By ALFRED TENNYSON

[Illustration:  ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON 1809-1892]

  I

  The brave Geraint, a knight of Arthur’s court,
  A tributary prince of Devon, one
  Of that great order of the Table Round,
  Had married Enid, Yniol’s only child,
  And loved her, as he loved the light of Heaven. 
  And as the light of Heaven varies, now
  At sunrise, now at sunset, now by night
  With moon and trembling stars, so loved Geraint
  To make her beauty vary day by day,
  In crimsons and in purples and in gems. 
  And Enid, but to please her husband’s eye,
  Who first had found and loved her in a state
  Of broken fortunes, daily fronted him
  In some fresh splendor; and the Queen herself,
  Loved her, and often with her own white hands
  Array’d and deck’d her, as the loveliest,
  Next after her own self, in all the court. 
  And Enid loved the Queen, and with true heart
  Adored her, as the stateliest and the best
  And loveliest of all women upon earth. 
  At last, forsooth, because his princedom lay
  Close on the borders of a territory,
  Wherein were bandit earls, and caitiff knights,
  Assassins, and all flyers from the hand
  Of Justice, and whatever loathes a law: 
  He craved a fair permission to depart,
  And there defend his marches; and the King
  Mused for a little on his plea, but, last,
  Allowing it, the Prince and Enid rode,
  And fifty knights rode with them, to the shores
  Of Severn, and they past to their own land;
  Where, thinking, that if ever yet was wife
  True to her lord, mine shall be so to me,
  He compass’d her with sweet observances
  And worship, never leaving her, and grew
  Forgetful of his promise to the King,
  Forgetful of the falcon and the hunt,
  Forgetful of the tilt and tournament,
  Forgetful of his glory and his name,
  Forgetful of his princedom and its cares. 
  And this forgetfulness was hateful to her. 
  And by and by the people, when they met
  In twos and threes, or fuller companies,
  Began to scoff and jeer and babble of him
  As of a prince whose manhood was all gone,
  And molten down in mere uxoriousness. 
  And this she gather’d from the people’s eyes: 
  This too the women who attired her head,
  To please her, dwelling on his boundless love,
  Told Enid, and they sadden’d her the more: 
  And day by day she thought to tell Geraint,
  But could not out of bashful delicacy;
  While he that watch’d her sadden, was the more
  Suspicious that her nature had a taint.

    At last, it chanced that on a summer morn
  (They sleeping each by either) the new sun
  Beat thro the blindless casement of the room,
  And heated the strong warrior in his dreams;
  Who, moving, cast the coverlet aside,
  And bared the knotted column of his throat,