Flee, poor wretch, upon thy
road, before he spies thee. Be pitiful to thyself, nor seek to die,
for who art thou to deliver thyself from his wrath!" "Good dame," made
reply Sir Bedevere, "give over weeping and answer my words. Tell me
who you are, and why you shed these tears. For what reason do you
abide in this isle, and crouch beside this tomb? Answer me plainly
concerning your adventure." "Fair lord," replied the ancient lady, "I
am a forsaken and a most unhappy woman. I make my lamentation for a
damsel, named Helen, whom I nourished at my breast, the niece of Duke
Hoel of this realm. Here lies her body in this tomb, that was given to
me to cherish. Alas, for her who was set upon my knees! Alas, for her
I cherished in my bosom! A certain devil ravished her away, and me
also, bearing us both to this his lair. The giant would have had to do
with the maiden, but she was so tender of her years that she might not
endure him. Passing young was the maid, whilst he, for his part, was
so gross and weighty of bone and flesh, that her burden was more than
she could bear. For this the soul departed from her body. Alas, wretch
that I am, I remain alive, and she, my joy and my love, my sweetness
and my delight, was foully done to death by this giant.
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