The enrapt, the beautiful, the young,

Belief sank deep into the crowd

That he the solemn issue would determine.

Nor deem it strange; the Youth had worn
That very mantle on a day of glory,

The day when he achieved that matchless feat,
The marvel of the PERILOUS SEAT,

Which whosoe'er approached of strength was shorn,

Though King or Knight the most renowned in story.

He touched with hesitating hand,

And lo! those Birds, far-famed through Love's dominions,

The Swans, in triumph clap their wings; And their necks play, involved in rings, Like sinless snakes in Eden's happy land. "Mine is she," cried the Knight; again they clapped their pinions.

"Mine was she, - mine she is, though dead,

And to her name my soul shall cleave in sorrow.” Whereat, a tender twilight streak

Of color dawned upon the Damsel's cheek; And her lips, quickening with uncertain red, Seemed from each other a faint warmth to borrow.

Deep was the awe, the rapture high,

Of love emboldened, hope with dread entwining,

When to the mouth relenting Death
Allowed a soft and flower-like breath,
Precursor to a timid sigh,

To lifted eyelids, and a doubtful shining.

In silence did King Arthur gaze
Upon the signs that pass away or tarry;
In silence watched the gentle strife
Of Nature leading back to life;

Then eased his soul at length by praise

Of God, and Heaven's pure Queen, - the blissful Mary.

Then said he, "Take her to thy heart,
Sir Galahad! a treasure that God giveth,
Bound by indissoluble ties to thee
Through mortal change and immortality;
Be happy and unenvied, thou who art

A goodly Knight that hath no peer that liveth!"

Not long the Nuptials were delayed;

And

sage tradition still rehearses

The pomp, the glory of that hour,

When toward the altar from her bower
King Arthur led the Egyptian Maid,

And Angels carolled these far-echoed verses:

Who shrinks not from alliance

Of evil with good Powers,

To God proclaims defiance,
And mocks whom he adores.

A Ship to Christ devoted
From the Land of Nile did go;
Alas! the bright Ship floated,
An Idol at her prow.

By magic domination,
The Heaven-permitted vent
Of purblind mortal passion,
Was wrought her punishment.

The Flower, the Form within it, What served they in her need? Her port she could not win it, Nor from mishap be freed.

The Maid to Jesu hearkened,
And kept to him her faith,
Till sense in death was darkened,
Or sleep akin to death.

But Angels round her pillow

Kept watch, a viewless band;

And, billow favoring billow,

She reached the destined strand.

Blest Pair! whate'er befall you
Your faith in Him approve
Who from frail earth can call you
To bowers of endless love!,

1830.

THE RIVER DUDDON.

A SERIES OF SONNETS.

THE RIVER DUDDON rises upon Wrynose Fell, on the confines of Westmoreland, Cumberland, and Lancashire; and, having served as a boundary to the two last counties for the space of about twenty-five miles, enters the Irish Sea, between the Isle of Walney and the Lordship of Millum.

TO THE REV. DR. WORDSWORTH.

(WITH THE SONNETS TO THE RIVER DUDDON, AND OTHER POEMS IN THIS COLLECTION, 1820.)

THE Minstrels played their Christmas tune
To-night beneath my cottage-eaves;

While, smitten by a lofty moon,

The encircling laurels, thick with leaves,
Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen,
That overpowered their natural green.

Through hill and valley every breeze
Had sunk to rest, with folded wings:
Keen was the air, but could not freeze,
Nor check, the music of the strings;

So stout and hardy were the band

That scraped the chords with strenuous hand!