shame.

Man am I grown, a man’s work must I do.

Follow the deer? follow the Christ, the King, Live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow the King— Else, wherefore born?”

Not proven, who swept the dust of ruined Rome From off the threshold of the realm, and crushed The Idolaters, and made the people free?

Who should be King save him who makes us free?

”

Unmockingly the mocker ending here Turned to the right, and past along the plain; Whom Gareth looking after said, “My men,

Our one white lie sits like a little ghost Here on the threshold of our enterprise.

Let love be blamed for it, not she, nor I: Well, we will make amends.”

And Arthur, “Have thy pleasant field again, And thrice the gold for Uther’s use thereof, According to the years. No boon is here, But justice, so thy say be proven true.

Accursed, who from the wrongs his father did Would shape himself a right!

”

To whom Sir Gareth answered courteously, “

Say thou thy say, and I will do my deed.

Allow me for mine hour, and thou wilt find My fortunes all as fair as hers who lay Among the ashes and wedded the King’s son.”

And Lancelot said, “Blessed be thou, Sir Gareth! knight art thou To the King’s best wish. O damsel, be you wise To call him shamed, who is but overthrown? Thrown have I been, nor once, but many a time.

Victor from vanquished issues at the last, And overthrower from being overthrown.

With sword we have not striven; and thy good horse And thou are weary; yet not less I felt Thy manhood through that wearied lance of thine. Well hast thou done;

“Sound sleep be thine! sound cause to sleep hast thou. Wake lusty! Seem I not as tender to him As any mother? Ay, but such a one As all day long hath rated at her child, And vext his day, but blesses him asleep—

Good lord, how sweetly smells the honeysuckle In the hushed night, as if the world were one Of utter peace, and love, and gentleness!

O Lancelot, Lancelot”—and she clapt her hands— “Full merry am I to find my goodly knave Is knight and noble. See now, sworn have I, Else yon black felon had not let me pass, To bring thee back to do the battle with him.

I am the cause, because I dare not speak And tell him what I think and what they say. And yet I hate that he should linger here;

I cannot love my lord and not his name.

Far liefer had I gird his harness on him, And ride with him to battle and stand by, And watch his mightful hand striking great blows At caitiffs and at wrongers of the world.

“Enid, the good knight’s horse stands in the court; Take him to stall, and give him corn, and then Go to the town and buy us flesh and wine; And we will make us merry as we may.

Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.

”

“

Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands; Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands; For man is man and master of his fate.

“Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd; Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud; Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.”

… howsoever patient, Yniol’s heart Danced in his bosom, seeing better days, And looking round he saw not Enid there, (Who hearing her own name had stolen away) But that old dame, to whom full tenderly And folding all her hand in his he said, “

Mother, a maiden is a tender thing, And best by her that bore her understood.

Go thou to rest, but ere thou go to rest Tell her, and prove her heart toward the Prince.”

O purblind race of miserable men, How many among us at this very hour Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves, By taking true for false, or false for true; Here, through the feeble twilight of this world Groping, how many, until we pass and reach That other, where we see as we are seen!

So fared it with Geraint, who issuing forth That morning, when they both had got to horse, Perhaps because he loved her passionately, And felt that tempest brooding round his heart, Which, if he spoke at all, would break perforce Upon a head so dear …

And Enid pondered in her heart and said, “I will abide the coming of my lord, And I will tell him all their villainy. My lord is weary with the fight before, And they will fall upon him unawares.

I needs must disobey him for his good; How should I dare obey him to his harm?

Needs must I speak, and though he kill me for it, I save a life dearer to me than mine.”

So, scared but at the motion of the man, Fled all the boon companions of the Earl, And left him lying in the public way;

So vanish friendships only made in wine.

Then like a stormy sunlight smiled Geraint, Who saw the chargers of the two that fell Start from their fallen lords, and wildly fly, Mixt with the flyers. “Horse and man,” he said, “All of one mind and all right-honest friends! Not a hoof left:

But Enid in their going had two fears, One from the bandit scattered in the field, And one from Edyrn. Every now and then, When Edyrn reined his charger at her side, She shrank a little.

In a hollow land, From which old fires have broken, men may fear Fresh fire and ruin.

He, perceiving, said:

have ye looked At Edyrn? have ye seen how nobly changed? This work of his is great and wonderful. His very face with change of heart is changed.

The world will not believe a man repents: And this wise world of ours is mainly right.

Full seldom doth a man repent, or use Both grace and will to pick the vicious quitch Of blood and custom wholly out of him, And make all clean, and plant himself afresh.

“The fire of Heaven is on the dusty ways. The wayside blossoms open to the blaze. The whole wood-world is one full peal of praise.

The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell.

“The fire of Heaven is lord of all things good, And starve not thou this fire within thy blood, But follow Vivien through the fiery flood! The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell!”

“The fire of Heaven has killed the barren cold, And kindled all the plain and all the wold.

The new leaf ever pushes off the old.

The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell.

Sunnily she smiled: “And even in this lone wood, Sweet lord, ye do right well to whisper this.

Fools prate, and perish traitors.

Woods have tongues, As walls have ears: but thou shalt go with me, And we will speak at first exceeding low. Meet is it the good King be not deceived.

‘In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours, Faith and unfaith can ne’er be equal powers:

Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.

‘It is the little rift within the lute, That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.

‘

It is the little rift within the lute, That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.

‘The little rift within the lover’s lute Or little pitted speck in garnered fruit, That rotting inward slowly moulders all.

It lives dispersedly in many hands, And every minstrel sings it differently; Yet is there one true line, the pearl of pearls: ‘

Man dreams of Fame while woman wakes to love.

’ Yea! Love, though Love were of the grossest, carves A portion from the solid present, eats And uses, careless of the rest; but Fame, The Fame that follows death is nothing to us;

And then did Envy call me Devil’s son: The sick weak beast seeking to help herself By striking at her better, missed, and brought Her own claw back, and wounded her own heart.

Sweet were the days when I was all unknown, But when my name was lifted up, the storm Brake on the mountain and I cared not for it.

Right well know I that Fame is half-disfame, Yet needs must work my work. That other fame, To one at least, who hath not children, vague, The cackle of the unborn about the grave, I cared not for it:

Sweet were the days when I was all unknown, But when my name was lifted up, the storm Brake on the mountain and I cared not for it.

Right well know I that Fame is half-disfame, Yet needs must work my work.

That other fame, To one at least, who hath not children, vague, The cackle of the unborn about the grave, I cared not for it:

but Fame with men, Being but ampler means to serve mankind, Should have small rest or pleasure in herself, But work as vassal to the larger love, That dwarfs the petty love of one to one.

Use gave me Fame at first, and Fame again Increasing gave me use.

Lo, there my boon! What other? for men sought to prove me vile, Because I fain had given them greater wits: And then did Envy call me Devil’s son:

Then spake the lily maid of Astolat: “Sweet father, all too faint and sick am I For anger: these are slanders: never yet Was noble man but made ignoble talk.

He makes no friend who never made a foe.

But now it is my glory to have loved One peerless, without stain: so let me pass, My father, howsoe’er I seem to you, Not all unhappy, having loved God’s best And greatest, though my love had no return:

What are these? Diamonds for me! they had been thrice their worth Being your gift, had you not lost your own.

To loyal hearts the value of all gifts Must vary as the giver’s.

Not for me! For her! for your new fancy. Only this Grant me, I pray you: have your joys apart. I doubt not that however changed, you keep So much of what is graceful:

‘for there,’ he said, ‘No man could sit but he should lose himself:’ And once by misadvertence Merlin sat In his own chair, and so was lost; but he, Galahad, when he heard of Merlin’s doom, Cried, ‘

If I lose myself, I save myself!

’

Then said the monk, “

Poor men, when yule is cold, Must be content to sit by little fires.

And this am I, so that ye care for me Ever so little; yea, and blest be Heaven That brought thee here to this poor house of ours Where all the brethren are so hard, to warm My cold heart with a friend:

“

Make me thy knight, because I know, Sir King, All that belongs to knighthood, and I love.

” Such was his cry: for having heard the King Had let proclaim a tournament—the prize A golden circlet and a knightly sword, Full fain had Pelleas for his lady won The golden circlet, for himself the sword:

But under her black brows a swarthy one Laughed shrilly, crying, “Praise the patient saints, Our one white day of Innocence hath past, Though somewhat draggled at the skirt. So be it.

The snowdrop only, flowering through the year, Would make the world as blank as Winter-tide.

Come—let us gladden their sad eyes, our Queen’s And Lancelot’s, at this night’s solemnity With all the kindlier colours of the field.”

Then he twangled on his harp, And while he twangled little Dagonet stood Quiet as any water-sodden log Stayed in the wandering warble of a brook; But when the twangling ended, skipt again; And being asked, “Why skipt ye not, Sir Fool?” Made answer, “

I had liefer twenty years Skip to the broken music of my brains Than any broken music thou canst make.

” Then Tristram, waiting for the quip to come, “Good now, what music have I broken, fool?” And little Dagonet, skipping, “Arthur, the King’s;

Swine? I have wallowed, I have washed—the world Is flesh and shadow—I have had my day.

The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fouled me⁠—an I wallowed, then I washed⁠— I have had my day and my philosophies⁠— And thank the Lord I am King Arthur’s fool.

Swine, say ye? swine, goats, asses, rams and geese Trooped round a Paynim harper once, who thrummed On such a wire as musically as thou Some such fine song—but never a king’s fool.”

a saying that angered her. “ ‘May God be with thee, sweet, when thou art old, And sweet no more to me!’ I need Him now. For when had Lancelot uttered aught so gross Even to the swineherd’s malkin in the mast?

The greater man, the greater courtesy.

Far other was the Tristram, Arthur’s knight! But thou, through ever harrying thy wild beasts— Save that to touch a harp, tilt with a lance Becomes thee well—art grown wild beast thyself.

How darest thou, if lover, push me even In fancy from thy side, and set me far In the gray distance, half a life away, Her to be loved no more? Unsay it, unswear!

Flatter me rather, seeing me so weak, Broken with Mark and hate and solitude, Thy marriage and mine own, that I should suck Lies like sweet wines: lie to me: I believe.

Will ye not lie? not swear, as there ye kneel, And solemnly as when ye sware to him, The man of men, our King—My God, the power Was once in vows when men believed the King!

but rise, And fly to my strong castle overseas: There will I hide thee, till my life shall end, There hold thee with my life against the world.” She answered, “Lancelot, wilt thou hold me so? Nay, friend, for we have taken our farewells.

Would God that thou couldst hide me from myself!

Mine is the shame, for I was wife, and thou Unwedded: yet rise now, and let us fly, For I will draw me into sanctuary, And bide my doom.”

… became a noble knight, Was gracious to all ladies, and the same In open battle or the tilting-field Forbore his own advantage, and the King In open battle or the tilting-field Forbore his own advantage, and these two Were the most nobly-mannered men of all;

For manners are not idle, but the fruit Of loyal nature, and of noble mind.

”

For think not, though thou wouldst not love thy lord, Thy lord hast wholly lost his love for thee.

I am not made of so slight elements.

Yet must I leave thee, woman, to thy shame. I hold that man the worst of public foes Who either for his own or children’s sake, To save his blood from scandal, lets the wife Whom he knows false, abide and rule the house:

Let the world be; that is but of the world. What else? what hope? I think there was a hope, Except he mocked me when he spake of hope; His hope he called it; but he never mocks,

For mockery is the fume of little hearts.

And blessed be the King, who hath forgiven My wickedness to him, and left me hope That in mine own heart I can live down sin And be his mate hereafter in the heavens Before high God.

Ill doom is mine To war against my people and my knights.

The king who fights his people fights himself.

And they my knights, who loved me once, the stroke That strikes them dead is as my death to me.