SIR GALAHAD – A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY<\/strong><\/p>\nIt is the longest night in all the year,
\nNear on the day when the Lord Christ was born;
\nSix hours ago I came and sat down here,
\nAnd ponder’d sadly, wearied and forlorn.<\/p>\n
The winter wind that pass’d the chapel door,
\nSang out a moody tune, that went right well
\nWith mine own thoughts: I look’d down on the floor,
\nBetween my feet, until I heard a bell<\/p>\n
Sound a long way off through the forest deep,
\nAnd toll on steadily; a drowsiness
\nCame on me, so that I fell half asleep,
\nAs I sat there not moving: less and less<\/p>\n
I saw the melted snow that hung in beads
\nUpon my steel-shoes; less and less I saw
\nBetween the tiles the bunches of small weeds:
\nHeartless and stupid, with no touch of awe<\/p>\n
Upon me, half-shut eyes upon the ground,
\nI thought: O Galahad! the days go by,
\nStop and cast up now that which you have found,
\nSo sorely you have wrought and painfully.<\/p>\n
Night after night your horse treads down alone
\nThe sere damp fern, night after night you sit
\nHolding the bridle like a man of stone,
\nDismal, unfriended: what thing comes of it?<\/p>\n
And what if Palomydes also ride,
\nAnd over many a mountain and bare heath
\nFollow the questing beast with none beside?
\nIs he not able still to hold his breath<\/p>\n
With thoughts of Insult? doth he not grow pale
\nWith weary striving, to seem best of all
\nTo her, “as she is best,” he saith? to fail
\nIs nothing to him, he can never fall.<\/p>\n
For unto such a man love-sorrow is
\nSo dear a thing unto his constant heart,
\nThat even if he never win one kiss,
\nOr touch from Insult, it will never part.<\/p>\n
And he will never know her to be worse
\nThan in his happiest dreams he thinks she is:
\nGood knight, and faithful, you have ‘scalped the curse
\nIn wonderful-wise; you have great store of bliss.<\/p>\n
Yea, what if Father Lancelot ride out,
\nCan he not think of Genevieve’s arms, round
\nWarm and lithe, about his neck, and shout
\nTill all the place grows joyful with the sound?<\/p>\n
And when he lists can often see her face,
\nAnd think, “Next month I kiss you, or next week,
\nAnd still you think of me”: therefore the place
\nGrows very pleasant, whatsoever he seek.<\/p>\n
But me, who ride alone, some Carle shall find
\nDead in my arms in the half-melted snow,
\nWhen all unkindly with the shifting wind,
\nThe thaw comes on at Candlemas: I know<\/p>\n
Indeed that they will say: “This Galahad
\nIf he had lived had been a right good knight;
\nAh! poor chaste body!” but they will be glad,
\nNot most alone, but all, when in their sight<\/p>\n
That very evening in their scarlet sleeves
\nThe gay-dress’d minstrels sing; no maid will talk
\nOf sitting on my tomb, until the leaves,
\nGrown big upon the bushes of the walk,<\/p>\n
East of the Palace-pleasance, make it hard
\nTo see the minster there from: well-a-day!
\nBefore the trees by autumn were well bared,
\nI saw a damozel with gentle play,<\/p>\n
Within that very walk say last farewell
\nTo her dear knight, just riding out to find
\n(Why should I choke to say it?) the Sangreal,
\nAnd their last kisses sunk into my mind,<\/p>\n
Yea, for she stood lean’d forward on his breast,
\nRather, scarce stood; the back of one dear hand,
\nThat it might well be kiss’d, she held and press’d
\nAgainst his lips; long time they stood there, fann’d<\/p>\n
By gentle gusts of quiet frosty wind,
\nTill Mador de la porte a-going by,
\nAnd my own horse hoofs roused them; they untwined,
\nAnd parted like a dream. In this way I,<\/p>\n
With sleepy face bent to the chapel floor,
\nKept musing half asleep, till suddenly
\nA sharp bell rang from close beside the door,
\nAnd I leapt up when something pass’d me by,<\/p>\n
Shrill ringing going with it, still half blind
\nI stagger’d after, a great sense of awe
\nAt every step kept gathering on my mind,
\nThereat I have no marvel, for I saw<\/p>\n
One sitting on the altar as a throne,
\nWhose face no man could say he did not know,
\nAnd though the bell still rang, he sat alone,
\nWith raiment half blood-red, half white as snow.<\/p>\n
Right so I fell upon the floor and knelt,
\nNot as one kneels in church when mass is said,
\nBut in a heap, quite nerveless, for I felt
\nThe first time what a thing was perfect dread.<\/p>\n
But mightily the gentle voice came down:
\n“Rise up, and look and listen, Galahad,
\nGood knight of God, for you will see no frown
\nUpon my face; I come to make you glad.<\/p>\n
“For that you say that you are all alone,
\nI will be with you always, and fear not
\nYou are uncared for, though no maiden moan
\nAbove your empty tomb; for Launcelot,<\/p>\n
“He in good time shall be my servant too,
\nMeantime, take note whose sword first made him knight,
\nAnd who has loved him always, yea, and who
\nStill trusts him always, though in all men’s sight,<\/p>\n
“He is just what you know, O Galahad,
\nThis love is happy even as you say,
\nBut would you for a little time be glad,
\nTo make ME sorry long, day after day?<\/p>\n
“Her warm arms round his neck half throttle ME,
\nThe hot love-tears burn deep like spots of lead,
\nYea, and the years pass quick: right dismally
\nWill Launcelot at one time hang his head;<\/p>\n
“Yea, old and shriveled he shall win my love.
\nPoor Palomydes fretting out his soul!
\nNot always is he able, son, to move
\nHis love, and do it honour: needs must roll<\/p>\n
“The proudest destrier sometimes in the dust,
\nAnd then ’tis weary work; he strives beside
\nSeem better than he is, so that his trust
\nIs always on what chances may betide;<\/p>\n
“And so he wears away, my servant, too,
\nWhen all these things are gone, and wretchedly
\nHe sits and longs to moan for Insult, who
\nIs no care now to Palomydes: see,<\/p>\n
“O good son, Galahad, upon this day,
\nNow even, all these things are on your side,
\nBut these you fight not for; look up, I say,
\nAnd see how I can love you, for no pride<\/p>\n
“Closes your eyes, no vain lust keeps them down.
\nSee now you have ME always; following
\nThat holy vision, Galahad, go on,
\nUntil at last you come to ME to sing<\/p>\n
“In Heaven always, and to walk around
\nThe garden where I am.” He ceased, my face
\nAnd wretched body fell upon the ground;
\nAnd when I look’d again, the holy place<\/p>\n
Was empty; but right so the bell again
\nCame to the chapel-door, there entered
\nTwo angels first, in white, without a stain,
\nAnd scarlet wings, then, after them, a bed<\/p>\n
Four ladies bore, and set it down beneath
\nThe very altar-step, and while for fear
\nI scarcely dared to move or draw my breath,
\nThose holy ladies gently came a-near,<\/p>\n
And quite unarm’d me, saying: “Galahad,
\nRest here awhile and sleep, and take no thought
\nOf any other thing than being glad;
\nHither the Sangreal will be shortly brought,<\/p>\n
“Yet must you sleep the while it stayeth here.”
\nRight so they went away, and I, being weary,
\nSlept long and dream’d of Heaven: the bell comes near,
\nI doubt it grows to morning. Miserere!<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
AN ANGEL
\nO servant of the high God, Galahad!
\nRise and be arm’d: the Sangreal is gone forth
\nThrough the great forest, and you must be had
\nUnto the sea that lieth on the north:<\/p>\n
There shall you find the wondrous ship wherein
\nThe spindles of King Solomon are laid,
\nAnd the sword that no man draweth without sin,
\nBut if he be most pure: and there is stay’d,<\/p>\n
Hard by, Sir Launcelot, whom you will meet
\nIn some short space upon that ship: first, though,
\nWill come here presently that lady sweet,
\nSister of Percival, whom you well know,<\/p>\n
And with her Bors and Percival: stand now,
\nThese ladies will to arm you.
\nFIRST LADY, putting on the hauberk Galahad,
\nThat I may stand so close beneath your brow,
\nMargaret of Antioch, am glad.<\/p>\n
SECOND LADY, girding him with the sword.
\nThat I may stand and touch you with my hand,
\nO Galahad, I, Cecily, am glad.
\nTHIRD LADY, buckling on the spurs.
\nThat I may kneel while up above you stand,
\nAnd gaze at me, O holy Galahad,<\/p>\n
I, Lucy, am most glad.
\nFOURTH LADY, putting on the basnet.
\nO gentle knight,
\nThat you bow down to us in reverence,
\nWe are most glad, I, Katherine, with delight
\nMust needs fall trembling.
\nANGEL, putting on the crossed surcoat.<\/p>\n
Galahad, we go hence,
\nFor here, amid the straying of the snow,
\nCome Percival’s sister, Bors, and Percival.
\n[The Four Ladies carry out the bed,
\nand all go but Galahad.<\/p>\n
GALAHAD.
\nHow still and quiet everything seems now:
\nThey come, too, for I hear the horse hoofs fall.<\/p>\n
Enter Sir Bors, Sir Percival and his Sister.<\/p>\n
Fair friends and gentle lady, God you save!
\nA many marvels have been here to-night;
\nTell me what news of Launcelot you have,
\nAnd has God’s body ever been in sight?<\/p>\n
SIR BORS.
\nWhy, as for seeing that same holy thing,
\nAs we were riding slowly side by side,
\nAn hour ago, we heard a sweet voice sing,
\nAnd through the bare twigs saw a great light glide,<\/p>\n
With many-colour’d raiment, but far off;
\nAnd so pass’d quickly: from the court naught good;
\nPoor merry Dinadan, that with jape and scoff
\nKept us all merry, in a little wood<\/p>\n
Was found all hack’d and dead: Sir Lionel
\nAnd Gauwaine have come back from the great quest,<\/p>\n
Just merely shamed; and Lauvaine, who loved well
\nYour father Launcelot, at the king’s behest<\/p>\n
Went out to seek him, but was almost slain,
\nPerhaps is dead now; everywhere
\nThe knights come foil’d from the great quest, in vain;
\nIn vain they struggle for the vision fair.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
William Morris was born in Walthamstow, Essex, on 24 March 1834. The son of a wealthy businessman, he enjoyed a comfortable childhood before going to Marlborough and Exeter College, Oxford. He originally intended to take holy orders, but his reading of the social criticism of Carlyle, Kingsley and Ruskin led him to reconsider the Church […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[32],"tags":[],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2334"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/5"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2334"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2334\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4939,"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2334\/revisions\/4939"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2334"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2334"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2334"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}