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Updated: June 6, 2025
No lack in her life She wotted of now, And at her death-day No dreadful thing For a shame indeed Or a shame in seeming; But about and betwixt Went baleful fate. Alone, abroad, She sat of an evening, Of full many things She fall a-talking: "O for my Sigurd! I shall have death, Or my fair, my lovely, Laid in mine arms.
"Then, blamer, blame me not, were my heart within thy breast, The sigh would take the place of thy laughter and thy scorn. "Let me weep for the sin that debars my soul of rest, The tear may yet avail, all in vain I may not mourn! "Woe! woe to thee, Flesh! with a purer spirit now The death-day were a hope, and the judgment-hour a joy!
"Tell us your tale," said Godwin hoarsely. "It is short," she answered. "After the casting of the lot, of which I shall dream till my death-day, I fainted. When I found my senses again I thought that I must be mad, for there before me stood a woman dressed in my garments, whose face seemed like my face, yet not the same.
Almighty they knew not, Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord, nor Heaven's-Helmet heeded they ever, Wielder-of-Wonder. Woe for that man who in harm and hatred hales his soul to fiery embraces; nor favor nor change awaits he ever. But well for him that after death-day may draw to his Lord, and friendship find in the Father's arms!
Next year this thing occurred again, and then the spirit spoke: "Only once more." Yet a third time his fate took him to the spot, and as the hour came on he called his people to him: "This," said he, "is my death-day. I have done evil, and the time comes none too soon. Sassacus was your chief. I envied him his happiness, and gave him poison when I nursed him.
"God speed you well," said Sir Bedivere. Then King Arthur got his spear in both his hands, and ran towards Sir Modred, crying, "Traitor, now is thy death-day come!" And when Sir Modred heard his words, and saw him come, he drew his sword and stood to meet him. Then King Arthur smote Sir Modred through the body more than a fathom.
"Betide me life, betide me death," said King Arthur, "he shall not now escape my hands." Then the king took his spear in both hands, and ran toward Sir Modred, crying, "Traitor, now is thy death-day come." And there King Arthur smote Sir Modred under the shield, with a thrust of his spear through the body.
He died on the 12th of December, 1611, at the age of seventy-nine, leaving immense wealth, and on the 12th of December, 1614, his body was brought on the shoulders of his pensioners to Charter-House Chapel, and interred in a vault ready for it there, beneath the huge monument erected to his memory. "The death-day of the founder is still kept solemnly by Cistercians.
And the days roll by; but few, but few of them, for, as I tell you, she goes most quickly, and it comes to pass that our Barbara's death-day dawns. Most people go in the morning. God grant that it is a good omen, that for them, indeed, the sun is rising!
"Mine uncle," said Sir Gawain, "know thou well my death-day is come, and all is through mine own hastiness and wilfulness, for I am smitten upon the old wound which Sir Launcelot gave me, of which I feel I must die. And had Sir Launcelot been with you as of old, this war had never begun, and of all this I am the cause."
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