195 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 shiver'd to the tingling stars, 200 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, 205 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 shatter'd casque, and chafed his 210 And call'd him by his name, complaining loud, High from the dais-throne-were parch'd with Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, 220 Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips. So like a shatter'd column lay the king; Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest, Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged 225 Before the eyes of ladies and of kings. Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere, 'Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go? Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? For now I see the true old times are dead, 230 When every morning brought a noble chance, And every chance brought out a noble knight. Such times have been not since the light that led The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. But now the whole ROUND TABLE is dissolved 235 Which was an image of the mighty world; And I, the last, go forth companionless, And the days darken round me, and the years, And slowly answered Arthur from the barge: 240 The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils Himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. I have lived my life, and that which I have done 245 May He within Himself make pure! but thou, If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. 250 For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend? For so the whole round earth is every way 255 Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. But now farewell. I am going a long way With these thou seëst-if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) 260 Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard-lawns And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.' 265 So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere 270 Revolving many memories, till the hull Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn, Here ended Hall, and our last light, that long Had wink'd and threaten'd darkness, flared and fell: 275 At which the Parson, sent to sleep with sound, And waked with silence, grunted 'Good!' but we Sat rapt it was the tone with which he readPerhaps some modern touches here and there Redeem'd it from the charge of nothingness— 280 Or else we loved the man, and prized his work; I know not: but we sitting, as I said, The cock crew loud; as at that time of year The lusty bird takes every hour for dawn: Then Francis, muttering, like a man ill-used, 285There now-that's nothing!' drew a little back, And drove his heel into the smoulder'd log, That sent a blast of sparkles up the flue: And so to bed; where yet in sleep I seem'd To sail with Arthur under looming shores, 290 Point after point; till on to dawn, when dreams, Began to feel the truth and stir of day, To me, methought, who waited with a crowd, There came a bark that, blowing forward, bore King Arthur, like a modern gentleman 295 of stateliest port; and all the people cried, 'Arthur is come again; he cannot die.' Then those that stood upon the hills behind That with the sound I woke, and heard indeed morn. SIR GALAHAD (From the same) My good blade carves the casques of men, 5 The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, 10 They reel, they roll in clanging lists, And when the tide of combat stands, That lightly rain from ladies' hands. How sweet are looks that ladies bend 15 For them I battle till the end, To save from shame and thrall: 20 But all my heart is drawn above, My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine; I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden's hand in mine. More bounteous aspects on me beam, Me mightier transports move and thrill; 25 When down the stormy crescent goes, 30 Then by some secret shrine I ride; I hear a voice but none are there; Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth, The silver vessels sparkle clean, 35 The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, And solemn chaunts resound between. 40 Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres I leap on board: no helmsman steers: A gentle sound, an awful light! Three angels bear the holy Grail: My spirit beats her mortal bars, And star-like mingles with the stars. When on my goodly charger borne 50 Thro' dreaming towns I go, |