Oscar Fay Adams - The Vision of Sir Lamoracke lyrics

ARGUMENT. As I was going to Saint Ives I met seven wives. Every wife had seven sacks; Every sack had seven cats; Every cat had seven kits; Kits, cats, sacks and wives, How many were going to Saint Ives? King Pellinore of Wales, the same who slew Lot, King of Orkney in the Northern seas, Three stalwart sons in wedlock lawful had. Sir Lamoracke de Galis eldest was Of these, the next Sir Aglavale, the third The pure Sir Percivale, and these were knights Of Table Round, and with them Tor, the child Of shame but brother to the three no less, And first created knight of Table Round The Table of the great Pendragonship. Sir Lamoracke among King Arthur's knights Was bravest save for three, but since the three Were Lancelot, Tristram and Geraint, no less Of honor deem'd it reck'ning fourth with these. In the mid-strength and hardihood of youth He was when vision by his sister seen, A holy nun much worn by fastings long, Sent half the court in quest of Holy Grail; And Lamoracke went, as eager as the rest, And all for the holy longing underwent Long toilsome days, and nights as wearisome, And piteous perils manifold he knew, Until, a twelvemonth past, he set his face Again toward Camelot with yet no glimpse Of what he sought, and sorrow in his heart. One morning chanced it that while pacing slow With head bent down and gaze upon the ground On homeward way thro' forest deep that stretched From Camelot southward many leagues, there crost His path a ten-tin'd stag, and after rode A knight he knew to be Sir Sagramour, In fierce pursuit, who, seeing in the wood A horseless knight all travel-worn and sad, Left flying deer to its wild will and leapt From his own horse and begg'd Sir Lamoracke Ride in his place as being one of those Who went in search of Holy Grail. Thus said The sweet Sir Sagramour and added thence: "Thy face, Sir Lamoracke, is not unknown To me." Then slowly Lamoracke answer'd him: "O all for naught my quest and not for one Like me the vision glorious, but thou, Methinks, for knightly courtesy the peer Of any at the court, might well have seen What I, the son of Pellinore, have not." "Not I," then spoke the sweet Sir Sagramour, "Being ensnar'd with earthly things unto My hurt, but an' I pray you, Lamoracke, ride. My castle scarce a half league distant stands, There mayst thou rest, at least until the morn, And ride to court equipt as knight should be So far as my poor store shall serve thy turn." Then Lamoracke lookt up and answer'd him, "Ah, sweet Sir Sagramour, none other suit Suits with my sadden'd fortunes like to this Which now I wear and therefore in array Like this must I before King Arthur pa** Once more." Then answer made Sir Sagramour: "Thou knowest best, but still I pray you ride Homeward with me and eat and rest a night; Else thou wilt never live to see thy lord At all, in this or any other garb." Full gentle was the manner of the man, And Lamoracke for utter weariness Gave way and past with sweet Sir Sagramour Unto the other's castle near at hand, Yet thinking, "on the morrow I will go." As one who following the chase for days Scarce heeds his wearied limbs because so full Of eager haste but home returning finds Each step a pain and life a mockery, So now with Lamoracke, who, with the fire Of zeal and holy purpose quite burnt out, Tarried for days with sweet Sir Sagramour, Too weak for further travel and heart-sick Withal because of failure in the Quest. To him in those dark days came Sagramour And whisper'd, "Courage; failure is not a crime." And after came the wife of Sagramour Beseeching him to be of cheer, to whom He heark'n'd listlessly. Then came a child The son of these, a three-years winsome lad Who stammer'd "Courage" as he had been taught, And seeing that Sir Lamoracke took no heed Stammer'd his lesson o'er again, whereat The knight, half rising on his elbow, turn'd And saw the boy with parted lips, and cheeks All satin soft, and hair and eyes the hue Of sable pansies, staring full at him; Then Lamoracke rose and caught the lad in arms And kiss'd him oft and spoke full tenderly: "Thou bidd'st me be of courage, little one? Yea, for thy sake I will," and from that time Shook off, as far as might be, sad regret. Yet still strength linger'd on its way to him, And with these a sennight longer bode, And after rose refresh'd and went his way. But ere that time he told to please his host Full many a tale of what had hapt to him In Quest of Holy Grail and once the tale Ran like to this. "One morning after dreams," So said Sir Lamoracke, "of Holy Grail Seen by me who unworthy am to see With waking eyes, I past, for then was I In Cornwall by the sea, along a road That wound past splinter'd crag and shallow cove To fishing village of Saint Ives. Seaward Saint Michael's Mount rose like a vision fair All roseate with dawn and softly broke Against its base the Cornish sea. A light Breeze blew that gently stirr'd the leaves and then Rested content while overhead a flock Of birds shrill'd one to other, flying south The sound clear falling thro' the morning air. The weather-beaten fishers mended nets Sitting on boats updrawn beside the sea And hail'd me with 'good-morrow' as I past, In simple fisher wise. Suddenly round An angle in the path before me came Full seven fisher-wives bending beneath A heavy burden each one bore in sack Of dusty leather on her shoulders old. Small trace had these of brow may-blossom, cheek Of apple blossom or the eye of hawk, And clumsily the wrinkl'd nose of each, Tip-tilted, like a thirsty duckling's bill After much guzzling in the pool, did seem To point the way. A wailing clamor rose In air and louder grew as nearer came The seven, halting where I stood aside To let them pa**, and lowering their sacks Upon the ground. In much amaze I ask'd The seven what their burden was, whereat The nearest shrilly pip'd forth: "Cats, sir knight, To rid the palace of King Mark of rats That fright the fair Iseult, his Queen." At this Each wrinkl'd dame her knotted sack-string loost And forth from out the seven sacks there stalk'd With pace sedate, and slowly waving tails, And deep-ton'd purings of well-fed content, Full seven times seven cats and every one The mother proud of seven kittens small That sprawl'd and mew'd beside the sacks. Such sight I never saw in Camelot, altho' Our Camelot is vaster than Saint Ives And cats enow contains, as one may deem Who finds his slumber broken by their wails On roof and tow'r from midnight till the dawn, And long I star'd at sprawling kits, and cats, And sacks, and wives, until within the sacks The seven wives replaced the cats and kits And journey'd forward, wives, and sacks, and cats, And kits, while I with musings curious Past onward to Saint Ives." "A sight indeed," Here spoke Sir Sagramour, "and speedily The burden of the seven wives should clear The Cornish castle of its brood of rats Save one, its churlish lord, for fouler rat Than Mark, the craven, lives not upon earth." To whom Sir Lamoracke: "True, Sir Sagramour, But tell me of thy wit, which pa**es mine, How many, reck'nest thou, to fair Saint Ives Were going on that morning, kits, and cats, And sacks, and wives." So sweet Sir Sagramour Knit brows, and tighten'd lips, and fingers told The space of three long hours till fell the sun And creeping darkness came upon the land, And still no nearer was he to result Than he had been at first when Lamoracke put The question, nor with morning was it clear, And with the morning Lamoracke went his way.