On carpet-down, up oaken stair

They climb it is a splendid place: They pass an open door, and there

Before them sits the Lady Grace.

She rose, and said: "What fortune kind
Brings me two little guests to-day?"
And Robert said, "We want to find
"Adventures for our holiday."

The Lady Grace, she softly smiled;
"WANT is," she said, "an ugly word;

"Not often used by gentle child;

A blush spread over Robert's face:

"We came," he said, "to Château-grand,

"To see the wonders of the place,

"And kiss its gentle Lady's hand."

They kiss'd her hand, upon the ground

Both brothers kneeling on one knee: "Ah!" said the Lady Grace, "I've found "Two little knights of high degree."

She stoop'd, and kiss'd each little face;

She took them kindly by the hand; And all the wonders of the place

She show'd, of her own Château-grand.

From room to room with her they went,
Where, framed upon the storied wall,
Were ladies fair of high descent,

And stately warriors, grim and tall.

And Robert said, "These warriors tall

"Look wondrous grand, but I would rather

"Have one brooch-picture than them all,

The face of my own soldier-father."

And Arthur said, "Here may we see "A-many sweet and gentle faces;

"But two are sweeter far to me,

"My Mother's and the Lady Grace's."

And here were mirrors round a room,

That made a thousand walls of one; And sunlight here in curtain'd gloom

Faintly through colour'd window shone.

And in an old, sequester'd nook,
That open'd on soft greenery,
Repose, at length, the lady took;

The children standing at her knee.

And from the table, clasp'd in gold,

She rais'd an old tome, vellum-bound, And turn'd the pictured leaves, that told The story of the Table Round.

And here were knights arm'd cap-a-pie,
At tourney on the tented green;
And, robed in broider'd cramoisy,
Were lady fair and stately queen.

As tales of knight and king she read,

Two names she singled from the rest: "Where all were brave and good," she said, "These were the bravest and the best."

And turning to each listening lad,

"Those days," she said,

66 are vanish'd not;

"Here is my gentle Galahad,

"And here my fiery Lancelot."