A horse and arms for guerdon; choose the best.'

He, reddening in extremity of delight, 'My lord, you overpay me fifty-fold.’ 'Ye will be all the wealthier,' cried the Prince.

'I take it as free gift, then,' said the boy, 'Not guerdon; for myself can easily, While your good damsel rests, return, and fetch

Fresh victual for these mowers of our Earl;

For these are his, and all the field is his, And I myself am his; and I will tell him

How great a man thou art: he loves to know

When men of mark are in his territory: And he will have thee to his palace here, And serve thee costlier than with mowers' fare.'

Then said Geraint, I wish no better

fare:

I never ate with angrier appetite
Than when I left your mowers dinnerless.
And into no Earl's palace will I go.

I know, God knows, too much of palaces!

And if he want me, let him come to me. But hire us some fair chamber for the night,

And stalling for the horses, and return With victual for these men, and let us know.'

'Yea, my kind lord,' said the glad youth, and went,

Held his head high, and thought himself a knight,

And up the rocky pathway disappear'd, Leading the horse, and they were left

alone.

But when the Prince had brought his errant eyes

Home from the rock, sideways he let them glance

At Enid, where she droopt : his own false doom,

That shadow of mistrust should never

cross

Betwixt them, came upon him, and he sigh'd;

Then with another humorous ruth

remark'd

The lusty mowers labouring dinnerless, And watch'd the sun blaze on the turn

ing scythe,

And after nodded sleepily in the heat. But she, remembering her old ruin'd hall, And all the windy clamour of the daws About her hollow turret, pluck'd the grass

There growing longest by the meadow's edge,

And into many a listless annulet,

Now over, now beneath her marriage

ring,

Wove and unwove it, till the boy return'd And told them of a chamber, and they

went;

Where, after saying to her, 'If ye will, Call for the woman of the house,' to which She answer'd, 'Thanks, my lord;' the two remain'd

Apart by all the chamber's width, and

mute

As creatures voiceless thro' the fault of birth,

Or two wild men supporters of a shield, Painted, who stare at open space, nor

glance

The one at other, parted by the shield.

On a sudden, many a voice along the

street,