In samite sark yclad was she;
And that fair glimmerish band of gold
Which crowned long, savage locks of hair
In the moon brent cold.
She with big eyeballs gloomed and glowered,
And lightly hummed some Elfin's song,
And one could naught save on her stare
And fare along.
Yea; sad and lute-like was that song
And softly said its mystery;
Which quaintly sang in elden verse
"Thy love I'll be."
And oft it said: "I love thee true,
Sir Ewain, champion of the fair."
And never wist he what a witch
Was that one there.
And never wist he that a witch
Had bound him with her wily hair,
Eke with dark art had ta'en his heart
To slay him there.
And all his soul did wax amort
To stars, to hills, to slades, to streams,
And it but held that sorceress fair
As one of dreams.
And now he kens some castle gray
Wild turrets ivied, in the moon,
Old, where through woodlands foaming on
A torrent shone....
In its high hall full twenty knights
With visors barred all sternly stand;
The following of some gracious brave,
Lord of the land.
And lo! when that dim damosel
Moved down the hall, they louted low;
And she was queen of all that band,
That dame of snow.
Now on that knight she stared eftsoons,
And cried on high unto her crew,
"Behold! Sir Knights, the dastard brave
Your king that slew."
And all those heathen knights wox wild
Attonce; and all against him drave;
Long battle blades and daggers bright
Aloft did wave.
The press on him puissant bare
And smote him to the rush-strown earth;--
Tall, tall o'er all that Fairy rose
Aloud with mirth.
