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The Vision Of The Holy Grail

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An Arthurian Miscellany

Deere Chryste, let not the cheere of earth,

To fill our hearts with heedless mirth

This holy Christmasse time;

But give us of thy heavenly cheere

That we may hold thy love most deere

And know thy peace sublime.

Full merry waxed King Pelles court

With Yuletide cheere and Yuletide sport,

And, when the board was spread,

Now wit ye well 'twas good to see

So fair and brave a companie

With Pelles at the head.

"Come hence, Elaine," King Pelles cried,

"Come hence and sit ye by my side,

For never yet, I trow,

Have gentle virtues like to thine

Been proved by sword nor pledged in wine,

Nor shall be nevermo!"

"Sweete sir, my father," quoth Elaine,

"Me it repents to give thee pain--

Yet, tarry I may not;

For I shall soond and I shall die

If I behold this companie

And see not Launcelot!

"My heart shall have no love but this--

My lips shall know no other kiss,

Save only, father, thine;

So graunt me leave to seek my bower,

The lonely chamber in the toure,

Where sleeps his child and mine."

Then frowned the King in sore despite;

"A murrain seize that traitrous knight,

For that he lies!
" he cried--

"A base, unchristian paynim he,

Else, by my beard, he would not be

A recreant to his bride!

"Oh, I had liefer yield my life

Than see thee the deserted wife

Of dastard Launcelot!

Yet an' thou has no mind to stay,

Go with thy damosels away--

Lo, I'll detain ye not."

Her damosels in goodly train

Back to her chamber led Elaine,

And when her eyes were cast

Upon her babe, her tears did flow

And she did wail and weep as though

Her heart had like to brast.

The while she grieved the Yuletide sport

Waxed lustier in King Pelles' court,

And louder, houre by houre,

The echoes of the rout were borne

To where the lady, all forlorn,

Made moning in the toure,

"Swete Chryste," she cried, "ne let me hear

Their ribald sounds of Yuletide cheere

That mock at mine and me;

Graunt that my sore affliction cease

And give me of the heavenly peace

That comes with thoughts of thee!"

Lo, as she spake, a wondrous light

Made all that lonely chamber bright,

And o'er the infant's bed

A spirit hand, as samite pail,

Held sodaine foorth the Holy Grail

Above the infant's head.

And from the sacred golden cup

A subtle incense floated up

And filled the conscious air,

Which, when she breathed, the fair Elaine

Forgot her grief, forgot her pain.

Forgot her sore despair.

And as the Grail's mysterious balm

Wrought in her heart a wondrous calm,

Great mervail 'twas to see

The sleeping child stretch one hand up

As if in dreams he held the cup

Which none mought win but he.

Through all the night King Pelles' court


Made mighty cheer and goodly sport.

Nor never recked the joy

That was vouchsafed that Christmass tide

To Launcelot's deserted bride

And to her sleeping boy.

Swete Chryste, let not the cheere of earth

To fill our hearts with heedless mirth

This present Christmasse night;

But send among us to and fro

Thy Holy Grail, that men may know

The joy withe wisdom dight.
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