And the naked nape for the knock makes ready.
Gawain gripp’d his axe and heav’d it on high
(His left foot forward, firm on the floor),
Then swung it adown full swift on the bare,
That the sharp edge shore, sheer through the báckbone,
Cut the flesh cleanly, and clove him in two.
The blade of the bright steel bit in the ground,
The head from a-high to the earth bounded,
So that many foin’d42 it with their feet, as forward it roll’d.
The blood from the body blink’d on the green:
Yet nor falter’d nor fell the fey43 man for all that,
But started forth stoutly on stalwart shanks,
And roughly he reach’d, mid the ranks on the floor,
For his lovely head, that he lifted at once:
Then he turns to his colt and, catching the bridle,
Steps into steelbow and strides aloft,
Holding by the hair his head in his hand,
And as soberly seats him in saddle again
As no únhap had ail’d him, though headless he was.
Sans head,
He writhèd every way
The gruesome trunk that bled;
Ere he had said his say
Many of him had dread.
XX
For the head in his hand he holds up aright,
Toward the dukes on the dais he dresses the face,
And it lifts up its lids, and looks with its eyes,
And moots with its mouth as much as this speech:
“See, Gawain, thou be graith to go as thou said’st
And as faithfully seek, good friend, till thou find me,
As in hall thou didst promise, in these athels’ hearing.
To the Green Chapel fare, I charge thee, to fetch
Such a dint as thou dealtest, the due that thou owest
To be presently paid at New-Year by prime.
Men know me as Knight of the Green Chapel:
So to find, if thou seek, failest thou never.
Wherefore come, or coward behoves thee be call’d.”
With a roar and a rout the reins did he turn,
Flung oút at the háll-door, his head in his hand.
And the flint-sparks flew from his fóal’s hòoves.
Whither he went no wight of them knew,
Any more than they wist from whence he was come:
What then?
The King and Gawain there
At the green one laugh’d and gren;
Yet all must it declare
A marvel among men.
XXI
Though Arthur the high King at heart had wonder,
No sign he let see, but said as beseem’d
To the comely queen, with courteous speech:
“Dear dame, this day be ye daunted no whit!
Well becomes such craft at Christmastide,
Laiking44 of interlude,45 laughter and song,
Among courtly carols of knights and ladies.
Ne’ertheless to my meat I máy me address,
For a marvel have I met, I must not gainsay it.”
He glanced on Sir Gawain, and graciously said he:
“Now, Sir, hang up thine axe, that has hewen enough.”
Then over the dais ’twas dight on a dorser,46
Where all might behold it on high and marvel,
And by title thereof tell the tale of wonder.
Then they moved to their meal full meetly together,
The King and the knight, and keen men them served
Of all dainties double, as dearest them seem’d.
With all manner of meat, and minstrelsy too,
They spent the glad day, till speeded an end
in land.
Now, Gawain, make thou sure
Faint-heart that thou withstand,
To seek the adventure
That thou hast ta’en in hand.
Fit II
XXII
O happen’d this handsel to Arthur at Yule,
When for vaunting vows of adventure he yearned;
Though brave wórds had been wanting when they went to their meat,
Now are they bestead with stern work in plenty.
To begin this game was Gawain full glad,
But if the end be heavy, have ye no wonder:
For though men’s minds are merry, when mead they have ta’en,
A year swiftly yerns47 and yields ne’er the same—
End and beginning agree not together.
So this Yule over-pass’d and the year after,
And each season full soon ensued upon other.
After Christmas came the crabbèd Lenten
That tries us with fish, and fare more meagre.
Then the weather of the world with winter it chides,
Cold shrinks adown,48 clouds rise on high
And shed the sheen rain in showers full warm,
To fall upon fair field; flowers peep forth,
Grassland and grove green is their raiment,
Birds busk them to build, and bravely they sing
For solace of the summer that sues thereafter,
by way,
And blossoms swell and blow
On hedgerows rich and gay;
Then noble notes enow
In holt are heard, in May.
XXIII
Comes the season of summer with its soft breezes,
When Zephyr soughs gently o’er seedling and grass;
Oh! winsome is the wort on the wold that awakens
To bíde a blíssful glánce of the bright sun,
When the dripping dew drops from the leafage.
But Autumn soon hies with his harder weather,
And warns it ere winter to wax and be ripe;
Then drives he with drought the dust to arise,
That it flies on high, from the face of the fold.
Wroth winds of the welkin wrestle with the sun,
Leaves dart from linden and light to the ground,
And the grass grows gray that green was before.
Then all ripens and rots that rose up in springtime,
And thus yerns the year in yesterdays many,
And winter winds back, ’tis the world’s order,
(Ah true!)
Until Michelmas moon
Is come, and winter’s due;
Then thinks Gawain full soon
Of the ride that he must rue.
XXIV
Yet till All Hallows with Arthur he bode,
Who made feast on that festival for his friend’s sake,
Amid revel full rich of the Round Table.
Then courteous Knights and comely ladies
All for love of that liege were in longing and sorrow,
But ne’er the less nor the latter they allow’d but mirth,
Though many were joyless, jesting the while.
After supper, full sadly he sought to his uncle,
And spoke of his passage in speech very plain:
“Now, liege lord of my life, your leave I would ask;
Ye know all the case, and I care no more
Of my trouble to talk, or to teen you one whit;
But I am bound for the buffet a bare night hence
And the Green Knight must seek, as God will me speed.”
Then the best of the burg
