Here is an excerpt from Tennyson's " Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere:"
Then, in the boyhood of the year,
Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere
Rode thro' the coverts of the deer,
With blissful treble ringing clear.
She seem'd a part of joyous Spring;
A gown of grass-green silk she wore,
Buckled with golden clasps before;
A light-green tuft of plumes she bore
Closed in a golden ring.
Here is Tennyson's rendition of the queen's repentance:
Then she stretched out her arms and cried aloud
"Oh Arthur!" there her voice brake suddenly,
Then--as a stream that spouting from a cliff
Fails in mid air, but gathering at the base
Re-makes itself, and flashes down the vale--
Went on in passionate utterance:
"Gone--my lord!
Gone through my sin to slay and to be slain!
And he forgave me, and I could not speak.
Farewell? I should have answered his farewell.
His mercy choked me. Gone, my lord the King,
My own true lord! how dare I call him mine?
The shadow of another cleaves to me,
And makes me one pollution: he, the King,
Called me polluted: shall I kill myself?
What help in that? I cannot kill my sin,
If soul be soul; nor can I kill my shame;
No, nor by living can I live it down.
The days will grow to weeks, the weeks to months,
The months will add themselves and make the years,
The years will roll into the centuries,
And mine will ever be a name of scorn.
All the legends agree that both Lancelot and Guinevere entered monasteries and spent the rest of their lives in penance.
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"Oh Arthur!" there her voice brake suddenly,
Then--as a stream that spouting from a cliff
Fails in mid air, but gathering at the base
Re-makes itself, and flashes down the vale--
Went on in passionate utterance:
"Gone--my lord!
Gone through my sin to slay and to be slain!
And he forgave me, and I could not speak.
Farewell? I should have answered his farewell.
His mercy choked me. Gone, my lord the King,
My own true lord! how dare I call him mine?
The shadow of another cleaves to me,
And makes me one pollution: he, the King,
Called me polluted: shall I kill myself?
What help in that? I cannot kill my sin,
If soul be soul; nor can I kill my shame;
No, nor by living can I live it down.
The days will grow to weeks, the weeks to months,
The months will add themselves and make the years,
The years will roll into the centuries,
And mine will ever be a name of scorn.
All the legends agree that both Lancelot and Guinevere entered monasteries and spent the rest of their lives in penance.
6 comments:
Trouble with blogger...the comments were accidentally closed again.
dear Elena,
you have me sighting when I see these romantic posts.
Oh, Paula dear, that is good, I hope.
very good.:-).
I remember spending beautiful days when 14 yo reading about King Arthur and Camelot and the Knights of the Round Table, and the Queen...such a bliss!
Yes, I consumed all of those stories like food when I was 14.
+JMJ+
So sad, but so beautiful . . . :)
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