THE CHAPEL IN LYONESS

ALL day long and every day, From Christmas-Eve to Whit-Sunday, Within that Chapel-aisle I lay, And no man came a-near. Naked to the waist was I, And deep within my breast did lie, Though no man any blood could spy, The truncheon of a spear. No meat did ever pass my lips Those days. Alas! the sunlight slips From off the gilded parclose, dips, And night comes on apace. My arms lay back behind my head; Over my raised-up knees was spread A samite cloth of white and red; A rose lay on my face. Many a time I tried to shout; But as in dream of battle-rout, My frozen speech would not well out; I could not even weep. With inward sigh I see the sun Fade off the pillars one by one, My heart faints when the day is done, Because I cannot sleep. Sometimes strange thoughts pass through my head; Not like a tomb is this my bed, Yet oft I think that I am dead; That round my tomb is writ, 'Ozana of the hardy heart, Knight of the Table Round, Pray for his soul, lords, of your part; A true knight he was found.' [He sleeps. Ah! me, I cannot fathom it.

All day long and every day, Till his madness pass'd away, I watch'd Ozana as he lay Within the gilded screen. All my singing moved him not; As I sung my heart grew hot, With the thought of Launcelot Far away, I ween. So I went a little space From out the chapel, bathed my face In the stream that runs apace By the churchyard wall. There I pluck'd a faint wild rose, Hard by where the linden grows, Sighing over silver rows Of the lilies tall. I laid the flower across his mouth; The sparkling drops seem'd good for drouth; He smiled, turn'd round towards the south. Held up a golden tress. The light smote on it from the west; He drew the covering from his breast, Against his heart that hair he prest; Death him soon will bless.

I enter'd by the western door; I saw a knight's helm lying there: I raised my eyes from off the floor, And caught the gleaming of his hair. I stept full softly up to him; I laid my chin upon his head; I felt him smile; my eyes did swim, I was so glad he was not dead. I heard Ozana murmur low, 'There comes no sleep nor any love.' But Galahad stoop'd and kiss'd his brow: He shiver'd; I saw his pale lips move.

There comes no sleep nor any love; Ah me! I shiver with delight. I am so weak I cannot move; God move me to thee, dear, to-night! Christ help! I have but little wit: My life went wrong; I see it writ, 'Ozana of the hardy heart, Knight of the Table Round, Pray for his soul, lords, on your part; A good knight he was found.' [He dies. Now I begin to fathom it.

Galahad sits dreamily; What strange things may his eyes see, Great blue eyes fix'd full on me? On his soul, Lord, have mercy.

Ozana, shall I pray for thee? Her cheek is laid to thine; No long time hence, also I see Thy wasted fingers twine Within the tresses of her hair That shineth gloriously, Thinly outspread in the clear air Against the jasper sea.