The Vision Of Sir Lamoracke

*
An Arthurian Miscellany

Argument.

As I was going to Saint Ives

I met seven wives.

Every wife had seven sacks;

Every sack had seven cats;

Every cat had seven kits;

Kits, cats, sacks and wives,

How many were going to Saint Ives?

King Pellinore of Wales, the same who slew

Lot, King of Orkney in the Northern seas,

Three stalwart sons in wedlock lawful had.

Sir Lamoracke de Galis eldest was

Of these, the next Sir Aglavale, the third

The pure Sir Percivale, and these were knights

Of Table Round, and with them Tor, the child

Of shame but brother to the three no less,

And first created knight of Table Round

The Table of the great Pendragonship.

Sir Lamoracke among King Arthur's knights

Was bravest save for three, but since the three

Were Lancelot, Tristram and Geraint, no less

Of honor deem'd it reck'ning fourth with these.

In the mid-strength and hardihood of youth

He was when vision by his sister seen,

A holy nun much worn by fastings long,

Sent half the court in quest of Holy Grail;

And Lamoracke went, as eager as the rest,

And all for the holy longing underwent

Long toilsome days, and nights as wearisome,

And piteous perils manifold he knew,

Until, a twelvemonth past, he set his face

Again toward Camelot with yet no glimpse

Of what he sought, and sorrow in his heart.

One morning chanced it that while pacing slow

With head bent down and gaze upon the ground

On homeward way thro' forest deep that stretched

From Camelot southward many leagues, there crost

His path a ten-tin'd stag, and after rode

A knight he knew to be Sir Sagramour,

In fierce pursuit, who, seeing in the wood

A horseless knight all travel-worn and sad,

Left flying deer to its wild will and leapt

From his own horse and begg'd Sir Lamoracke

Ride in his place as being one of those

Who went in search of Holy Grail. Thus said

The sweet Sir Sagramour and added thence:

"Thy face, Sir Lamoracke, is not unknown

To me."

Then slowly Lamoracke answer'd him:

"O all for naught my quest and not for one

Like me the vision glorious, but thou,

Methinks, for knightly courtesy the peer

Of any at the court, might well have seen

What I, the son of Pellinore, have not."

"Not I," then spoke the sweet Sir Sagramour,

"Being ensnar'd with earthly things unto

My hurt, but an' I pray you, Lamoracke, ride.

My castle scarce a half league distant stands,

There mayst thou rest, at least until the morn,

And ride to court equipt as knight should be

So far as my poor store shall serve thy turn."

Then Lamoracke lookt up and answer'd him,

"Ah, sweet Sir Sagramour, none other suit

Suits with my sadden'd fortunes like to this

Which now I wear and therefore in array

Like this must I before King Arthur pass

Once more."

Then answer made Sir Sagramour:

"Thou knowest best, but still I pray you ride

Homeward with me and eat and rest a night;

Else thou wilt never live to see thy lord

At all, in this or any other garb."

Full gentle was the manner of the man,

And Lamoracke for utter weariness

Gave way and past with sweet Sir Sagramour

Unto the other's castle near at hand,

Yet thinking, "on the morrow I will go."

As one who following the chase for days

Scarce heeds his wearied limbs because so full

Of eager haste but home returning finds

Each step a pain and life a mockery,

So now with Lamoracke, who, with the fire

Of zeal and holy purpose quite burnt out,

Tarried for days with sweet Sir Sagramour,

Too weak for further travel and heart-sick

Withal because of failure in the Quest.

To him in those dark days came Sagramour

And whisper'd, "Courage; failure is not a crime."

And after came the wife of Sagramour

Beseeching him to be of cheer, to whom

He heark'n'd listlessly. Then came a child

The son of these, a three-years winsome lad

Who stammer'd "Courage" as he had been taught,

And seeing that Sir Lamoracke took no heed

Stammer'd his lesson o'er again, whereat

The knight, half rising on his elbow, turn'd

And saw the boy with parted lips, and cheeks

All satin soft, and hair and eyes the hue

Of sable pansies, staring full at him;

Then Lamoracke rose and caught the lad in arms

And kiss'd him oft and spoke full tenderly:

"Thou bidd'st me be of courage, little one?

Yea, for thy sake I will," and from that time

Shook off, as far as might be, sad regret.

Yet still strength linger'd on its way to him,

And with these a sennight longer bode,

And after rose refresh'd and went his way.

But ere that time he told to please his host

Full many a tale of what had hapt to him

In Quest of Holy Grail and once the tale

Ran like to this.

"One morning after dreams,"

So said Sir Lamoracke, "of Holy Grail

Seen by me who unworthy am to see

With waking eyes, I past, for then was I

In Cornwall by the sea, along a road

That wound past splinter'd crag and shallow cove

To fishing village of Saint Ives. Seaward

Saint Michael's Mount rose like a vision fair

All roseate with dawn and softly broke

Against its base the Cornish sea. A light

Breeze blew that gently stirr'd the leaves and then

Rested content while overhead a flock

Of birds shrill'd one to other, flying south

The sound clear falling thro' the morning air.

The weather-beaten fishers mended nets

Sitting on boats updrawn beside the sea

And hail'd me with 'good-morrow' as I past,

In simple fisher wise. Suddenly round

An angle in the path before me came

Full seven fisher-wives bending beneath

A heavy burden each one bore in sack

Of dusty leather on her shoulders old.

Small trace had these of brow may-blossom, cheek

Of apple blossom or the eye of hawk,

And clumsily the wrinkl'd nose of each,

Tip-tilted, like a thirsty duckling's bill

After much guzzling in the pool, did seem

To point the way. A wailing clamor rose

In air and louder grew as nearer came

The seven, halting where I stood aside

To let them pass, and lowering their sacks

Upon the ground.

In much amaze I ask'd

The seven what their burden was, whereat

The nearest shrilly pip'd forth:

"Cats, sir knight,

To rid the palace of King Mark of rats

That fright the fair Iseult, his Queen."

At this

Each wrinkl'd dame her knotted sack-string loost

And forth from out the seven sacks there stalk'd

With pace sedate, and slowly waving tails,

And deep-ton'd purings of well-fed content,

Full seven times seven cats and every one

The mother proud of seven kittens small

That sprawl'd and mew'd beside the sacks.

Such sight

I never saw in Camelot, altho'

Our Camelot is vaster than Saint Ives

And cats enow contains, as one may deem

Who finds his slumber broken by their wails

On roof and tow'r from midnight till the dawn,

And long I star'd at sprawling kits, and cats,

And sacks, and wives, until within the sacks

The seven wives replaced the cats and kits

And journey'd forward, wives, and sacks, and cats,

And kits, while I with musings curious

Past onward to Saint Ives."

"A sight indeed,"

Here spoke Sir Sagramour, "and speedily

The burden of the seven wives should clear

The Cornish castle of its brood of rats

Save one, its churlish lord, for fouler rat

Than Mark, the craven, lives not upon earth."

To whom Sir Lamoracke:

"True, Sir Sagramour,

But tell me of thy wit, which passes mine,

How many, reck'nest thou, to fair Saint Ives

Were going on that morning, kits, and cats,

And sacks, and wives."

So sweet Sir Sagramour

Knit brows, and tighten'd lips, and fingers told

The space of three long hours till fell the sun

And creeping darkness came upon the land,

And still no nearer was he to result

Than he had been at first when Lamoracke put

The question, nor with morning was it clear,

And with the morning Lamoracke went his way.