# Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 6/Sir Tristem

SIR TRISTEM.
I.
With snowy pinions like a bird, And went afloat on waters dark, Whose sobbing waves were blackly stirred; And on those waters of the dead, Along the moveless night he fled, With shining mail around him, And a white light that crowned him.
II.
Upon a homeless quest to meet The flower of kings, whose light has flown And left the world in night complete: Caparison'd in shining mail, Across the self-same waves I sail, Whereon his bright boat bore him, With fairies beaming o'er him.
III.
Behind I leave all earthly things, The lust of women and of wine, And seek the lily white flower of kings; In whose left court degenerate knights Wanton like swine in gross delights, Killing the heart's pure quiet With petty rage and riot!"
IV.
Along the bottom of the boat, And crossed his hands, and lay at length, And closed his eyes, and went afloat; And slowly, at their own strange will, The magic sails began to fill, And the boat, helmless wholly, Like a bright bird, swam slowly.
V.
But on his forehead there was light, And in a trance he seemed to see The ghostly shores on left and right; A cold wind murmured in his crest, A weight like lead was on his breast, He heard the waters sobbing, Like his own pulses throbbing.
VI.
Dim-gleaming coves and shadowy bays, Led by the radiance round his head, Sir Tristem journeyed many days;
By ghostly shores without a name, Whereon grim phantoms went and came: He sailed 'mid alien voices.
VII.
He sailed upon his sacred quest, And where the falling waters made A hollow murmur, seeking rest; Through swollen shadows of the rain, Whose music tingled in his brain Like blood, and where white fountains Spilt light down sombre mountains.
VIII
A stately ﬁgure hush'd in woe, Who, leaning o’er a silver stream, Was darkly calentured below; Her face, as passed that golden bark, Flash'd like a jewel from the dark, And in the distance shaded, It, star-like, came and faded.
IX.
Upon whose mouth sin’s self seemed sweet, And, looking on my foulness here, I penance do, till made complete, To cut my heart from earthly things, And join the lily white flower of kings, Whose heart, once mine completely, Now pleads my pardon sweetly.
X.
I, seeing my woman's shame revealed, Mind me of kingly Arthur when His pity was a fountain sealed!" Whereon Sir Tristem cries in tones Hollow as waves 'mong pebble-stones, "Where is the King, my master?" The boat sped onward faster.
XI.
Till thy dark fantasies are gone." Murmured the voice. "and seek the pure King in remote Avilion." Whereat Sir Tristem's snowy swound Deepened to loss of sight and sound, And the white light that crowned him Brightened the waves around him.
XII.
Low shores where vapours dim did move, He sailed, in pathless track, where gleamed Stars with no fellows up above; Netted in cloud the winds reposed, The golden valves of heaven were closed, Like living things the enchanted
Waters fell calm and panted.
XIII.
Of a dark isle where calm was not, And on whose banks a dome of air Mimick'd the palace at Camelot; The dingy walls were sad and stern, The courts; were rusted o’er with fern,
Rank weeds and grasses many
Choked up each nook and cranny.
XIV.
He saw a crew of knights carouse, With the centre of the ball, With haggard beards and wine-flushed brows; And marked a sombre knight and tall, Who stood upon the meated wall, And watched the dim and foamless With eyes most homeless.
XV.
But leant upon a sheathless sword: "I am that same Sir Lancelot Who turned against his blameless lord; I, Tristem, am thy sometime friend, Who here a weary way must wend, Amid rude blows and broiling, In heartache, shame and toiling.
XVI.
While, bound in tears that find no pause, I haunt the shadowy counterpart Of the decay myself did cause; A devil gnaws me day and night, While, guided by that stainless light, Thou sailest to thy master." The boat sped on faster.
XVII.
And the light, brightening in his trail, In fading, shed a ghastly gleam Upon Sir Lancelot, grim and pale; And then Sir Tristem sank again To mute oblivion of the brain, And the white light that crowned him Illumed the waters round him.
XVIII.
Sir Tristem sailed for many an hour, And under shade of mountains, where The thyme fulfilled its purple flower; Until he reached a flowery land, With night and day on either hand, A land of endless bowers, Languid with scent of flowers.
XIX.
With its own lead, and under eaves Of giant poppy it grew sick With a deep breath of lotus leaves; The waters, impotent to cool Parch'd lips, lay in a seething pool, And made a burning summer Around the bright new-comer.
XX.
And frivolous songs and idle jests, A troop of chattering knights and dames, In flashing robes and gaudy crests; Some lay among the lotus bowers, Some quaffed red wine on beds of flowers, And some with gleaming faces Lay clasped in soft embraces.
XXI.
"Go on in peace, thou stainless knight, Here, for a time, we must rejoice, Sick, satiate with our own delight;
We are the wanton lords and knights, Who lived lewd lives of soft delights, And first brought thoughts unstable Unto the good Round Table."
XXII.
While spicy perfumes filled the sail, And dumb Sir Tristem lay afloat, Caparison'd in shining mail; And in his trance he sat afar A twilight like the morning star, Beyond the mirror'd shadows Of cool green hills and meadows.
XXIII.
The channel narrow'd on either side, Making a current swift as wind, To suck him onward. Far and wide Lay pleasant hills of yellow and green, With shady tales of hills between; And the white light that crowned him Subdued the joy around him.
XXIV
Were happy shepherds and their flocks, And the cool streamlets made a sound As soft as tears down mossy rocks; And in the broad midmorn on high Stars swung their censers from the sky, Whence, in a pearly wonder, Dews dropp'd and glimmered under.
XXV.
And bleating sheep on distant heights; And underneath the shade of trees Walked snowy dames and arméd knights. Then good Sir Tristem opened eyes, And heard a whispering voice, "Arise," And patient to his duty, He stood erect in beauty.
XXVI.
He stood erect and found no speech To utter wonder, till the keel Grazed softly on a silver beech; And a soft breeze, like the sweet south, Beat balm upon his eyes and mouth, And while his blood flushed brightly, He to the shore leapt lightly.
XXVII.
Hoary with honours past and gone, He knelt upon the beach, and said: "Here, surely, is Avilion; Here, after honourable blows, A worthy knight may find repose, Here the sweet vale makes bridal With heaven, and nought seems idle.
XXVIII.
I bring the mind no fortunes flout, Which half confers and half perceives The peace it sees around about; Here day and night at last unite To make a very calm delight Of beautiful romances, Cool pulses, and pure fancies.
XXIX.
Beauty completes her mission here!" When, rising up his height, he saw A train in white attire draw near! And in the midst, in peaceful power, He saw of kings, the lily-white flower, Prepared to be the donor Of a white robe of honour.
Williams Buchanan.