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homes are free;-guard it—God will prosper thee! In the darl and trying hour, in the breaking forth of power, in the rush of steeds and men, His right hand will shield thee then. Take thy banner!-But when night closes round the ghastly fight, if the vanquished warrior bow, spare him! By our holy vow, by our prayers and many tears, by the mercy that endears, spare him-he our love hath shared! spare him—as thou wouldst be spared! Take thy banner!-and if e'er thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, and the muffled drum should beat to the tread of mournful feet, then this crimson flag shall be martial cloak and shroud for thee!"

And the warrior took that banner proud-and it was his martial cloak and shroud!

XL.-THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.-Hood.

ONE more unfortunate, weary of breath, rashly importunate, gone to her death! Take her up tenderly-lift her with care: fashioned so slenderly, young, and so fair! Look at her garments, clinging like cerements; whilst the wave constantly drips from her clothing: take her up instantly, loving, not loathing. Touch her not scornfully, think of her mournfully, gently and humanly; not of the stains of her :-all that remains of her now is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny into her mutiny, rash and undutiful: past all dishonour, Death has left on her only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, one of Eve's family, wipe those poor lips of hers, oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses escaped from the comb-her fair auburn tresses!-whilst wonderment guesses, Where was her home? who was her father? who was her mother? had she a sister? had she a brother? or was there a dearer one still, and a nearer one yet than all other? Alas! for the rarity of Christian charity under the sun! Oh! it was pitiful! near a whole city full, home she had none. Sisterly, brotherly, fatherly, motherly feelings had changed: love, by harsh evidence, thrown from its eminence: even God's providence seeming estranged.

Where the lamps quiver so far in the river, with many a light from window and casement, from garret to basement, she stood with amazement, houseless by night. The bleak wind of March made her tremble and shiver; but not the dark arch, or the black-flowing river: mad from life's history, glad to death's mystery; swift to be hurled any where, any where, out of the world! In she plunged boldly, no matter how

coldly the rough river ran :-over the brink of it, picture it, think of it, dissolute Man! lave in it, drink of it, then, if you can!

Take her up tenderly, lift her with care: fashioned so slenderly, young and so fair! Ere her limbs frigidly stiffen too rigidly, decently, kindly, smooth and compose them; and her eyes close them, staring so blindly! Dreadfully staring, through muddy impurity; as when with the daring last look of despairing fixed on futurity. Perishing gloomily; spurred by contumely, cold inhumanity, burning insanity, into her rest.-Cross her hands humbly, as if praying dumbly, over her breast; owning her weakness, her evil behaviour-and leaving, with meekness, her sins to her Saviour!

XLI. THE DEATH OF ARTHUR.-Tennyson.

So all day long the noise of battle rolled among the mountains by the winter sea; until King Arthur's table, man by man, had fallen in Lyonness about their lord, King Arthur: then, because his wound was deep, the bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him, (Sir Bedivere the last of all his knights,) and bore him to a chapel nigh the field-a broken chancel with a broken cross, that stood on a dark strait of barren land: on one side lay the ocean, and on one lay a great water; and the moon was full. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere :-" The sequel of to-day unsolders all the goodliest fellowship of famous knights whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep they sleep-the men I loved. I think that we shall never more at any future time, delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds, walking about the gardens and the halls of Camelot, as in the days that were. I perish by this people which I made,though Merlin sware that I should come again to rule once more; but let what will be, be. I am so deeply smitten through the helm, that without help I cannot last till morn. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, which was my pride: for thou rememberest how, in those old days, one summer noon, an arm rose up from out the bosom of the lake, clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, holding the sword-and how I rowed across and took it, and have worn it, like a king: and wheresoever I am sung or told in after time, this also shall be known. but now delay not; take Excalibur, and fling him far into the middle meer: watch what thou seest and lightly bring me word."

To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere:-"It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus, aidless, alone, and smitten through the helm. A little thing may harm a wounded man.

Yet I thy hest will all perform at full, watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word."

So saying, from the ruined shrine he stept, and in the moon athwart the place of tombs where lay the mighty bones of ancient men, old knights; and over them the sea-wind sang, shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down by zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock, came on the shining levels of the lake. There drew he forth the brand Excalibur, and o'er him drawing it, the winter moon, brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth and sparkled keen with frost against the hilt: for all the haft twinkled with diamond studs, myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long that both his eyes were dazzled; as he stood, this way and that dividing the swift mind, in act to throw but at the last it seemed better to leave Excalibur concealed there in the many-knotted waterflags, that whistled stiff and dry about the marge. So strode he back slow to the wounded king.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:-"Hast thou performed my mission which I gave? What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?"

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And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:- "I heard the ripple washing in the reeds, and the wild water lapping on the crag.

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To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale:-" Thou hast betrayed thy nature and thy name, not rendering true answer, as beseemed thy feälty, nor like a noble knight: for surer sign had followed—either hand, or voice, or else a motion of the meer. This is a shameful thing for men to lie. Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again as thou art lief and dear; and do the thing I bade thee-watch, and lightly bring me word."

Then went Sir Bedivere the second time, counting the dewy pebbles, fixed in thought; but when he saw the wonder of the hilt, how curiously and strangely chased, he smote his palms together, and he cried aloud:-"And if indeed I cast the brand away, surely, a precious thing, one worthy note, should thus be lost for ever from the earth, which might have pleased the eyes of many men. What good should follow this, if this were done? What harm, undone? Deep harm to disobey, seeing obedience is the bond of rule. Were it well to obey, then, if a king demand an act unprofitable, against himself? The king is sick, and knows not what he does. What record, of what relic of my lord should be to after-time, but empty breath and rumours of a doubt? But were this kept, stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings, some one might show it at a

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joust of arms, saying 'King Arthur's sword, Excalibur, wrought by the lonely maiden of the lake; nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps upon the hidden bases of the hills.' So might some old man speak in after-time to all the people, winning reverence. But now, much honour and much fame were lost." So spake he, clouded with his own conceit, and hid Excalibur the second time, and so strode back slow to the wounded king.

Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily:-"What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?"

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:-"I heard the water lapping on the crag, and the long ripple washing in the reeds."

To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath :-"Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me! Authority forgets a dying king, laid widowed of the power in his eye that bowed the will. I see thee what thou art. For thou, the latest left of all my knights, in whom should meet the offices of all, thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt; either from lust of gold, or, like a girl, valuing the giddy pleasure of the eye. Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice, and the third time may prosper, get thee hence: but, if thou spare to fling Excalibur, I will arise and slay thee with my hands." Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere and ran, and, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged among the bulrush-beds, and clutched the sword, and strongly wheeled and threw it. The great brand made lightnings in the splendour of the moon, and, flashing round and round, and whirled in an arch, shot like a streamer of the northern morn,—seen where the moving isles of winter shock by night, with noises of the northern sea. So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur; but, ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, and caught him by the hilt, and brandished him three times, and drew him under in the meer:-and lightly went the other to the king.

Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker breath:-"Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. Speak out: what is it thou hast heard or seen?"

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:-"Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems should blind my purpose, for I never saw, nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die, not though I live three lives of mortal men, so great a miracle as yonder hilt. Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him; but when I looked again, behold an arm, clothed in white

samite, mystic, wonderful, that caught him by the hilt, and brandished him three times, and drew him under in the meer.'

And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard :-"My end draws nigh; 'tis time that I were gone. Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight, and bear me to the margin; yet I fear my wound hath taken cold, and I shall die."

So saying, from the pavement he half rose, slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm, and looking wistfully with wide. blue eyes as in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere remorsefully regarded through his tears, and would have spoken, but he found not words; then took with care, and, kneeling on one knee, o'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands, and rising bore him through the place of tombs.. But as he

walked, King Arthur panted hard, like one that feels a nightmare on his bed when all the house is mute. So sighed the king, muttering and murmuring at his ear, "Quick, quick! I fear it is too late, and I shall die." But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge, clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walked, larger than human on the frozen hills. He heard the deep behind him, and a cry before. His own thought drove him like a goad. Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves and barren chasms, and all to left and right the bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he based his feet on juts of slippery crag, that rang sharp-emitten with the dint of armed heels—and on a sudden, lo! the level lake, and the long glories of the winter moon.

Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge, dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, beneath them; and descending they were ware that all the decks were dense with stately forms, black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream;-by these three queens with crowns of gold-and from them rose a cry that shivered to the tingling stars, and, as it were one voice, an agony of lamentation, like a wind that shrills all night in a waste land, where no one comes, or hath come since the making of the world.

Then murmured Arthur:-"Place me in the barge." And to the barge they came. There those three queens put forth their hands and took the king, and wept; but she that rose, the tallest of them all and fairest, laid his head upon her lap, and loosed the shattered casque, and chafed his hands, and called him by his name, complaining loud, and dropping bitter tears, against his brow striped with dark blood! for all his face was white and colourless, and like the withered moon smote by the fresh beam of the springing east; and all his

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