The Chapel In Lyonesse

SIR OZANA.

All day long and every day,

From Christmas-Eve to Whit-Sunday,

Within that Chapel-aisle I lay,

  And no man came a-near.

Naked to the waist was I,

And deep within my breast did lie,

Though no man any blood could spy,

  The truncheon of a spear.

No meat did ever pass my lips

Those days.  Alas! the sunlight slips

From off the gilded parclose, dips,

  And night comes on apace.

My arms lay back behind my head;

Over my raised-up knees was spread

A samite cloth of white and red;

  A rose lay on my face.

Many a time I tried to shout;

But as in dream of battle-rout,

My frozen speech would not well out;

  I could not even weep.

With inward sigh I see the sun

Fade off the pillars one by one,

My heart faints when the day is done,

  Because I cannot sleep.

Sometimes strange thoughts pass through my head;

Not like a tomb is this my bed,

Yet oft I think that I am dead;

  That round my tomb is writ,

"Ozana of the hardy heart,

  Knight of the Table Round,

Pray for his soul, lords, of your part;

  A true knight he was found."

Ah! me, I cannot fathom it.

[He sleeps.]

SIR GALAHAD.

All day long and every day,

Till his madness pass'd away,

I watch'd Ozana as he lay

  Within the gilded screen.

All my singing moved him not;

As I sung my heart grew hot,

With the thought of Launcelot

  Far away, I ween.

So I went a little space

From out the chapel, bathed my face

In the stream that runs apace

  By the churchyard wall.

There I pluck'd a faint wild rose,

Hard by where the linden grows,

Sighing over silver rows

  Of the lilies tall.

I laid the flower across his mouth;

The sparkling drops seem'd good for drouth;

He smiled, turn'd round towards the south,

  Held up a golden tress.

The light smote on it from the west;

He drew the covering from his breast,

Against his heart that hair he prest;

  Death him soon will bless.

SIR BORS.

I enter'd by the western door;

  I saw a knight's helm lying there:

I raised my eyes from off the floor,

  And caught the gleaming of his hair.

I stept full softly up to him;

  I laid my chin upon his head;

I felt him smile; my eyes did swim,

  I was so glad he was not dead.

I heard Ozana murmur low,

  "There comes no sleep nor any love."

But Galahad stoop'd and kiss'd his brow:

  He shiver'd; I saw his pale lips move.

SIR OZANA.

There comes no sleep nor any love;

  Ah me!  I shiver with delight.

I am so weak I cannot move;

  God move me to thee, dear, to-night!

Christ help!  I have but little wit:

My life went wrong; I see it writ,

"Ozana of the hardy heart,

  Knight of the Table Round,

Pray for his soul, lords, on your part;

  A good knight he was found."

Now I begin to fathom it.

[He dies.]

SIR BORS.

Galahad sits dreamily;

What strange things may his eyes see,

Great blue eyes fix'd full on me?

On his soul, Lord, have mercy.

SIR GALAHAD.

Ozana, shall I pray for thee?

  Her cheek is laid to thine;

No long time hence, also I see

  Thy wasted fingers twine

Within the tresses of her hair

  That shineth gloriously,

Thinly outspread in the clear air

  Against the jasper sea.