When the gray morning dawned at Noel-garde,
The Lady Agathar went to her son;
It was the last good-morrow they would say
For many years to come.  At the sun’s rise
He was to leave his home, to take his way
To the brave knight Sir Kathanal, to whom
Sir Noel, dying, had bade Agathar
Send the young Christalan, in time, to learn
The code of chivalry and knighthood.  Back
She drew the curtains of his bed, and watched
Him sleeping, bent and kissed him: 

“Christalan,
Awake!” she said, “the day is breaking!  Soon
You leave your home where now you rule as lord,
Boy though you are, and go as servitor;
You must fulfil my heart’s desire, my son,
And, by God’s help, bring answer to my prayers;
You must be true and valiant, Christalan.”

“Why, mother mine, is it not wrought in gold
Upon my doublet?”

“Ah, my son,” she said,
“It must be wrought upon your heart as well
As on your doublet.”

Quick he answered her,
“How can I help be valiant and most true,
With such a father and your peerless self
My mother?  No, I will not fail, be sure. 
Some day I shall come riding home to you
With honour, prizes, fame, and dignity,
That shall befit my father’s noble name,
And all the court as I pass by will cry,
‘Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True!’”

“But, Christalan, first comes a time when you
Must serve, and work, and cheer for other knights;
No knight is fully worthy to command
Until he knows the lesson to obey;
No ruler can be great unless he learns
With dignity to be a servitor. 
The least shall be the greatest, the most true
In all things, howe’er small, shall be at last
Most valiant.  Will you serve as well, my son,
As now you hope to conquer?”

“Mother mine,
Nothing will be too hard for me, I know,
With knighthood at the end.  If that should fail,
I could not bear it!  It will come at last! 
When I shall hear the cry, that in our play
Sweet Greane is ever calling through the wood,
From all the court, and even from the King,
‘Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True!’”

Eight years had passed.  The Lady Agathar,
Unaged, unchanged, in her plain robe of black,
Sat in her tower, watching for her son. 
Fair Greane was with her, tall, and full of grace,
Right glad at last that she was born a maid.

They talked together of that day, gone by,
When Christalan first left them They had heard
How nobly, to the pride of Noel-garde,
He bore his days of service, how, as squire,
He was the favoured of Sir Kathanal,
How keen and living his ambition was
To prove the motto of his boyish choice
And it was near, the mother’s heart was glad
That, ere the week was ended, Christalan
Would be the knight his heart had longed to be. 
His maiden shield, waiting his valour’s right