nbsp;At once Sir Lancelot's charger fiercely neighed,
  And Death's dark war-horse bounded forward with him.
  Then those that did not blink the terror, saw
  That Death was cast to ground, and slowly rose.
  But with one stroke Sir Gareth split the skull.
  Half fell to right and half to left and lay.
  Then with a stronger buffet he clove the helm
  As throughly as the skull; and out from this
  Issued the bright face of a blooming boy
  Fresh as a flower new-born, and crying, 'Knight,
  Slay me not: my three brethren bad me do it,
  To make a horror all about the house,
  And stay the world from Lady Lyonors.
  They never dreamed the passes would be past.'
  Answered Sir Gareth graciously to one
  Not many a moon his younger, 'My fair child,
  What madness made thee challenge the chief knight
  Of Arthur's hall?' 'Fair Sir, they bad me do it.
  They hate the King, and Lancelot, the King's friend,
  They hoped to slay him somewhere on the stream,
  They never dreamed the passes could be past.'

     Then sprang the happier day from underground;
  And Lady Lyonors and her house, with dance
  And revel and song, made merry over Death,
  As being after all their foolish fears
  And horrors only proven a blooming boy.
  So large mirth lived and Gareth won the quest.

     And he that told the tale in older times
  Says that Sir Gareth wedded Lyonors,
  But he, that told it later, says Lynette.

The Marriage of Geraint