And down that range of roses the great Queen Came with slow steps, the morning on her face;And all in shadow from the counter door Sir Lancelot as to meet her, then at once, As if he saw not, glanced aside, and paced The long white walk of lilies toward the bower.
Follow'd the Queen; Sir Balin heard her 'Prince, Art thou so little loyal to thy Queen, As pass without good morrow to thy Queen?'
To whom Sir Lancelot with his eyes on earth, 'Fain would I still be loyal to the Queen.'
'Yea so,' she said, 'but so to pass me by -So loyal scarce is loyal to thyself, Whom all men rate the king of courtesy.
Let be: ye stand, fair lord, as in a dream.'
Then Lancelot with his hand among the flowers, 'Yea--for a dream. Last night methought I saw That maiden Saint who stands with lily in hand In yonder shrine. All round her prest the dark, And all the light upon her silver face Flow'd from the spiritual lily that she held.
Lo! these her emblems drew mine eyes--away:
For see, how perfect-pure! As light a flush As hardly tints the blossom of the quince Would mar their charm of stainless maidenhood.'
'Sweeter to me,' she said, 'this garden rose Deep-hued and many-folded sweeter still The wild-wood hyacinth and the bloom of May.
Prince, we have ridd'n before among the flowers In those fair days--not all as cool as these, Tho' season-earlier. Art thou sad? or sick?
Our noble King will send thee his own leech -Sick? or for any matter anger'd at me?'
Then Lancelot lifted his large eyes; they dwelt Deep-tranced on hers, and could not fall: her hue Changed at his gaze: so turning side by side They past, and Balin started from his bower.
'Queen? subject? but I see not what I see.
Damsel and lover? hear not what I hear.
My father hath begotten me in his wrath.
I suffer from the things before me, know, Learn nothing; am not worthy to be knight;A churl, a clown!' and in him gloom on gloom Deepen'd: he sharply caught his lance and shield, Nor stay'd to crave permission of the King, But, mad for strange adventure, dash'd away."Balin is "disillusioned," his faith in the Ideal is shaken if not shattered. He rides at adventure. Arriving at the half-ruined castle of Pellam, that dubious devotee, he hears Garlon insult Guinevere, but restrains himself. Next day, again insulted for bearing "the crown scandalous" on his shield, he strikes Garlon down, is pursued, seizes the sacred spear, and escapes. Vivien meets him in the woods, drops scandal in his ears, and so maddens him that he defaces his shield with the crown of Guinevere. Her song, and her words, "This fire of Heaven, This old sun-worship, boy, will rise again, And beat the cross to earth, and break the King And all his Table,"might be forced into an allegory of the revived pride of life, at the Renaissance and after. The maddened yells of Balin strike the ear of Balan, who thinks he has met the foul knight Garlon, that "Tramples on the goodly shield to show His loathing of our Order and the Queen."They fight, fatally wound, and finally recognise each other: Balan trying to restore Balin's faith in Guinevere, who is merely slandered by Garlon and Vivien. Balin acknowledges that his wildness has been their common bane, and they die, "either locked in either's arms."There is nothing in Malory, nor in any other source, so far as I am aware, which suggested to Tennyson the clou of the situation--the use of Guinevere's crown as a cognisance by Balin. This device enables the poet to weave the rather confused and unintelligible adventures of Balin and Balan into the scheme, and to make it a stage in the progress of his fable. That Balin was reckless and wild Malory bears witness, but his endeavours to conquer himself and reach the ideal set by Lancelot are Tennyson's addition, with all the tragedy of Balin's disenchantment and despair. The strange fantastic house of Pellam, full of the most sacred things, "In which he scarce could spy the Christ for Saints,"yet sheltering the human fiend Garlon, is supplied by Malory, whose predecessors probably blended more than one myth of the old Cymry into the romance, washed over with Christian colouring. As Malory tells this part of the tale it is perhaps more strange and effective than in the Idyll. The introduction of Vivien into this adventure is wholly due to Tennyson: her appearance here leads up to her triumph in the poem which follows, Merlin and Vivien.
The nature and origin of Merlin are something of a mystery. Hints and rumours of Merlin, as of Arthur, stream from hill and grave as far north as Tweedside. If he was a historical person, myths of magic might crystallise round him, as round Virgil in Italy. The process would be the easier in a country where the practices of Druidry still lingered, and revived after the retreat of the Romans.
The mediaeval romancers invented a legend that Merlin was a virgin-born child of Satan. In Tennyson he may be guessed to represent the fabled esoteric lore of old religions, with their vague pantheisms, and such magic as the tapas of Brahmanic legends. He is wise with a riddling evasive wisdom: the builder of Camelot, the prophet, a shadow of Druidry clinging to the Christian king. His wisdom cannot avail him: if he beholds "his own mischance with a glassy countenance," he cannot avoid his shapen fate. He becomes assotted of Vivien, and goes open-eyed to his doom.