“Well said, true heart,” replied Geraint, “but arms, That if, as I suppose, your nephew fights 475 In next day’s tourney I may break his pride.”
And Yniol answer’d, “Arms, indeed, but old And rusty, old and rusty, Prince Geraint, Are mine, and therefore at your asking, yours. But in this tournament can no man tilt, 480 Except the lady he loves best be there. Two forks are fix’d into the meadow ground, And over these is laid a silver wand, And over that is placed a sparrow-hawk, The prize of beauty for the fairest there. 485 And this, what knight soever be in field Lays claim to for the lady at his side, And tilts with my good nephew thereupon, Who being apt at arms and big of bone Has ever won it for the lady with him, 490 And toppling over all antagonism Has earn’d himself the name of sparrow-hawk. But you, that have no lady, cannot fight.”
To whom Geraint with eyes all bright replied, Leaning a little toward him, “Your leave! 495 Let _me_ lay lance in rest, O noble host, For this dear child, because I never saw, Though having seen all beauties of our time, Nor can see elsewhere, anything so fair. And if I fall her name will yet remain 500 Untarnish’d as before; but if I live, So aid me Heaven when at mine uttermost, As I will make her truly my true wife.”
Then, howsoever patient, Yniol’s heart Danced in his bosom, seeing better days. 505 And looking round he saw not Enid there (Who hearing her own name had slipt away), But that old dame, to whom full tenderly And fondling all her hand in his he said, “Mother, a maiden is a tender thing, 510 And best by her that bore her understood. Go thou to rest, but ere thou go to rest Tell her, and prove her heart toward the Prince.”
So spake the kindly-hearted Earl, and she With frequent smile and nod departing found, 515 Half-disarray’d as to her rest, the girl; Whom first she kiss’d on either cheek, and then On either shining shoulder laid a hand, And kept her off and gazed upon her face, And told her all their converse in the hall, 520 Proving her heart: but never light and shade Coursed one another more on open ground Beneath a troubled heaven, than red and pale Across the face of Enid hearing her; While slowly falling as a scale that falls, 525 When weight is added only grain by grain, Sank her sweet head upon her gentle breast; Nor did she lift an eye nor speak a word, Rapt in the fear and in the wonder of it. So moving without answer to her rest 530 She found no rest, and ever fail’d to draw The quiet night into her blood, but lay Contemplating her own unworthiness; And when the pale and bloodless east began To quicken to the sun, arose, and raised 535 Her mother too, and hand in hand they moved Down to the meadow where the jousts were held, And waited there for Yniol and Geraint.