University of California • Berkeley 
 
 Gift of 
 
 MYRTLE WOLF 
 
/x 
 
\ 
 
KING ARTHUR 
 
 BY 
 
 SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, Bart. 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE NEW T 1 M N. 
 
 " When Arthur was a King — 
 Hearken, now a marvellous thing.'^ 
 
 " La>aniou'a lirut," by bir F. Maiden, Vol. i. p- 113. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES,. 
 
 VOL I, 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 HOGAN & THOMPSON. 
 
 1851. 
 
r 11 E F A C E. 
 
 I CANNOT better Lcgin the few remarks that it seems to me fitting 
 to prefix to this poem, than by acknowledgments sincere and earnest 
 to those whose approbation of the earlier portions honoured my ex- 
 periment and encouraged its progress ; — I venture to hope that the 
 work as now completed, will not forfeit the indulgence that they be- 
 stowed on the commencement ; indeed, it is almost the necessary 
 condition of any fiction, planned with some forethought, and sus- 
 tained through some length, that the passages most calculated to 
 please the reader, should open upon him in proportion as he habi- 
 tuates himself to the style, and becomes familiarized with the design, 
 of the author — while it is obvious that such merit as the work may 
 possibly be entitled to claim on the score of art, or consistency, can 
 be but imperfectl}'^ conjectured by specimens of its parts. 
 
 Whatever the defects of this Poem, it has not been hastily con- 
 ceived or lightly undertaken. From my earliest youth, the sul)jcct I 
 have selected has haunted my ambition — for twenty years it has 
 rested steadily on my mind, in sp^te of other undertakings, for the 
 most part not wholly ungenial, — since a lengthened and somewhat 
 various practice in the conception and conduct of imaginative story, 
 ought to be no disadvantageous preparation for a poem which seeks 
 to construct from the elements of national romance, something ap- 
 proaching to the completeness of epic narrative. If my powers be 
 unequal to the task I have assumed, at least I have waited in patience, 
 until they wore matured and disciplined to such strength as they 
 might be enabled to attain ; until taste, if erroneous, could be cor- 
 rected, invention if sterile, be enriched, by some prolonged appren- 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 ticeship to the principles of art, by the contemplation of its master- 
 pieces in many languages, and by such familiarity with the resources 
 of my native tongue as study and practice could permit me to obtain- 
 But every one knovrs the proverb, that "The poet is born, the orator 
 made ; — and though, perhaps, it is only partially true that the " Poet 
 is born," and a slight examination of the higher order of poets will 
 suffice to show us that they themselves depended very little on the 
 innate faculty, and were not less diligent in self-cultivation than the 
 most laborious orator, — yet it would be in vain to deny, that where 
 the faculty itself is wanting, no labour can supply the defect : and 
 if certain Critics are right in asserting, that that defect is my misfor- 
 tune, I must content myself with the sombre reflection that I have 
 done my best to counteract the original unkindness of nature, I 
 have given to this work a preparation that, evincing my own respect 
 to the public, entitles me in return to the respect of a just hearing 
 and a fair examination : if the work be worthless, it is at least the 
 worthiest it is in my power to perform, — and on this foundation, 
 however hollow, I know that I rest the least perishable monument 
 of those thoughts and those labours which have made the life of my 
 life. 
 
 In aiming at a complete and symmetrical design, I find myself 
 involuntarily compelled to refer to the distinctions of Epic Fable, 
 although by no means presuming to give to my poem a title which 
 an author may arrogate, but which a long succession of readers has 
 alone the prerogative to confirm, — and although few in this age will 
 pretend that an Epic can be made merely by adherence to formal 
 laws, or that it may not exist in^spite of nearly all which learning 
 has added to the canons of common sense, and the quick perceptions 
 of a cultivated taste. Pope has, however, properly defined the three 
 cardinal distinctions of Epic Fable to consist in the Probable, the 
 Allegorical, and the Marvellous. For Avithout the Probable, there 
 could be no vital interest ; without the Marvellous, its larger field 
 would be excluded from the imagination ; and without the Allego- 
 rical the Poet would lose the most pleasing medium of conveying 
 instruction. It is chiefly by the Allegorical that the imaginative 
 writer is didactic, and that he achieves his end of insinuatinjr 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 truth through the disgiiisc of fancy. I accept these divisions be- 
 cause they conform to the simplest principles of rational criticism ; 
 and though their combination does not form an Epic, it serves at 
 least to amplify the region and elevate the oljccts of Romance.. 
 
 It has been my aim so to blend these divisions, that each may 
 harmonize with the other, and all conduce to the end proposed from 
 the commencement For this is that unity of structure which every 
 artistic narrative requires, and it forms one of the main considera- 
 tions which influence any reader of sound judgment in estimating 
 the merit that belongs to a whole. — I have admitted but little episo- 
 dical incident, and none that does not grow out of what Pope terms 
 ' the platform of the story.' For the marvellous agencies I have not 
 presumed to make direct use of that Divine Machinery which the 
 war of the Christian Principle with the forms of Heathenism might 
 have suggested to the sublime daring of Milton, had he prosecuted 
 his original idea of founding a heroic poem upon the legendary 
 existence of Arthur; — and, on the other hand, the Teuton jMythology, 
 however interesting and profound, is too unfamiliar and obscure, to 
 permit its employment as an open and visible agency ; — such re- 
 ference to it as could not be avoided, is therefore rather indulged as 
 an appropriate colouring to the composition, than an integral part 
 of the materials of the canvas : And, not to ask from the ordinary 
 reader an erudition I should have no right to expect, the reference 
 so made is in the simplest form, and disentangled from the necessity 
 of other information than a few brief notes will suffice to afford. 
 
 In taking my subject from chivalrous romance, I take, then, the 
 agencies from the Marvellous that it naturally and familiarly affords 
 — the Fairy, the Genius, the Enchanter : not wholly, indeed, in the 
 precise and literal spirit with which our nursery tales receive those 
 creations of Fancy through the medium of French Fabliaux, but in 
 the larger significations by which in their conceptions of the Super- 
 natural, our fathers often implied the secrets of Nature. For the 
 Romance from wliich I borrow is the Romance of the North — a Ro- 
 mance, like the Northern mythology, full of typical meaning and 
 latent import. The gigantic remains of symbol worship are visible 
 amidst the rude fables of the Scamlinavians, and what little is left 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 to us of the earlier and more indigenous literature of the Cymrians, 
 is by a mysticism profound with characterized parable. This fond- 
 ness for an interior or double meaning is the most prominent attri- 
 bute in that Romance popularly called The Gothic, the feature most 
 in common with all creations that bear the stamp of the Northern 
 fancy ; we trace it in the poems of the Anglo-Saxons ; it returns to 
 us, in our earliest poems after the Conquest ; it does not originate 
 in the Oriental genius" (immemorially addicted to Allegory,) but it 
 instinctively appropriates all that Saracenic invention can suggest 
 to the more sombre imagination of the North — it unites to the Ser- 
 pent of the Edda, the flying Griffin of Arabia, the Persian Genius 
 to the Scandinavian Trold, — and wherever it accepts a marvel, it 
 seeks to insinuate a type. This peculiarity which demarks the 
 spiritual essence of the modern from the sensual character of an- 
 cient poetry, especially the Roman, is visible wherever a tribe allied 
 to the Goth, the Frank, or the Teuton, carries with it the deep mys- 
 teries of the Christian faith. Even in the sunny Provence it trans- 
 fuses a subtler and graver moral into the lays of the joyous trouba- 
 dour,* — and weaves " The Dance of Death" by the joyous streams, 
 and through the glowing orange groves of Spain. Onwards, this 
 under current of meaning flowed, through the various phases of 
 civilization : — it pervaded alike the popular Satire and the dramatic 
 Mystery ; — it remained unimpaired to the glorious age of Elizabeth, 
 amidst all the stirring passions that then agitated mankind, to de- 
 mand and to find their delineator ; — it not only coloured the dreams 
 of Spenser, but it placed abstruse and recondite truth in the clear 
 yet unfathomable wells of Shakspeare. Thus, in taking from 
 Northern Romance the Marvellous, we are most faithful to the 
 genuine character of that Romance when we take with the Marvel- 
 lous its old companion, the Typical or Allegorical. But these form 
 only two divisions of the three which I have assumed as the compo- 
 
 * " Kien n'cst pluscommun dans la poesieproven^ale que I'ailegoric; seule- 
 
 ment elle est un jou d'esprit an lieu d'f^tre une action Line 
 
 autre analogic nie r arait, plus spontantje qu'iiniu'e — la pousie des troubadours 
 qu'on suppose frivole, a souvcnt retracee dcs sejitiments graves et touchanls," 
 &c, — ViLLKMAiN, Tabltau du Mnycn Ai^t. 
 
PREFACE. XI 
 
 ncnts of the unity I seek to accompUsh; there remains the Probable, 
 which contains the Actual. To subject the whole poem to allegori- 
 cal constructions would be erroneous, and opposed to the vital prin- 
 ciple of a work of this kind which needs the support of direct and 
 human interest. The inner and the outer meaning of Fable should flow 
 together, each acting on the other, as the thought and the action in 
 the life of a man. It is true that in order clearly to interpret the 
 action, we should penetrate to the thought. But if we fail of that 
 perception, the action, though less comprehended, still impresses its 
 reality on our senses, and makes its appeal to our interest. 
 
 I have thus sought to maintain the Probable through that chain 
 of incident in which human agencies are employed, and through 
 those agencies the direct action of the Poem is accomplished; while 
 the Allegorical admits into the Marvellous the introduction of that 
 subtler form of truth, which if less positive than the Actual, is 
 wider in its application, and ought to be more profound in its signifi- 
 cance. 
 
 For the rest, it may perhaps be conceded that this poem is not 
 without originality in the conception of its plot and the general 
 treatment of its details. Though I have often sought to enrich its 
 materijils with ornaments of expression, borrowed or imitated, whe- 
 ther from our own earliest poetry, or that of other countries, yet I 
 am not aware of any previous romantic poem which it resembles in 
 its main design, or in the character of its principal incidents ; — and 
 though I may have incurred certain mannerisms of my own day, (in 
 spite of my endeavour rather to err on the opposite side, by often 
 purposely retaining those forms of diction and phraseology which 
 recent criticism regards as common-place, and by generally adhering 
 to those laws of rhythm and rhyme which recent poetry has been 
 inclined to regard as servile and restricted) ; — yet I venture to trust, 
 that, in the pervading form or style, the mind employed has been 
 sufficiently in earnest to leave its own peculiar effigy and stamp 
 upon the work. For the incidents narrated, I may, indeed, thank 
 the nature of my subject, if many of them could scarcely fail to be 
 new. The celebrated poets of chivalrous fable — Ariosto, Tasso, and 
 Spenser, have given to their scenery the colourings of the West. 
 
Xll PREFACE. 
 
 The Great North from which Chivah-y sprung — its polar seas, its 
 natural wonders, its wild legends, its antediluvian remains, — a wide 
 field for poetic description and heroic narrative — have been, indeed, 
 not wholly unexplored by poetry, but so little appropriated, that 
 even after Tegner and Oehlenschlager, I dare to hope that I have 
 found tracks in which no poet has preceded me, and over which yet 
 breathes the native air of our National Romance. 
 
 For the Manners preserved through this poem, I have elsewhere 
 implied that I take those of that age, not in which the Arthur of 
 History, of whom we know so little, but in which the Arthur of 
 Romance, whom we know so well, revived into fairer life at the 
 breath of Minstrel and Fabliast. The anachronism of chivalrous 
 manners and costume for himself and his knighthood, is absolutely 
 required by all our familiar associations. On the other hand, with- 
 out affecting any strict or antiquarian accuracy in details, I have 
 kept the country of the brave Chief of the Silures (or South Wales) 
 somewhat more definitely in view, than has been done by the French 
 fabliasts ; while in portraying his Saxon foes, I have endeavoured 
 to distinguish their separate nationality, without enforcing too violent 
 a contrast between the rudeness of the heathen Teutons and the po- 
 lished Christianity of the Cymrian Knighthood,* 
 
 * In the more historical view of the position of Arthur, I have, however, 
 represented it such as it really appears to have been, — not as the Sovereign at 
 all Britain, and the conqurring invadei' of Europe (according to the ground- 
 less fable of Geotfrey of Monmouth), but as the patriot Prince of South 
 VVaies, resisting successfully the invasion of his own native soil, and accom- 
 plishing the object of his career in preserving entire the nationality of his 
 Welch country men. In ihus contracting his sphere of action to the bounds 
 of rational truth, his dignity, both moral and poetic, is obviously enhanced. 
 Hepresented as the champion of all Britain against the Saxons, his life would 
 have been a notorious and signal failure; but as the preserver of the Cym- 
 rian INationality — of that part of the British population which took refuge iu 
 Wales, he has a claim to the epic glory of success. 
 
 It is for this latter reason that I have gone somewhat out of the strict letter 
 of history, and allowed mysell ihe privilege of making the Mercians his prin- 
 ci[)le enemy, as they were his nearest neighbours, (though properly speaking, 
 the Mercian kingdom was not then foinded.) The allifince between the Mer- 
 cian and the U'elch, which concludes the Poem— is at least not contrary to 
 the spirit »f History — since in very early periods such atnicable bo i.ds between 
 
PREFACE. Xlil 
 
 May I be pormlttcd to say a word as to the metre T have selected ? 
 One advantage it has, — that while thoroughly English, and not un- 
 cultivated by the best of the elder masters, it has never been applied 
 to a poem of equal length, and has not been made too trite and fami- 
 liar, by the lavish employment of recent writers. Shakspeare has 
 taught us its riches in the Venus and Adonis, — Spenser in The As- 
 trophel, — Cowley has sounded its music amidst the various intona- 
 tions of his irregular lyre. But of late years, if not wholly laid aside,* 
 it has been generally neglected for the more artificial and complicated 
 Spenserian stanza, which may seem, at the first glance, to resemble 
 it, but which to the ear is widely different in rhythm and construction. 
 
 The reader may perhaps remember that Dryden has spoken with 
 emphatic praise of the rhyming, or elegiac, metre with its alternate 
 rhyme. He has even regarded it as the noblest in the language. 
 That metre in its simple integrity is comprised in the stanza selected, 
 ending in the vigour and terseness of the rhyming couplet, in which 
 for the most part, the picture should be closed or the sense clenched. 
 And whatever the imperfection of my own treatment of this variety 
 in poetic form, I cannot resist a prediction that it will be ultimately 
 revived into more frequent use, especially in narrative, and that its 
 peculiar melodies of rhythm and cadence, as well as the just and 
 measured facilities it affords to expression, neither too diffuse, nor 
 too restricted, will be recognized hereafter in the hands of a more 
 accomplished master of our language. 
 
 Here ends all that I feel called upon to say respecting a Poem 
 which I now acknoAvlcdge as the child of my most cherished hopes, 
 and to which I deliberately confide the task to uphold, and the 
 chance to continue, its father's name. 
 
 The motives that induced me to publish anonymously the first 
 portion of " Arthur," as well as the " New Timon," are simple 
 enough to bo easily recognised. An author who has been some 
 
 Welch anil Mercian were contracteJ, and the Welch on the whole, were on 
 better terms with those formidable borderers, than with the other branches of 
 the Saxon family. 
 
 » ."Souilicy lias used it in the ••Lay of the Laureate" and ''The Poet's 
 Pilgrimage," — not his best known and most considerable poems. 
 
XIV PREFACE. 
 
 time before the public, feels, in undertaking some new attempt in 
 his vocation, as if released from an indescribable restraint, when he 
 pre-resolves to hazard his experiment as that of one utterly unknown. 
 That determination gives at once freedom and zest to his labours in 
 the hours of composition, and on the anxious eve of publication, 
 restores to him much of the interest and pleasureable excitement, 
 that charmed his earliest delusions. When he escapes from the 
 judgment that has been passed on his manhood, he seems again to 
 start fresh from the expectations of his youth. 
 
 In my own case, too, I believed, whether truly or erroneously, 
 that my experiment would have a fairer chance of justice, if it could 
 be regarded without personal reference to the author ; — and at all 
 events it was clear, that I myself could the better judge how far the 
 experiment had failed or succeeded, when freed from the partial 
 kindness of those disposed to overrate, or the predetermined censure 
 of those accustomed to despise my former labours. 
 
 These motives were sufficient to decide me to hazard unacknow- 
 ledged those attempts which the public has not ungraciously received. 
 And, indeed, I should have been well contented to preserve the 
 mask, if it had not already failed to ensure the disguise. My iden 
 tity with the author of these poems has been so generally insisted 
 upon, that I have no choice between the indiscretion of frank avowal, 
 and the effrontery of flat denial. Whatever influence of good or ill, 
 my formal adoption of these foundlings may have upon their future 
 career, like other adventurers they must therefore take their chance 
 in the crowd. Happy if they can propitiate their father's foes, yet 
 retain his friends ; and, — irrespective of either, — sure to be judged, 
 at last, according to their own deserts. 
 
 E, BULWER LYTTON. 
 
 January, 1849. 
 
KING ARTHUR 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Opening; King Arthur keeps holiday in the Vale of Carduel ; Pastimes; 
 Arthur's sentiments on life, love, and mortal change; the strange appa- 
 rition ; The King follows the phantom into the forest ; His return ; The 
 discomfiture of his knights ; The Court disperses ; Night ; The restless 
 King ascends his battlements ; His soliloquy ; He is attracted by the 
 light from the Wizard's tower ; Merlin described ; The King's narra- 
 tive ; The Enchanter's invocation ; Morning ; The tilt-yard ; Sports, 
 knightly and national; Merlin's address to Arthur; The three Labours 
 enjoined ; Arthur departs from Carduel ; His absence explained by 
 Merlin to the Council ; Description of Arthur's three friends, Caradoc, 
 Gawaine, and Lancelot ; The especial love between Arthur and the 
 last ; Lancelot encounters Arthur ; The parting of the friends. 
 
KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 I. 
 
 Our land's first legends, love and kniglitlj deeds, 
 And wonderous Merlin, and his wandering King, 
 
 The triple labour, and the glorious meeds 
 Won from the world of Fable-land, I sing : 
 
 Go forth, Song, amidst the banks of old, 
 
 And glide translucent o'er the sands of gold. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now is the time when, after sparkling showers, 
 Her starry wreaths the virgin jasmine weaves; 
 
 Now lure the bee wild thyme and sunny hours ; 
 And light wings rustle thro' the glinting leaves ; 
 
 Music on every bough ; on mead and lawn 
 
 May hfts her fragrant altars to the dawn. 
 
 2 
 
18 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 III. 
 
 Now life, with every moment, seems to start 
 In air, in wave, on earth ;- — above, below ; 
 
 And o'er her new-born children, Nature's heart 
 Heaves with the gladness mothers only know. 
 
 On poet times the month of poets shone — 
 
 May deck'd the world and Arthur fill'd the throne. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hard by a stream, amidst a pleasant vale. 
 King Arthur held his careless holiday : — 
 
 The stream was blithe with many a silken sail. 
 The vale with many a proud pavilion gay; 
 
 While Cymri's dragon, from the Roman's hold,(^) 
 
 Spread with calm wing o'er Carduel's domes of gold , 
 
 V. 
 
 Dark to the right, thick forests mantled o'er 
 A gradual mountain sloping to the plain ; 
 
 Whose gloom but lent to light a charm the more. 
 As pleasure pleases most when neigbouring pain ; 
 
 And all our human joys most sweet and holy, 
 
 Sport in the shadows cast from melancholy. 
 
 VT. 
 
 Below that mount, along the glossy sward, 
 
 Were gentle groups, discoursing gentle things ] — 
 
 Or listening idly where the skilful bard 
 
 Woke the sweet tempest of melodious strings 5 
 
 Or whispering love — I ween, less idle they, 
 
 Eor love's the honey in the flowers of May. 
 
EOOK T, 19 
 
 VII. 
 
 Some plied in lusty race the glist'ning oar ; 
 
 Some, noiseless, snared the silver-scaled prey ; 
 Some wreathed the dance along the level shore ; 
 
 And each was happy in his chosen way. 
 Not by one shaft is care, the hj'dra, kilVd, 
 So mirth determined, had his quiver fill'd. 
 
 VIIT. 
 
 Bright as the Morn, when all the pomp of cloud 
 
 Reflects its lustre in a rosy ring, 
 The worthy centre of a glittering crowd 
 
 Of youth and beaut3^, shone the British King, 
 Above that group, o'er-arch'd from tree to tree. 
 Thick garlands hung their odorous canopy ; 
 
 IX. 
 
 And in the midst of that delicious shade 
 
 Up sprang a sparkling fountain, silver- voiced. 
 
 And the bee murmur d, and the breezes j^layed : 
 In their gay j^outh, the j'outh of May rejoiced — 
 
 And they in hers — as thro' that leafy hall 
 
 Chimed the heart's laughter with the fountain's fall. 
 
 X. 
 
 Propp'd on his easy arm, the King reclined, 
 And glancing gaily round the ring, quoth lie — 
 
 ^"'^Man,' say our sages, Miath a fickle mind. 
 And pleasures pall, if long enjoy 'd they be.' 
 
 But I, methinks, like this soft summer-day, 
 
 Mid blooms and sweets could wear the hours away. 
 
20 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XI. 
 
 '^ Feel, in the eyes of Love, a cloudless sun, 
 T«aste, in the breath of Love, eternal spring ; 
 
 Could age but keep the joys that youth has won, 
 The human heart would fold its idle wing ! 
 
 If change there be in Fate and Nature's plan. 
 
 Wherefore blame us ? — it is in Time, not Man." 
 
 XII. 
 
 He spoke, and from the happy conclave there 
 Echoed the murmur " Time is but to blame :" 
 
 Each knight glanced amorous on his chosen fair. 
 And to the glance blush'd each assenting dame : 
 
 But thought had dimm'd the smile in Arthur's eye, 
 
 And the light speech was rounded by a sigh. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And while they murmur'd " Time is but to blame," 
 Right in the centre of the silken ring, 
 
 Sudden stood forth (none marking whence it came), 
 A strange, and weird, and phantom-seeming thing ; 
 
 It stood, dim-outlined in a sable shroud, 
 
 And shapeless, as in noon-day hangs a cloud. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Hush'd was each lip, and every cheek was pale ; 
 
 The stoutest heart beat tremulous and high ; 
 " Arise," it muttered from the spectral veil, 
 
 " I call thee. King !" Then burst the wrathful cry, 
 Feet found the earth, and ready hands the sword. 
 And angry knighthood bristled round its lord. 
 
BOOK r. 21 
 
 XV. 
 
 But Arthur rose, and, waiving back the throng, 
 Fronted the Imaire with a dauntless brow : 
 
 Then shrunk the Phantom, indistinct, along 
 
 The unbending herbage, noiseless, dark, and slow ; 
 
 And where the forest, night at noonday made, 
 
 Glided, — as from the dial glides the shade. 
 
 xvr. 
 
 Cone ; — but an ice-bound horror seem'd to cling 
 To air ; the revellers stood transfix'd to stone ; 
 
 While from amidst them, palely passed the King, 
 Dragg'd by a will more royal than his own : 
 
 Onwards he went ; the invisible control 
 
 Compell'd hnn, as a dream compels the soul. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 They saw, and sought to stay him, but in vain ; 
 
 They saw, and sought to speak, but voice was dumb : 
 So Death some warrior from his armed train 
 
 Plucks forth defenceless when his hour is come. 
 He gains the wood ; their sight the shadows bar, 
 And darkness wraps him as the cloud a star. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Abruptly, as it came, the charm was past 
 That bound the circle : as from heavy sleep 
 
 Starts the hush'd war-camp at the trumpet's blast, 
 Fierce into life the voiceless revellers leap ; 
 
 Swift to the wood the glittering tumult springs, 
 
 And thro' the vale the shrill box-lef-iier rin^rs.* 
 
 * The shout of war. 
 
22 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 From stream, from tent, from pastime near and far^ 
 
 All press confusedly to the signal cry- 
 So from the Rock of Birds* the shout of war 
 
 Sends countless wings in clamour thro' the sky — 
 The cause a word, the track a sign affords, 
 And all the forest gleams with starry swords. 
 
 XX. 
 
 As on some stag the hunters single, gaze, 
 Gathering together, and from far, the herd, 
 
 So round the margin of the woodland-maze 
 Pale beauty circles, trembling if a bird 
 
 Flutter a bough, or if, without a sound, 
 
 Some leaf fall breezeless, eddying to the ground. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 An hour or more had towards the western seas 
 Speeded the golden chariot of the day. 
 
 When a white plume came glancing through the trees, 
 The serried branches groaningly gave way. 
 
 And, with a bound, delivered from the wood, 
 
 Safe, in the sun-light, royal Arthur stood. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Who shall express the joy that aspect woke ! 
 
 Some laugh'd aloud, and clapped their snowy hands ; 
 • Some ran, some knelt, some turn'd aside and broke 
 
 Into glad tears : — But all unheeding stands 
 The King ; and shivers in the glowing light ; 
 And his breast heaves as panting from a fight. 
 
 * The Rock of Birds — Coatr y Deutn — so called from the number of birds 
 (chiefly those of prey) that breed on it. 
 
BOOK I. 23 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Yet still ill those pale features, seen more near. 
 Speak the stern will, the soul to valour true \ 
 
 It shames man not to feel man's human fear, 
 It shames man only if the fear subdue ; 
 
 And masking trouble with a noble guile, 
 
 Soon the proud heart restores the kingly smile. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 But no account could anxious love obtain, 
 Nor curious wonder, of the portents seen ; 
 
 " Bootless his search," he lightly said, " and vain 
 As haply had the uncourteous summons been. 
 
 Some mocking sport, perchance, of merry May." 
 
 He ceased ; and shuddering, turn'd his looks awa3^ 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Now, back, alas, less comely than they went. 
 Drop, one by one, the seekers from the chase, 
 
 With mangled plumes and mantles dreadly rent ; — 
 Sore bleed the Loves in Elphin's* blooming face ; 
 
 Madoc, whose dancing scarcely brush'd the dew, 
 
 O grief ! limps, crippled by a stump of j' ew 1 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 In short, such pranks had briar and bramble played, 
 And stock and stone, with vest, and face, and limb, 
 
 That had some wretch denied the place was made 
 For sprites, a sprite had soon been made of him ! 
 
 And sure, nought less than some demoniac power 
 
 Had looks so sweet bewitched to lines so sour. 
 
 * Ei.pHTN, the youn^ prince who discovered the famous Talicssin, (exposed as 
 an infant in a leather ba?), appears to have been remarkable for hie good looks, 
 according; to the poem addressed to him by ihe giaicful baid, and well known to 
 the culiivdtors of \A'elch literature. 
 
24 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 But shame and anger vanish'd when they saw 
 Him whose warm smile a life had well repaid^ 
 
 For noble hearts a noble chief can draw 
 Into that circle where all self doth fade ; 
 
 Lost in the sea a hundred waters roll, 
 
 And subject natures merge in one great soul. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Now once again quick question, brief reply, 
 
 ''What saw, what heard the king?" "Nay, gentles, what 
 
 Saw and heard ye ?" — " The forest and the sky, 
 The rustling branches."—" And the phantom not ? 
 
 No more," quoth Arthur, " of a thriftless chase, 
 
 For cheer so stinted brief may be the grace. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 '' But see, the sun descendeth down the w^est, 
 And graver cares to Carduel now recall : 
 
 Gawaine, my steed ; — Sweet ladies, gentle rest^ 
 And dreams of happy morrows to ye all." 
 
 Now stirs the movement on the busy plain ; 
 
 To horse^ — to boat ; and homeward wind the train, 
 
 XXX. 
 
 O'er hill, down stream, the pageant fades aw^ay. 
 More and more faint the splash of dipping oar ; 
 
 Voices, and music, and the steed's shrill neigh. 
 From the gray twilight dying more and more ; 
 
 Till over stream and valley, wide and far, 
 
 Eeign the sad silence and the solemn star. 
 
BOOK I. 2-5 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Save where, like some true poet's lonely soul, 
 
 Careless who hears, sings on the unheeded fountain ; 
 
 Save where the thin elouds wanly, slowly roll 
 O'er the mute darkness of the forest mountain — 
 
 Where, haply, busied with unholy rite. 
 
 Still glides that phantom, and dismays the night. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Sleep, the sole angel left of all below, 
 
 O'er the lull'd city sheds the ambrosial wreaths, 
 
 Wet with the dews of Eden ; Bliss and Woe 
 Are equals, and the lowest slave that breathes 
 
 Under the shelter of those healing wings, 
 
 Eeigns, half his life, in realms too fair for Kings. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Too fair those dreams for Arthur ; long he lay 
 An exiled suppliant at the gate of dreams, 
 
 And vexed, and Avild, and fitful as a ray 
 
 Quivering upon the surge of stormy streams ; 
 
 Thought broke in glimmering trouble o'er his breast, 
 
 And found no billow where its beam could rest.* 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 He rose, and round him drew his ermined gown, 
 Pass'd from his chamber, Avound the turret stair. 
 
 And from his castle's steep embattled crown 
 Bared his hot forehead to the freshening air. 
 
 How Silence, like a god's tranquility, 
 
 Fill'd with delighted peace the conscious sky ! 
 
 * " Qual d'acqua chiara il trcmolante lurae," etc. — Ariodo, canto viii. stan. 74. 
 
26 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Broo.d, luminous, serene, the sovereign moon 
 Shone o'er the roofs below, the lands afar — 
 
 The vale so joyous with the mirth at noon ; 
 The pastures virgin of the lust of war ; 
 
 Fair waters sparkling as they seaward roll, 
 
 As to Time's ocean speeds a happy soul. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " And must these pass from me and mine away ?" 
 Mui'mured the monarch ; " Must the mountain home 
 
 Of those whose fathers, in a ruder day. 
 
 With naked bosoms rush'd on shrinking Rome,(^) 
 
 Yield this last refuge from the ruthless wave. 
 
 And what was Britain be the Saxon's slave? 
 
 xxxvir. 
 " Why hymn our harps high music in our hall ? 
 
 Doom'd is the tree whose fruit was noble deeds — 
 Where the axe S23ared the thunder-bolt must fall. 
 
 And the wind scatter where it list the seeds ! 
 Fate breathes, and kingdoms wither at the breath, 
 But kings are deathless, kingly if the death ;" 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 He ceased, and look'd v/ith a defying eye. 
 
 Where the dark forest clothed the mount with awe ; 
 
 Gazed, and then proudly turn'd : — when lo, hard by 
 From a lone turret in his keep, he saw. 
 
 Through the horn casement, a clear steadfast light. 
 
 Lending meek tribute to the orbs of night. 
 
BOOK I. 27 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 And fiir and far, I ween, that little ray 
 
 Sent its pure streamlet tlirougli the world of air. 
 
 The wanderer oft, benighted on his way, 
 Saw it, and paused in superstitious prayer, 
 
 For well he knew the beacon and the tower. 
 
 And the great Master of the spells of power. 
 
 XL. 
 
 There He, who yet in faljle's deathless page 
 
 Reigns compass'd with the ring of pleasing dread, 
 
 Which the true wizard, whether bard or sage. 
 
 Draws round him living, and commands when dead — 
 
 The solemn Merlin — from the midnight won 
 
 The hosts that bowed to starry Solomon. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Not fear that light on Arthur's breast bestowed. 
 As with a father's smile it met his gaze ; 
 
 It cheered, it soothed, it warmed him while it glowed ; 
 Brought Ijack the memory of young hopeful days. 
 
 When the child stood by the great jDrophet's knee. 
 
 And drank high thoughts to strengthen years to be. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 As with a tender chiding the calm light 
 Seem'd to reproach him for secreted care, 
 
 Seem'd to ask back the old familiar right 
 Of lore to counsel, or of love to share ; 
 
 The prompt heart answers to the voiceless call. 
 
 And the step quickens o'er the winding wall. 
 
28 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XLIII 
 
 Before that tower precipitously sink 
 
 The walls, down-shelving to the castle base ; 
 
 A slender drawbridge, swung from brink to brink, (^) 
 Alone gives fearful access to the place ; 
 
 Now from that tower, the chains the drawbridge raise, 
 
 And leave the gulf all pathless to the gaze. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 But close where Arthur stands, a warder's horn, 
 Fix'd to the stone, to those who dare to win 
 
 The enchanter's cell, supplies the note to warn 
 The mighty weaver of dread webs within. 
 
 Loud sounds the horn, the chain descending clanocs 
 
 And o'er the abyss the dizzy pathway hangs ; 
 
 o^^? 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Mutely the door slides sullen in the stone. 
 
 And closes back, the gloomy threshold cross'd ; 
 
 There sate the wizard on a Druid throne. 
 
 Where sate Duw-Ioii,(^) ere his reign was lost; 
 
 His wand uplifted in his solemn hand. 
 
 And the weird volume on its brazen stand. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Yast was the front which, o'er as vast a breast. 
 Hung, as if heavy with the load sublime 
 
 Of the piled hoards which Thought, the heavenly guest, 
 Had wrung from Nature, or despoil'd from Time ; 
 
 And the unutterable calmness shows 
 
 The toil's great victory by the soul's repose. 
 
BOOK I. 20 
 
 xLvir. 
 
 Even as the Tyrian \iew.s his argosies, 
 
 Moor'd ill the port (the gold of Ophir won), 
 
 And heeds no more the billow and the breeze, 
 
 And the clouds wandering o'er the the wintry sun, 
 
 So calmly Wisdom eyes (its voyage o'er) 
 
 The traversed ocean from the beetling shore. 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 A hundred years press'd o'er that awful head, 
 
 As o'er an Alp, their diadem of snow ; 
 And, as an Alp, a hundred years had fled, 
 
 And left as firm the giant form below; 
 So sate, ere yet discrown'd, in Ida's grove, 
 The grey-hair'd father of Pelasgian Jove. 
 
 XLTX. 
 
 Before that power, sublimer than his own. 
 
 With downcast looks, the king inclined the knee; 
 
 The enchanter smiled, and, bending from his throne, 
 Drew^ to his breast his pupil tenderly; 
 
 And press'd his lips on that 3^oung forehead fair. 
 
 And with large hand smoothed back the golden hair. 
 
 L. 
 
 And, looking in those frank and azure eyes, 
 
 "What," said the prophet, "doth my Arthur seek 
 
 From the gray wisdom which the young despise? 
 The young, perchance, are right! — Fair infant, speakl ' 
 
 Thrice sigh'd the monarch, and at length began : 
 
 " Can wisdom ward the storm of fate from man ? 
 
30 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LT. 
 
 " What spell can tliriist Affliction from the gate ? 
 
 What tree is sacred from the lightning flame?" 
 "Son," said the seer, "the laurel! — even Fate, 
 
 Which blasts Ambition, but illumines Fame. 
 Say on." — The king smiled sternly, and obey'd — 
 Track we the steps which track'd the warning shade. 
 
 LII. 
 
 "On to the v/ood, and to its its inmost dell 
 Will-less I went," the monarch thus pursued^ 
 
 " Before me still, but darkly visible. 
 
 The phantom glided through the solitude; 
 
 At length it paused, — a sunless pool was near, 
 
 As ebon black, and yet as crystal clear. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 " ' Look, King, below,' whispered the shadowy One : 
 What seem'd a hand sign'd beckoning to the wave, 
 
 I look'd below, and never realms undone 
 
 Show'd war more awful than the mirror gave; 
 
 There rusli'd the steed, there glanced on spear the spea.r, 
 
 And spectre-squadrons closed in fell career. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 " I saw — I saw my dragon standing there, — 
 
 There throng'd the Briton, there the Saxon wheel'd ; 
 
 1 saw it vanish from that nether air — 
 
 I saw it trampled on tha.t phantom field ; — 
 
 On poured the Saxon hosts — we lied — we fled ! 
 
 And the Pale Horse* rose ghastly o'er the dead. 
 
 * The White Horse, the stantlard of the Saxons, 
 
BOOK I. 31 
 
 hV. 
 
 " Lo, the wan shadow of a giant hand 
 
 Pass'd o'ei^ the pool — the demon war was gone ; 
 
 City on city stretch'd, and land on land ; 
 
 The wonderons landscape hroadening, lengthening on, 
 
 Till that small compass in its clasp contain'd 
 
 All this wide isle o'er which my fathers reign'd. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 *' There, ]jy the lord of streams, a palace rose ; 
 
 On hloodv floors there was a throne of state ; 
 And in the land there dwelt one race — our foes; 
 
 And on the single throne the Saxon sate ! 
 And Cymri's crown was on his knitted hrow ; 
 And where stands Carduel, went the laborer's plough. 
 
 LVIT. 
 
 '''And east and west, and north and south I turn'd, 
 And call'd my people as a king should call ; 
 
 Pale in the IioUoav mountains I discern'd 
 
 Rude scattered stragglers from the common thrall; 
 
 Kingless and armyless, by crag and cave, — 
 
 Ghosts on the margin of their country's grave. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 •'And even there, amidst the barren steeps, 
 I heard the tramp, I saw the Saxon steel; 
 
 Aloft, red murder like a deluge sweeps, 
 
 Nor rock can save, nor cavern can conceal ; 
 
 Hill after hill, the waves devouring rise, 
 
 Till in one mist of carnage closed my eyes ! 
 
Of 
 
 O 
 
 2 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LiX. 
 
 '' Then spoke tlie hell-born shadow by mj side — ■ - 
 '0 king, who dreamest, amid sweets and bloom, 
 
 Life, like one summer holiday, can glide. 
 
 Blind to the storm-cloud of the coming doom ; 
 
 Arthur Pendragon,* to the Saxon's sway 
 
 Thy kingdom and thy crown shall pass away.' 
 
 LX. 
 
 ^'^And who art thou, that Heaven's august decrees 
 Usurpest thus?' I cried, and lo the space 
 
 Was void ! — Amidst the horror of the trees. 
 And by the pool, which mirror'd back the face 
 
 Of Dark in crystal darkness — there I stood, 
 
 And the sole spectre was the Solitude! 
 
 LXI. 
 
 '^ I knew no more — strong as a mighty dream 
 The trouble seized the soul, and seal'd the sense; 
 
 I knew no more, till in the blessed beam, 
 Life sprung to loving Nature for defence ; 
 
 Yale, flower, and fountain laugh'd in jocund spring, 
 
 And pride came back, — again I was a king! 
 
 Lxir. 
 
 " But, even the while with airy sport of tongue 
 (As with light wing the skylark from its nest 
 
 Lures the invading step) I led the throng 
 From the dark brood of terror in my breast ; 
 
 Still frown'd the vision on my haunted eye, 
 
 And blood seem'd reddening in the azure sky. 
 
 * Pexdragox is here used in its true sense, not as a proper name, but a royal 
 title — i. e., the head of the Dragon race. 
 
BOOK I. :V> 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 ^'0 tliou, the Almi<>litv Lord of earth and heaven. 
 Without whose will not even a ^sparrow fallsj 
 
 If to mv sifi^ht the fearful trutli wa.s <2:iven. 
 If thy dread hand hath graven on these walls 
 
 The Assyrian's doom, and to the stran Goer's swav 
 
 My kingdom and my crown shall pass away, — 
 
 LXIV, 
 
 ^^Gi^nt thi'3 — a freeman's, if a monarch's, prayer! — 
 Life, while my life one man from chains can save; 
 
 While earth one ix^^fuge, or the cave one luir, 
 Yields to tlie closing struggle of the hi^ve ! — 
 
 Mine the la^t desperate but avenging hand, 
 
 If reft the sceptre, not resigned the brand!" 
 
 LXV. 
 
 ^•^ Close to my clasp!" the prophet cried, "Impart 
 . To these iced veins the glow of j^outh once more: 
 The healthful throb of one great human heart 
 Baffles more fiends than all a ma^ian's lore. 
 My boy ! — " young arms eml^racing check'd the rest, 
 And youth and a52:e stood minf^fled breast to breast. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 ^* Ho 1" cried the mighty master, while he broke 
 From the embrace, and round from vault to tkx^r 
 
 Mysterious echoes answered a.s he spoke; 
 
 And flames twined snake-like round the wand he bore^ 
 
 And freezing winds swept wheeling through the cell, 
 
 As from the winsis of hosts invisible : 
 
 3 
 
34 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 " IIo ! ye spiritual Ministers of all 
 
 The airy space below the Sapphire Throne^ 
 
 To the swift axle of this earthly ball — 
 Yea, to the deep, where evermore alone 
 
 Hell's king with memory of lost glory dwells, 
 
 And from that memory weaves his hell of hells ; — 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 '*^Ho! ye who fill the crevices of air, 
 
 And speed the whirlwind round the reeling bark — 
 Or dart destroying in the forked glare, 
 
 Or rise — the bloodless People of the Dark, 
 In the pale shape of Dreams — when to the bed 
 Of Murder glide the simulated dead ! 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 '' Hither, ye myriad hosts ! — O'er tower and dome, 
 Wait the high mission, and attend the word : 
 
 Whether to pierce the mountain with the gnome, 
 Or soar to heights where never wing'd the bird; 
 
 So that the secret and the boon ye wrest 
 
 From Time's cold grasp or Fate's reluctant breast!" 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Mute stood the king — when lo, the dragon-keep 
 Shook to its rack'd foundations, as when all 
 
 Corycia's caverns and the Delphic steep 
 Shook to the foot-tread of invading Gaul;* 
 
 Or, as his path when flaming ^tna frees, 
 
 Shakes some proud city on Sicilian seas : 
 
 • See Pausanias (Phocics, c. 23), for the animated description of the march of 
 Brennus upon Delphi. 
 
BOOK T. of) 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Reel'd heaving from his feet the dizzy floor; 
 
 Swam dreamlike on his gaze the fading cell ; 
 As Mis the seaman when the waves dash o'er 
 
 The plank that glideth from his grasp — he fell. 
 To eyes ungifted, deadly were the least 
 Of those last mysteries, Nature yields her priest. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Morn, the joy-hringer, from her sparkling uni 
 Scatters o'er herb and flower the orient dew ; 
 
 The larks to heaven, and souls to thought return — 
 Life, in each source, leaps rushing forth anew, 
 
 Fills every grain in nature's boundless plan. 
 
 And wakes new fates in each desire of man, 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 In each desire, eadi thought, each fear, each hope, 
 Each scheme, each wish, each fancy, and each end, 
 
 That morn calls forth, say, who can span the sco]_>e ? 
 Who track the arrow which the soul mav send ? 
 
 One morning woke Olympia's youthful son. 
 
 And long'd for fame — and half the world was won. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Fair shines the sun on stately Carduel ; 
 
 The falcon, hoodwink'd, basks upon the wall ; 
 The tilt-3^ard echoes with the clarion's swell. 
 
 And lusty youth comes thronging to the call ; 
 And martial sports (the daily wont) begin. 
 The page must practice if the knight would win. 
 
of) KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Some spur the palfrey at the distant ring ; 
 
 Some, with bkmt lance, in mimic tourney charge ; 
 Here skirs the pebble from the poised sling, 
 
 Or flies the arrow rounding to the targe ; 
 Yf hile Age and Fame sigh smiling to behold 
 The young leaves budding to replace the old. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Nor yet forgot amid the special sports 
 Of polish'd Chivalry, the primal ten* 
 
 Athletic contests, known in older courts 
 
 Ere knighthood rose from the great father-men. 
 
 Beyond the tilt-yard spread the larger space. 
 
 For the strong wrestle and the breathless race ; 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Here some, the huge dull weights up-heaving throw ; 
 
 Some ply the staff, and some the sword and shield , 
 And some that falchion with its thunder-blow 
 
 Which Heus, ( '" ) the guardian, taught the Celt to wield ; 
 Ileus, who first guided o'er the " Hazy Sea" 
 Our Titanf sires from far Defrobnvi. 
 
 * The ten manly games (Gwrolgampan), were, first, — six called the "Father- 
 games" (Tadogion), viz., lifting weights, running, leaping, swimming, wrestling, 
 riding, or chariot races; — the four last, more devoted to skill in arms, were arches y, 
 playing with the two-handed stafT, playing with the sword and shield, and espe- 
 cially the exercise of the Cleddtf DKunnwuN, or two-handed sword (a very early 
 national weapon). 
 
 f " Our Titan sires?'' — according to certain mythologists, the Celts, or Cimme- 
 rians, were the Titans. On the other hand, some of the early chroniclers make the 
 giants, or Titans, the aborigines of the island, — whom the Britons very properly ex- 
 terminate. 
 
BOOK I. 37 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Life thUvS astir, and sport upon the wing, 
 
 Why yet doth Arthur dream day's prime away ? 
 
 Still in charm'd sluml)er lies the quiet King ; 
 On his own couch the merry sunbeams play ; 
 
 Gleam o'er the arms hung trophied from the wall ; 
 
 And Cymri's antique crown surmounting all. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Slowly he woke ; life came back Avith a sigh, 
 (That herald, or that henchman to the gate 
 
 Of all our knoAvledge ;) — and his startled eye 
 Fell where beside his couch the prophet sate ; 
 
 And with that sight rushed back the mystic cell, 
 
 The awful summons, the arrested spell. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 " Prince," said the prophet, '" with this morn awake 
 From pomp, from pleasure, to high toils and brave ; 
 
 From yonder wall the arms of knighthood take. 
 But leave the crown the knightly arms may save ; 
 
 O'er mount and vale, go, pilgrim, forth alone. 
 
 And win the gifts which shall defend a throne. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 " So speak the fates — till in the heavens the sun 
 Rounds his revolving course, King, return 
 
 To man's first, noblest birthright, toil : — so won 
 In Grecian fable, to the ambrosial urn 
 
 Of joyous Hebe, and the Olympian grove, 
 
 Th(^ labouring son Alcmena bore to Jove. 
 
38 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 " By the stout heart to peril's sight enured, 
 
 By the wise brain which toil hath stored and skill'd, 
 
 Valour is school'd and glory is secured, 
 
 And the large ends of fame and fate fulfill'd : 
 
 But hear the gifts thy year of proof must gain, 
 
 One left unwon, and all the quest is vain. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 " The Falchion, welded from a diamond gem^ 
 
 Guarded by Genii in the sparry caves 
 Where springs a forest from a single stem. 
 
 Shadowing a temple built beneath the waves; 
 Where bitter charms grant gifted eyes to mark 
 The Lake's weird Lady in her noiseless bark. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 " The silver Shield in which the infant sleep 
 Of Thor was cradled, — ^now the jealous care 
 
 Of the fierce Dwarf whose home is on the deep^ 
 Where drifting icerocks clash in lifeless air; 
 
 And War's pale Sisters smile to see the shock 
 
 Stir the still curtains round the couch of Lok. 
 
 1.XXXV. 
 
 " And last of all — before the Iron Gate 
 
 Which 023es its entrance at the faintest breath. 
 
 But hath no egress; where remorseless Fate 
 Sits, weaving life, witliin the porch of Death ; 
 
 There with meek fearless eye, and locks of gold^ 
 
 Back to warm earth thy childlike guide behold. 
 
BOOK I. 39 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 " The sword, the shield, and that young phijmate guide, 
 Win; and the liend predicting wrath, >shall He; 
 
 Be danger hraved, and be dehght defied, 
 
 Front death with dauntless, but with solemn eye ; 
 
 And tho' dark wings hang o'er these threatened halls, 
 
 Tho' war's red surge break thundering round thy walls. 
 
 Lxxxvn. 
 " Tho', in the rear of time, these prophet eyes 
 
 See to thy sons, thy Cymrians, manj^ a woe ; 
 Yet from thy loins a race of kings shall rise. 
 
 Whose throne shall shadow all the seas that How; 
 Whose empire, broader than the Cassar won. 
 Shall clasp a realm Avhere never sets the sun.C') 
 
 Lxxxvni. 
 
 " And thou, thyself, slialt live from age to age, 
 A thought of beauty and a type of fame ; — 
 
 Not the faint memory of some mouldering page, 
 But by the hearths of men a household name ! 
 
 Theme to all sono;, and marvel to all vouth — 
 
 Beloved as Fable, yet believed as Truth. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 " But if thou fail — thrice Avoe !" Up sprang the King : 
 " Let the Avoe fall on feeble kings who fail 
 
 Their country's need ! When falcons spread the wing 
 They face the sun, not tremble at the gale : 
 
 With such rewards, when ever failed the brave, 
 
 A name to conquer and a land to save?" 
 
4(1 KING ARTHUR, 
 
 xc. 
 
 Ere jet tlie tsliadows from tlie castle's base 
 
 Sliow'd lapsing noon — in Carcluel's council hall. 
 
 To the high princes of the dragon race, 
 The mighty prophet, whom the awe of all 
 
 As Fate's unerring oracle adored, — 
 
 Told the self exile of the parted lord. 
 
 xci. 
 
 For his throne's safety and his country's weal 
 On high emprize to distant regions bound ; 
 
 The cause must wisdom for success conceal ; 
 For each sage counsel is, as fate, profound : 
 
 And none mav trace the travail in the seed. 
 
 Till the blade burst to glory in the deed> 
 
 xcir. 
 
 Few were the orders, as wise orders are, 
 For the upholding of the chiefiess throne ; 
 
 To strengthen peace and yet prepare for war; 
 Lest the fierce Saxon (Arthur's absence known). 
 
 Loose Death's pale charger from the broken rein, 
 
 To its grim pastures on the bloody plain. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 Leave we the startled Princes in the hall ; 
 
 Leave we the wondering babblers in the mart. 
 The grief, the guess, the hope, the doubt, and all 
 
 That stir a nation to its inmost heart. 
 When some portentous Chance, unseen till then. 
 Strides in the circles of unthinking men. 
 
BOOK I. 41 
 
 xciv. 
 Where the screen'cl portal from the embattled town, 
 
 Opes midway on the hill, the lonely King, 
 Forth issuing, guides his barbed charger down 
 
 The steep descent. Amidst the pomp of spring 
 Lapses the lucid river ; jocund May 
 Waits in the vale to strew with flowers liis way. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 Of brightest steel, (but not emboss'd Avith gold, 
 As when in tourneys rode the royal knight), 
 
 His arms Hash sunshine back ; the azure fold 
 Of the broad mantle, like a wave of light. 
 
 Floats tremulous, and leaves the sword-arm free. 
 
 Fair was that darling of all Poetry! 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Thro' the raised vizor beam'd the fearless eye, 
 
 The limpid mirror of a stately soul ; 
 Bright with young hope, but grave with purpose high ; 
 
 Sweet to encourage, steadftist to control ; 
 An e3'e from which subjected hosts might draw. 
 As from a double fountain, love and awe. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 The careless curl, that from the helm escaped. 
 Gleamed in the sunlight, lending gold to gold. 
 
 The features, clear as by a chisel shaped, 
 Made manhood godlike as a Greek's of old ; 
 
 Save that, in hardier, bolder lines, looked forth 
 
 The soul that nerves the warchild of the North. 
 
42 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 O'er tlie light limb, and o'er the shoulders broad, 
 The steel flowed j^liant as a silken vest ; 
 
 Strength was so suple that like grace it showed, 
 And force was only by its ease confest ; 
 
 Even as the storms in gentlest water sleep, 
 
 And in the ripple flows the mighty deep. 
 
 xcix. 
 Now wound his path beside the woods that hang 
 
 O'er the green pleasaunce of the sunlit plain. 
 When a young footstep from the forest sprang, 
 
 And a light hand was on the charger's rein ; 
 Surprised, the adventurer halts, — but pleased surveys 
 The friendly face that smiles upon his gaze. 
 
 c. 
 Of all the flowers of knighthood in his train. 
 
 Three he loved best; young Caradoc the mild, 
 Whose soul was filled with song; and frank Gawaine,(') 
 
 Whom mirth for ever, like a fnirj child, 
 Lock'd from the cares of life ; l^ut neither grew 
 Close to his heart, like Lancelot the true. 
 
 CI. 
 
 Gawaine when gay, and Caradoc when grave. 
 Pleased : but young Lancelot, or grave or gay. 
 
 As yet life's sea had roll'd not with a wave 
 
 To rend the plank from those twin hearts away; 
 
 At childhood's gate instinctive love began 
 
 And warm'd with every sun that led to man. 
 
book: I. 43 
 
 CII. 
 
 The same sports lured them, the same hibours strung, 
 Tlie same son^^ thrill'd them with the same deliiiht ; 
 
 Where in the aisle their maiden arms had hung, 
 The same moon lit them thro' the watchful night ; 
 
 The same day bound their knighthood to maintain 
 
 Life from reproach, and honour from a stain. 
 
 cm. . 
 And if the friendship scarce in each the same, 
 
 The soul has rivals where the heart has not ; 
 So Lancelot loved his Arthur more than fame, 
 
 And Arthur more than life his Lancelot. 
 Lost here Art's mean distinctions ! knightly troth, 
 Frank youth, high thoughts, crown'd Nature's kings in 
 both.* 
 
 CIV. 
 
 " Whither wends Arthur ?" " Whence comes Lancelot ?'' 
 " From yonder forest, sought at dawn of day.'' 
 
 '' Why from the forest ?" " Prince and jjrother, what, 
 When the bird, startled, flutters from the spray. 
 
 Makes the leaves quiver? What disturbs the rill 
 
 If but a zephyr floateth from the hill ? 
 
 cv. 
 
 "And ask'st thou why thy brothers heart is stirr'd 
 By every tremor that can vex thine own ? 
 
 What in that forest had'st thou seen or heard ? 
 What was that shadow o'er thy sunshine tiirown ? 
 
 Thy lips were silent, — be the secret thine; 
 
 But half the trouble it conceal'd was ui/ne. 
 
 * Lancelot was, indeed, the son of » king, but^ dethroned and a tribn^arv o^e. 
 The popular history of his infancy 'Vili be tol^^m a subsequent book. 
 
44 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 cvi. 
 
 '' Did danger meet thee in that dismal lair ? 
 
 'T was mine to face it as thy heart had done. 
 'T was mine — " ^'0 brother," cried the King, "beware, 
 
 The fiend has snares it shames not man to shnn; 
 Ah, woe to eyes on whose recoiling sight 
 Opes the dark ^v^orld beyond the veil of light ! 
 
 CVII. 
 
 " Listen to Fate ; — till to his own loved May 
 Comes back Bal-Huan in his amber car,* 
 
 The horns blithe music and the hound's deep bay, 
 With choral joy may fill Cwm-Penllafar,-}- 
 
 On spell-bound ears the Teulu'r'sJ song may fall, 
 
 Love deck the bower and mirth illume the hall — 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 " But thou, thou, my Lancelot, shalt mourn, 
 And miss thine Arthur in thy joyless soul ; 
 
 In vain for thee Pencynnyd§ wind his horn, 
 And liquid sunshine sparkle from the bowl ; 
 
 Love lose the smile, and song the melody : 
 
 This knows my heart — so had it mourn'd for thee ! 
 
 * BAL-HuAy, the sun. Those heaps of stone found throughout Britain (Cru- 
 giau, or Carneu), were sacred to the sun in the Druid worship, and served as bea- 
 cons in his honour on May eve. May was his consecreted month. The rocking- 
 stones which mark these sanctuaries were called amber stones. 
 
 f Cvrm-Penllafar, the Vale of Melody — so called (as Mr. Pennant suggests) 
 from the nnjsic of the hounds when in full cry over the neighbouring Kock of the 
 Hunter — is iu Caernarvonshire. If we place Carduel in Monmouthshire, we must 
 suppose some oiher vale to have the same name. In the pronunciation Cwm- 
 Penllafar, and othet Welch words, Uie reader will have the goodness to observe, 
 that the w in Welch ig a vowel, corvesponding in sound to the double o (ooj 
 
 in ''good," and, when wu'n the circumile.x (vv), to the oo in ''mood." 
 ^ Teuluwr, the Harper, or \iard of the Hall. 
 § Pkncynnyu— the Head Huntsi^an. 
 
BOOK I. 45 
 
 CIX. 
 
 '^ Alone I go ; — submit ; since thus the Fates 
 And the great Prophet of our race ordain ; 
 
 So shall we drive invasion from our gates, 
 
 Guard life from shame, and Cymri from the chain ; 
 
 No more than this my soul to thine may tell — 
 
 Foro ive, — Saints shield thee !— now thv hand— farewell !" 
 
 ex. 
 
 '' Farewell ! Can danger be more strong than death — 
 Loose the soul's liids:, the grave-surviving vow ? 
 
 Wilt thou hud fragrance even in glory's wreath, 
 If valour weave it for thy single brow? 
 
 No — not farewell ! What claim more strong than brother 
 
 Canst thou allow ?" — '' My Country is my Mother !'' — 
 
 CXI. 
 
 Answered the King, and at the solemn words 
 
 Rebuked stood Friendship, and its voice was still'd ; 
 
 As when some mighty bard with sudden chords 
 Strikes down the passion he before had thrill'd. 
 
 Making grief awe ; — so rush'd that sentence o'er 
 
 The soul it master'd ; — Lancelot plead no more, 
 
 CXII. 
 
 But loosing from the hand it clasp'd, his own, 
 He waved farewell, and turn'd his face away : 
 
 His sorrow only by his silence shown — 
 
 Thus, when from earth glides summer's golden day, 
 
 Music forsakes the boughs, and winds the stream ; 
 
 And life, in deep'ning quiet, mourns the beam. 
 
NOTES TO BOOK I. 
 
 1 *' While Cymri's dragon from the Roman's hold 
 
 Spread with calm wing o'er Carduel's domes of gold.'^ 
 
 Page 18, stanza iv. 
 
 The Carduel of the fabliaux is not easily ascertained : it is here 
 identified with Caerleon on the Usk, the favourite residence of 
 Arthur, according to the Welch poets. This must have been a 
 city of no ordinary splendour in the supposed age of Arthur, 
 while still fresh from the hands of the Roman ; since, so late as 
 the twelfth century, Giraldus Cambrensis, in his well-known de- ' 
 scription, speaks as an eye-witness of the many vestiges of 
 its former splendour. " Immense palaces, ornamented with 
 gilded roofs, in imitation of Roman magnificence, a tower of 
 prodigious size, remarkable hot baths, relics of temples," &c. 
 (Giraldus Cambrensis, Sir R. Hoare's translation, vol. i. p. 103.) 
 Geoffrey of Monmouth (1. ix. c. 12,) also mentions, admiringly, 
 the gilt roofs of Caerleon, a subject on which he might be a little 
 more accurate than in those other details in his notable chronicle, 
 not drawn from the same ocular experience. The luxurious 
 Romans, indeed, had bequeathed to the chiefs of Britain, abodes 
 of splendour and habits of refinement which had no parallel in 
 the Saxon domination. Sir F. Palgrave truly remarks, that 
 even in the fourteenth century the edifices raised in Britain by 
 the Romans were so numerous and costly as almost to excel any 
 others on this side of the Alps. Caerleon (Isca Augusta) was 
 the Roman capital of Siluria, the garrison of the renowned 
 
NOTES TO BOOK I. 47 
 
 Second or Augustan legion, and the Palatian residence of the 
 Pra.>tor. It was not, however, according to national authority, 
 founded by the Romans, but by the mythical Belin Mawr, 
 three centuries before Caesar's invasion. It is scarcely neces- 
 sary to observe, that the dragon was the standard of the Cymry, 
 (a word, by the way, which 1 trust my Welch readers will for- 
 give me for spelling Cymri). 
 
 2 "With naked bosoms rushed on .shrinkinLT Rome." 
 
 Page 26, stanza xxxvi. 
 
 The worthy Geoffrey of Monmouth cannot contain his admi- 
 ration for that British valour which enabled Lucan to indulge 
 the celebrated sneer at Caesar : — 
 
 "Territa qiisesitis ostendit tern;a Britannis/' 
 
 '^ admirable !" exclaims Geoffrey—" admirable then the race 
 of Britons, wdio twice put to flight him who had submitted the 
 whole world to him !" (Lib. iii. cap. 3.) 
 
 3 "A slender drawhridg-e swung from brink to brink, 
 
 Alone gives fearful access to the place." 
 
 Page 28, stanza xliii. 
 
 In old fortresses, it is not unusual to find some upper story oi 
 a tower without other approach than the kind of drawbridge de- 
 scribed in the text; and which, at the pleasure of the inmate ol 
 the tower, gave or denied communication with the opposite bat- 
 tlements. One of the most perfect specimens of this defence 
 (not more against an invading enemy than against the mutiny 
 of the garrison) is to be seen in a small castle in the kingdc^m 
 of Sardinia, between Lucca and Genoa. The tower occu})iecl 
 by the commander has such a drawbridge for its sole acceSvS. 
 
 4 "There sate the wizard on a Druid throne^ 
 
 AVhere sate Duw-Iou ere liis reign was lost." 
 
 Page 28, stanza xIt. 
 
 Duw-Iou, (the Taranus of Lucan,) the most solemn and au- 
 
48 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 gust, though not the most popular of the Druid divinities an- 
 swering to the classic Jupiter. Indeed, in the Roman time, he 
 took the name of Jou-pater. The present Caerdydd was called 
 lou-papan, the most ancient town in Siluria (Arthur's special 
 heritage). By the Cromlechs of Duw-Iou is usually found a 
 huge stone, the pedestal or chair of the idol, — in those more 
 corrupt times wdien idols were admitted into the sublime creed 
 of the Druids. ~ 
 
 5 "Which Ileus the Guardian taught the Celt to wield." 
 
 Page 36, stanza Ixxvii. 
 
 Heus is the same deity as Esus, or Hesus, mentioned in 
 Lucan, the Mars of the Celts. According to the Welch triads, 
 Heus (or Hu — Hu Gadarn ; i. e. the mighty Guardian, or In- 
 spector) brought the people of Cymry first into this isle, from 
 the summer country called Defrobani, (in the Tauric Cherso- 
 nese) over the Hazy Sea (the German Ocean). Davies, in his 
 Celtic Researches, observes that some commentator, at least as 
 old as the twelfth century, repeatedly explains the situation of 
 Defrobani as "that on which Constantinople now stands." 
 " This comment," adds Davies, " would not have been made 
 without some authority ; it belongs to an age which possessed 
 many documents relating to the history of the Britons w^hich are 
 now no longer extant." 
 
 It would be extremely important towards tracing the origin 
 of the Cymry, if authentic and indisputable records of such tra- 
 ditions of their migration from the East can be found in their 
 own legions at an age before learned conjecture could avail 
 itself of the passages in Herodotus and Strabo, which relate to 
 the Cimmerians, and tend to identify that people with our Cym- 
 rian ancestors. We find in the first (1. i. c. 14,) that the Cim- 
 merians, chased from their original settlements by the Nomadic 
 Scythians, came to Lydia, where they took Sardis (except the 
 citadel). In this account Strabo, on the authority of Callis- 
 thenes and Callinus, confirms Herodotus. 
 
 In flying from their Scythian foes, the Cimmerians took their 
 
NOTES TO BOOK I. 49 
 
 course by the sea-coast to Sinope, and the Cimmerian Bosphorus, 
 and as, after this flight, the ohl Cimmerian league was broken 
 up, and the tribes dispersed, this gives us the evident date for 
 such migrations as Hu Gadarn is supposed to head ; and the 
 coincidence between Welch traditions (if genuinely ancient) and 
 classical authority becomes very remarkable. For the additional 
 corroboration of the hypothesis thus suggested, which is atTorded 
 by the identity between the Cimmerians of Asia and the ('imbri 
 of Gaul, see Strabo (1. vii. p. 424, the Oxford edition, 1807). 
 It is curious to note in Herodotus (I. iv. c. 11) that the same 
 domestic feuds which destroyed the Cymrian empire in Britain 
 destroyed the Cimmerians in their original home. While the 
 Scythians invaded them, they quarrelled amongst themselves 
 whether to fight or fly, and settled the dispute by fighting each 
 other, and flying from the enemy. 
 
 6 "Yet from thy loins a race of kings shall rise, 
 
 Whose throne shall shadow all the soas that floAV." 
 
 Page 39, stanza Ixxxvii. 
 
 The prediction of Diana to the posterit}- of the Trojan Brutus 
 (when she directed him towards Britain) was somewhat more 
 magnificent than Merlin's promise to Arthur. 
 
 ** Sic de prole tua regos nascentvir; ct ipsis 
 Totius terrse subditus orbis erit.'' 
 
 Galf. Mon. lib. i. c. xi. 
 
 And frank Gawaine 
 
 AYhom mirth forever, like a fairj child, 
 Lock'd from the cares of life." 
 
 Page 42, stanza xcix. 
 
 Some liberty, in the course of this poem, will be taken with 
 the legendary character, less perhaps of the Gawalne of the 
 Fabliaux, than of the Gwalchmai (Hawk of Battle) of the Welch 
 bards. In both, indeed, this hero is represented as sage, cour- 
 teous, and eloquent; but he is a livelier character in the Fabliaux 
 than in the tales of his native land. The characters of many 
 of the Cymrian heroes, indeed, vary according to the caprice of 
 
 4 
 
50 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 the poets. Thus Kai, in the Triads, one of the Three Diademed 
 chiefs of battle, and a powerful magician, is, in the French ro- 
 mances, Messire Queux, the chief of the cooks ; and in the Ma- 
 binogion,* he is at one time but an unlucky knight of more 
 valour than discretion, and at another time attains the dignity 
 assigned to him in the Triads, and exults in supernatural attri- 
 butes. And poor Gawaine himself, the mirror of chivalry, in 
 most of the Fabliaux is, as Southey observes, *' shamefully ca- 
 lumniated" in the Mort d'Arthur as the ''false Gawaine." 
 The Caradoc of this poem is not intended to be identified with 
 the hero Caradoc Vreichvras. The name was sufficiently com- 
 mon in Britain (it is the right reading from Caractacus) to allow 
 to the use of the poet as many Caradocs as he pleases. 
 
 The reader will bear in mind, that the hero of this poem is 
 neither the Arthur of the Mabinogion nor of GeofTry of Mon- 
 mouth. He is rather the Arthur of the Fabliaux ; of fairy legends 
 and knightly song. The Author takes the same liberty as that 
 assumed not only by the Trouveres and Romanticists, but by 
 Ariosto and Spencer, viz., of surrounding the heroes of the fifth 
 or sixth century with the chivalrous attributes of the thirteenth 
 or fourteenth. It will be seen in Book II. that he has also taken 
 a license with chronology, equally common with the poets that 
 suo-crest his models, and has advanced somewhat the date of 
 the (so called) Saxon Heptarchy; making the Mercians already 
 the formidable neighbours of the Cymrians. Reasons for this 
 will be assigned hereafter. Meanwhile it is superfluous to ob- 
 serve that all strict accuracy of detail would be out of character 
 in a poem of this kind, the very nature and merit of which con- 
 sist in wilful defiance of mere matter of fact. 
 
 If any apology be due for the classical allusions scattered 
 throughout the poem, the Author can only remind his readers 
 that this mixture of the Classical wath the Gothic muse, is the 
 
 * I cannot quote the Mahin'^gion without expressing a grateful sense of the ob- 
 ligations Lady Charlotte Guest has conferred upon all lovers of our early literature, 
 in her invaluable edition and tran!>laiion of that interesting collection of British 
 romances. 
 
NOTES TO BOOK I. 61 
 
 common characteristic of the chivalrous poetry of the middle 
 ages. And this attachment to precedent must also be his ex- 
 cuse (as the poem proceeds) for a somewhat liberal indulgence 
 in the old-fashioned and elaborate form of simile, prefixed by 
 the *^As whens" and " So whens" favoured by the earlier poets. 
 The unwelcome task of self-explanation thus entered upon, 
 the Author may as well complete his trespass upon the reader's 
 indulgence, and allude briefly to two charges brought against 
 the style or mannerism of "The New Timon," since that of this 
 poem may be equally open to them ; and the vindication is im- 
 portant to establish his aim in either poem, rather to err by too 
 formal a deference to the elder schools of verse, than by con- 
 scious imitation of the peculiarities most in fashion with the 
 modern. The first objection, indeed, would be scarcely worth 
 noticing, if it had not been gravely urged as an affectation and 
 a novelty, viz., a more frequent use of the capital letter than is 
 common at present. If this be an affectation, at least it is a vene- 
 rable one; and the reader has only to turn to the earlier editions 
 of our standard authors, to find ample and illustrious precedents 
 for that mode of emphasis. Take the following examples, chosen 
 at hazard : — 
 
 •'Ye careful Angels, whom eternal Fate 
 Ordains on Earth and human Acts to wait — 
 Who turn with secret Power the restless Ball, 
 And bid alternate Empires rise and fall." 
 
 TttOMso.v— Edit. 1774. 
 
 Open next the Baskerville edition of Congreve : — 
 
 Heartwell. — " I confess you that are Woman's Asses bear s^reator 
 Burdens; Are forced to undergo Dressing, Dancing, Singing, Sighing, 
 Whining, Rhyming, Lying, Grinning, Cringing, and the Drudgery of 
 Loving to boot." — Congreve, Bask. Edit. a. d. 1761, i. p. 17. 
 
 In these instances the capital letter is prefixed to every sub- 
 stantive. Such was, at one time, the established rule, but it 
 ceased to be invariable during the earlier half of the last cen- 
 tury, when writers of the same date, whose books were pub- 
 lished by the same bookseller, and printed by the same printer, 
 
52 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 will be found to vary the rules by which the capital is employed ; 
 and it is remarkable, that where the arrangement and detail of 
 the letter-press were left solely to the printer, the capital is rarely 
 used when compared with those works either inspected by the 
 author or reprinted exactly according to the copy he had pre- 
 pared for that purpose. Thus, in Baskerville's edition of Mil- 
 ton, the capital is but little more frequent than it is in books 
 published now-a-days ; while, in his edition of Shaftesbury care- 
 fully and minutely printed from the original documents be- 
 queathed by the author, the capital is lavished as liberally as it 
 is in his edition of Congreve, to which the same observation 
 applies. 
 
 If we open the earlier editions of Pope, we find that, in com- 
 parison with his contemporaries, he is singularly select, and often 
 nicely discriminating in his employment of the capital.* His 
 general rule seems to have been to apply it to the noun of most 
 importance to the picture or description the verse was intended 
 to convey. I take but a few instances at hazard from an early 
 edition. 
 
 "Goddess and Queen to whom the powers belong 
 Of dreadful Magick and commanding Song." 
 
 Pope's OJyssy. 
 
 "A Palace in a woody vale they found." — Ibid. 
 
 "Fierce o'er the Pyre by fanning breezes spread." — Ibid. 
 
 Thus, in the lines first quoted, magic and song are the special 
 attributes of the goddess ; and, as such, they take the capital. 
 Again, the feature that distinguishes one woody vale from an- 
 other is the palace ; and the capital P honours the distinguish- 
 ing feature of the scene. The spreading flames of the Pyre form 
 
 * That Pope (]i(l not disdain thoughtrul attention to this small, hut not unim- 
 portant, detail in the arts of polished composition, is clear to any one acquainted 
 with his MSS. In his familiar correspondence, for example, he sometimes (pro- 
 hably from early habit) misapplies the capital even to ordinary adjectives in their 
 common signification, as Cowley and Wycherly had done before him ; but this will 
 never be found the case in the works he prepared himself for publication and re- 
 vised through the press. 
 
NOTES TO BOOK I. 53 
 
 the prominent image in another description ; and so, also, pyre 
 takes the large P. 
 
 It would be impossible to open any of the primitive editions 
 of our acknowledged classics in style, prose, or verse, but what 
 we shall find an use, more or less liberal, of so facile a means 
 to intimate a distinction or mark an emphasis. 
 
 Without vindicating the lavish indulgence of this literal orna- 
 ment, habitual to our ancestral models, I venture to think, at 
 least, that in all correct compositions a capital is appropriate. 
 
 First, — to every substantative that implies a personification. 
 Thus war, or fame, or peace, may in one line take the small 
 letter as mere nouns, and assume a different sense in another 
 line, when the use of the capital indicates that they are raised 
 into personifications.* 
 
 If Gray had written 
 
 "But knowledge to their eyes its ample page 
 Rich with the spoils," &c. 
 
 knowledge would have been properly spelt with the small k ; 
 but as he wrote her ample page, and knowledge is thus intended 
 to be a personification, the capital K was, in the earlier editions, 
 properly employed. 'J'his rule is clear.f All personifications 
 may be said to represent proper names : love with a small 1 
 means but a passion or affection ; with a large L, Love repre- 
 
 * So, in "The New Timon," there occurs the following hne. **Ease on the 
 wing and Labour at the wheel," and as it was facetiously asked by some critic, 
 " why Labour should be spelt with a big L and wheel with a little w." Simply 
 because Labour is here evidently a personification, and wheel is not. 
 
 The use of the capital, according to this rule, will be more or less frequent, ac- 
 cording as the habit of personification is more or less indulged by the author. This 
 last depends not only on the inclination of the author to regard things objectively, 
 but also on the choice of his subject. Narrative poets necessarily personify ideas 
 more often than didactic ones. 
 
 f It is invariable with Gray, if we examine the editions printed in his life-time; 
 and his authority in all matters of scholarship and accurate taste is perhaps, next 
 to Milton's, the best in the language. In my use of the capital Gray has been my 
 model, and I do not think I have used it in a single sentence where it would not 
 have been used by him. 
 
54 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 sents some mythological power that presides over the passion or 
 affection, and is as much a proper name as Venus, or Eros, or 
 Camdeo, &c. &c. 
 
 Secondly — it is submitted that a capital may be properly pre- 
 fixed to an adjective used as a noun : as the Far, the Unknown, 
 the Obscure.* The capital here but answers the use of all 
 printed inventions in simplifying to the reader the Author's in- 
 tention. If I write with a small o, " He passed thro' the ob- 
 scure," the reader naturally looks for the substantive that is to 
 follow^ the adjective : if I prefix the capital, " He passed thro' 
 the Obscure," the eye conveys to the mind, without an effort, 
 the author's intention to use the adjective as a substantive. The 
 capital in such instances should be employed rarely, because 
 the change of the adjective into a substantive ceases to be an 
 elegance when abused by frequent adoption. The same rule 
 holds good where a phrase stands in the sense of a single noun, 
 and implies a personification distinct from the ordinary use of 
 the words. Thus if I write " Nature is the principle of life," I 
 should use the small p and the small 1, because the phrase merely 
 conveys an assertion ; but if I write only " the Principle of Life," 
 meaning thereby to imply Nature, I should employ the capital 
 to Principle and Life, because the phrase is not used in the or- 
 dinary sense, but stands for the personification of Nature as an 
 active power. 
 
 It is in conformity with these rules — which I find it difficult 
 to suppose that any accurate grammarian can dispute — that I 
 have made use of this very ancient, and very innocent privilege ; 
 indulging in but rare exceptions ; founded on the same princi- 
 ple, viz., of conveying by the readiest sign possible the Author's 
 intention, and calling the notice of the reader to what the Author 
 considers a distinction, worth while to notice, in the delicate and 
 subtle varieties of meaning in which the same words may be 
 applied. 
 
 * So Pope : 
 
 *' Spencer himself affects the Obsolete." 
 
 liniiat. of Ilor. b. ii. 
 
NOTES TO BOOK I. 55 
 
 I will take but one instance in illustration of such exceptions. 
 If, in some allusion, I write " of Nymphs that wander over the 
 fork'd hill," and I print the last two words as they are printed 
 above, the adjective, in the ordinary rapid course of reading, 
 might seem but generally and loosely applied to any hill over 
 which the nymphs wander. If the initials of the words are 
 printed in capitals, the '* Fork'd IJill," the emphasis so con- 
 cisely obtained would inform any scholar that I mean Parnassus. 
 In fine, I cannot think that the Author errs w^hen he employs the 
 capital initial to designate and fix in some peculiar sense the 
 meaning of a word that, without it, might appear used only in 
 its more general application. 
 
 The second censure to w^hich the Author of "The New 
 Timon" was subjected, is one that interferes with a far more 
 important privilege ; a privilege, indeed, absolutely essential to 
 all ease, spirit, force, and variety in narrative composition ; viz. 
 the rapid change of tense from the past to the present, or the 
 present to the past, in descriptions of movement or action. 
 This is too essential an element in narrative not to be used 
 freely and boldly ; and it has been so used by all English 
 poets whom we acknowledge as models in narrative. We 
 have only to take any of our standard narrative poems from 
 the shelf, and open them at hazard, to find abundant and 
 familiar instances of this necessary license. A very few^ ex- 
 amples from Milton, Dryden, and Pope, are subjoined in proof 
 of this assertion, and as the best vindication the Author can 
 make for deliberately and purposely persevering in a course 
 which has occasioned, w^hat he ventures to call, inconsiderate 
 reproof. 
 
 "With these that never fade the spirits elect 
 Bind their resplendant locks, enwreathed with beams, 
 Now in h:)Ose garlands thick thrown off "^^'^"'^ 
 Then, crowned again, their golden harps they took, 
 Harps ever tuned, that glittering by their side 
 Like quivers hung, and with preambule sweet 
 Of charming symphony they ixtroduce 
 Tlieir sacred song and waken raptures high." 
 
 Paradhe Lost, Book iii. from 1. 60 to 67. 
 
o6 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 In this single description the tense changes three times. 
 Again — 
 
 " So PRAYED they, innocent, and to their thoughts 
 Firm peace recovered soon and wonted cahn ; 
 On to their mo^ning^s rural work they haste, 
 Amont^ sweet dews and flowers, where any row 
 Of fruit trees over woody reach'd too far 
 Their pampered boughs, and needed hands to check 
 Fruitk'ss embraces ; or they led the vine 
 To wed the ehn.'^ 
 
 Ibid, book v. from 1. 209 to 216. 
 
 Here also the tense changes three times. 
 Again — 
 
 *' Straight knew him all the bands 
 
 Of angels under watch, and to his state 
 
 And to his message high in honour rise, 
 
 For on some message high they guessed him bound/^ 
 
 Ibid, book v. from 1. 288 to 291. 
 
 Let US now open Dryden. 
 
 " Thus while he spoke, the virgin from the ground 
 Upstarted fresh ; already closed the wound, 
 And unconcerned for all she felt before, 
 Precipitates her flight along the shore ; 
 The hell-hounds as ungorged with flesh and blood 
 Pursue their prey and seek their wonted food ; 
 The fiend remounts his courser, mends his pace, 
 And all the vision vanisii'd from the place." 
 
 Duyden's Theod. and Honor. 
 
 Pope — not without reason esteemed for verbal correctness 
 and precision — far exceeds all in his lavish use of this privilege, 
 as one or two quotations will amply sufiice to show. 
 
 " She said, and to the steeds approaching near 
 Drew from his seat the martial charioteer ; 
 
NOTES TO BOOK I. 57 
 
 The vigorous Power* the trembling car ascends 
 
 Fierce for revenge, and Diomed attends 
 
 The groaning axle bext beneath the load," &c. 
 
 Pope's Iliad^ book v, 
 
 " Pierced through the shoulder first Decopis fell, 
 Next Eunomus and Thoun sunk to Hell. 
 Chersidamas, beneath the navel thrust. 
 Falls prone to earth, and grasps the bloody dust; 
 Cherops, the son of Hipposus, was near ; 
 Uljsses reached him with the fatal spear, 
 But to his aid his brother Socus flies, 
 Socus, the brave, the generous, and the wise, 
 Near as he drew the warrior thus began," &c. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 " Behind, unnumbered multitudes attend 
 To flank the navy and the shores defend. 
 Full on the front the pressing Trojans bear, 
 And Hector first came towering to the #ar, 
 Phoebus himself the rushing battle led, 
 A veil of clouds involved his radiant head — 
 The Greeks expect the shock ; the clamours rise 
 From different parts and mingle in the skies ; 
 Dire WAS the hiss of darts by heaven flung. 
 And arrows, leaping from the bowstring, sung : 
 These drink the life of generous warrior slain — 
 Those GUILTLESS fall and thirst for blood in vain." 
 
 Pope's Odysay. 
 
 In the last quotation, brief as it is, the tense changes six 
 times. 
 
 * In the corrupt and thoughtless mode of printing now in vogue, Power is of 
 course printed with a small p, and the sense of the clearest of all English poets 
 instantly becomes obscure. v 
 
 " The vigorous power the trembling car ascends." 
 It is not till one has read the line twice over that one perceives the power means 
 " the God," which, when printed The I'ovver, is obvious at a glance. 
 
KINCt ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK 11. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Introductory reflections ; Arthur's absence ; Caracloc's suspended epic ; 
 The deliberations of the three friends ; Merlin seeks them ; The trial 
 of the enchanted forest ; Merlin's soliloquy by the fountain ; The re- 
 turn of the kni^-hts from the forest ; Merlin's selection of the one per- 
 mitted to join the King; ; The narrative returns to Arthur ; The strange 
 guide allotted to him ; He crosses the sea, and arrives at the court of 
 the Vandal; Ludovick, the Vandal King, described; His wily questions ; 
 Arthur's answers ; The Vandal seeks his friend Astutio ; Arthur leavtfs 
 the court ; Conference between Astutio and Ludovick ; Astutio's pro- 
 found statesmanship and subtle schemes ; The Ambassador from Mercia; 
 His address to Ludovick ; The Saxons pursue Arthur ; Meanwhile the 
 Cymrian King arrives at the sea-shore ; Description of the caves that 
 intercept his progress ; He turns inland ; The Idol-shrine ; The wolf 
 and the priest. 
 
BOOK II. 
 
 I. 
 
 Swift on the dial shifts the restless shade, — 
 Glides swifter still our memory from the heart ; 
 
 Noiseless the past doth in the present fade, 
 Nor scarce a foot-print to the sands impart ; 
 
 For life's quick tree the seasons are so brief, 
 
 As falls the fading, springs the budding leaf. 
 
 II. 
 
 If absence parts, Hope, ready to console, 
 
 Whispers, '' Be soothed, the absent shall return ;" 
 
 If death divides, a moment from the goal. 
 
 Love stays the step, and decks, but leaves, the urn. 
 
 Vowing remembrance ; — let the year be o'er, 
 
 And see, remembrance smiles like joy, once more ! 
 
 III. 
 
 In street and mart still plys the busy craft ; 
 
 Still Beauty trims for stealthy steps the bowser ; 
 By lips as gay the Hirlas horn(^) is quaft; 
 
 To the dark bourne still flies as fast the hour, 
 As when in Arthur men adored the sun ; 
 And Life's large rainbow^ took its hues from One ! 
 
62 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yet ne'er by Prince more loved a crown wa>s worn. 
 And liad'st thou ventured but to hint the doubt 
 
 That loA'al subjects ever ceased to mourn, 
 
 And that without him, earth was joy without, — 
 
 Thou soon had'st joined in certain warm dominions 
 
 The horned friends of pestilent opinions. 
 
 V. 
 
 Thrice bless'd, King, that on thy royal head 
 
 Fall the night dews; that the broad-spreading beech 
 
 Curtains thy sleep ; that in the paths of dread. 
 Lonely, thou wanderest, — so thy steps may reach 
 
 The only shore that grows the amaranth tree, 
 
 Whose wTeaths keep fresh in mortal memory. 
 
 VI. 
 
 All is forgot save poetry ; or whether 
 
 Haunting Time's river from the vocal reeds. 
 
 Or linked not less in luiman souls together 
 With ends, v/ hich make the poetry of deeds ; 
 
 For either poetry alike can shine — 
 
 From Hector's valour as from Homer's line. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yet let me wrong ye not, ye faithful three, 
 
 Gawaine, and Carodoc, and Lancelot! 
 Gawaine's light lip had lost its laughing glee, 
 
 And gentle Caradoc had half forgot 
 That famous epic which his muse had hit on. 
 Of Trojan Brut — from whom the name of Briton.'-' 
 
 * Geoffrey of Monmouth, 16. I.ayamon, in his Brut, styles the Britons Bndtes, 
 or Briittus; and Britain, Brutlonde. 
 
BOOK II. 63 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Therein Sir Brut, expell'd from flaming Troy,(^) 
 Comes to this isle, and seeks to build a city, 
 
 Which Devils, then the Freeholders, destroy; 
 Till the sweet Virgin on Sir Brut takes pity, 
 
 And bids St. Bryan,* hurrying from the sky, 
 
 Baptize the astonished heathen in the Wye ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 This done, the fiends at once disfranchised, fled ; 
 
 Sir Brut repaid St Bryan by a chapel, 
 Yv here masses daily were for Priam said ; — 
 
 While thrice a week, the priests, that golden apple 
 By which three fiends, as goddesses disguised, 
 Bewitch'd Sir Paris, — anathematized. 
 
 X. 
 
 But now this epic, in its course suspended. 
 Slept on the shelf — (a not uncommon fate ;) 
 
 Ah, who shall tell, if, ere resumed and ended, 
 That kind of poem be not out of date ? 
 
 For of all ladies there are none who choose 
 
 Such freaks and turns of fashion, as the Muse. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And thou, sad Lancelot ; but there I hold ; 
 
 Some griefs there are which grief alone can guess ; 
 And so we leave whate'er he felt untold ; • 
 
 Light steps profane the heart's deep loneliness. 
 I, too, had once a friend in happier years ! 
 He fled, — he owed, — forgot ; — Forgive these tears ! — 
 
 * Bran, /. e. St. Bryan (Poetice), the founder of one of the three sacred lineages 
 of Britain, was the first introducer of Christianity among the Cymry. The Welch 
 
64 KING Arthur: 
 
 XII. 
 
 Much; their sole comfort, much conversed the three 
 Upon their absent Arthur ; what the cause 
 
 Of his self-exile, and its ends, could be ; 
 Much did they ponder, hesitate, and pause 
 
 In high debate, if loyal love might still 
 
 Pursue his wanderings, though against his will. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 But first the awe which kings command, restrained ; 
 
 And next the ignorance of the path and goal ; 
 So, thus for weeks they communed and remained; 
 
 Till o'er the woods a mellower verdure stole; 
 The bell-flower clothed the river-banks; the moon 
 Stood in the breathless firmament of June ; 
 
 XIV. 
 
 When as one twilight — near the forest-mount 
 They sate, and heard the vesper bell afar 
 
 Swing from the dim Cathedral, and the fount 
 Hymn low its own sweet music to the star 
 
 Lone in the west — they saw a shadow pass 
 
 Where silvering shot the pale beam o'er the grass. 
 
 XV. 
 
 They turned, beheld their Cymri's mighty seer, 
 Majestic Merlin, and with reverence rose ; 
 
 " Knights," said the soothsayer, smiling, " be of cheer 
 If yet, alone (the stars themselves his foes,) 
 
 Wanders the King, — now, of his faithful three 
 
 One, Fate permits ; the choice with Fate must be. 
 
 Triads assert that Bran, tho Blessed, brought over with him to Britain two Jews 
 and one Arwysth ; whom Welch commentators assure us was Aristohulus, the dis- 
 ciple of St. Paul. 
 
BOOK II. 65 
 
 XVI. 
 
 "Enter the forest — each his several way; 
 
 Return as dies in air the vesper chime ; 
 The fiend the forest populace obey 
 
 Hath not o'er mortals empire in the time 
 When holy sounds the wings of Heaven invite ; 
 And prayer hangs charm-like on the wheels of Night. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " What seen, what heard, mark mindful, and relate ; 
 
 Here will I tarry till your steps return." 
 Ne'er leapt the captive from the prison grate 
 
 With livelier gladness to the smiles of morn, 
 Than sprang those rivals to the forest gloom, 
 And its dark arms closed round them' like a tomb. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Before the fount, with though t-o'ershadowed brow, 
 The prophet stood, and bent a wistful eye 
 
 Along its starlight shimmer : — " Even as now," 
 He murmured, " didst thou lift thyself on high, 
 
 symbal of my soul, and make thy course* 
 
 One upward struggle to thy mountain source — 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " When first, a musing boy, I stood beside 
 
 Thy sparkling showers, and ask'd my restless heart 
 
 What secrets Nature to the herd denied 
 But might to earnest hieroj)hant impart ; 
 
 When, in the boundless space around and o'er. 
 
 Thought whispered — ' Rise, seeker, and explore : 
 
 * As Merlin was a mathematician as well as a magician, we may suppose him 
 
 5 
 
66 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " ' Can every leaf a teeming world contain ? 
 
 Can every globule gird a countless race, 
 Yet one death-slumber, in its dreamless reign. 
 
 Clasp all the illumed magnificence of space ? 
 Life crowd a grain, from air s vast realms effaced ? 
 The leaf a world — the firmament a waste ?' 
 
 XXI. 
 
 "And while Thought whispered, from thy shining spring 
 Murmured the glorious answer — ' Soul of Man, 
 
 Let the fount teach thee, and its struggle bring 
 Truth to thy yearnings ! — whither I began 
 
 Thither I tend ; my law is to aspire : 
 
 Spirit thy souixe, be spirit thy desire.' 
 
 xxn. 
 
 " And I have made the life of sjoirit mine ; 
 
 And, on the margin of my mortal grave, 
 My soul, already in an air divine 
 
 Even in its terrors, — starlit, seeks to cleave 
 Up to the height on which its source must be — 
 And falls again, in earthward showers, like thee. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " System on system climbing, sphere on sphere, . 
 
 Upward for ever, ever, evermore. 
 Can all eternity not bring more near? 
 
 Is it in vain that I have sought to soar? 
 Vain as the Has been, is the long To be ? 
 Type of my soul, fountain, answer me !" ' 
 
 •A least acquainted with the property of water to rise to its level — the practical ap- 
 plication of which is the main law of the fountain. 
 
BOOK II. 67 
 
 xxiv. 
 
 And while he spoke, behold the night's soft flowers, 
 Scentless to-day, awoke, and bloom'd, and breathed ; 
 
 Fed by the falling of the fountain's showers, 
 
 Bound its green marge the grateful garland weathed ; 
 
 The fount might fail its source on high to gain — 
 
 But ask the blossom if it soared in vain ! 
 
 XXV, 
 
 The prophet mark'd, and, on his mighty brow, 
 
 Thought grew resign'd, serene, though mournful still. 
 
 Now ceased the vesper, and the branches now 
 Stirr'd on the margin of the forest hill — 
 
 And Gawaine came into the starlit space — 
 
 Slow was his step, and sullen was his face. 
 
 XXVI, 
 
 " What saw, what heard my son ?" — " The sky and wood, 
 The crisping leaves the winds of winter spared." 
 
 A livelier footstep gain'd the fount — and stood, 
 Blithe in the starlight, Carodoc the bard ; 
 
 The prophet smiled on that fair face (akin 
 
 Poet and prophet) " Child of Song, begin." 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 a ^ 
 
 I saw a glowworm light his fairy lamp. 
 Close where a little torrent forced its way 
 Through broad leaved water-sedge, and alder damp; 
 
 Above the glowworm, from some lower spray 
 Of the near mountain-ash, the silver song 
 Of night's sweet chorister came clear and strong ; 
 
68 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 xxvni. 
 
 ^- No thrilling note of melancholy wail ; 
 
 Ne'er pour'd the thrush more musical delight 
 Through noon-day laurels, than that nightingale 
 
 In the lone forest to the ear of Night — 
 Even as the light web by Arachne spun, 
 From bough to bough suspended in the sun 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " Ensnares the heedless insect, — so, methought 
 
 Midway in air my soul arrested hung 
 In the melodious meshes ; never aught 
 
 To mortal lute was so divinely sung ! 
 Surely, prophet, these the sound and sign, 
 Which make the lot, the search determines, mine." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 '•' self-deceit of man !" the soothsayer sigh'd, 
 
 " The worm but lent its funeral torch the rav ; 
 
 The night bird's joy but hail'd the fatal guide, 
 In the bright glimmer, to its thoughtless prey. 
 
 And thou, bold-eyed one — in the forest, what 
 
 Met thy firm footstep?" — Out spoke Lancelot — 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " I pierced the forest till a pool I reached, 
 
 Ne'er mark'd before — a dark yet lucid wave ; 
 
 High from a blasted oak the night owl screeched. 
 An otter crept from out its water-cave. 
 
 The owl t-rew silent when it heard mv tread — 
 
 The otter mark'd my shadow, and it tied. 
 
BOOK II. 69 
 
 XXXII 
 
 This all I saw, and all I heard." — '' Rejoice !" 
 The enchanter cried, " for thee the omens smile ; 
 
 On thee propitious Fate hath fix'd the choice ; 
 And thou the comrade in the glorious toil. 
 
 In death the gentle bard but music heard ; 
 
 But death gave way when life'>s firm soldier stirr'd. 
 
 xxxiir. 
 " Forth ride, a dauntless champion, with the morn ; 
 
 But let the night the champion nerve with prayer ; 
 Higher and higher from the heron borne. 
 
 Wheels thy brave falcon to the heavenliest air, 
 Poises his wings, far towering o'er the foe, 
 And hangs aloft, before he swoops below ', 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 •^ Man, let the falcon teach thee ! — Now, from land 
 To land thy guide, receive this crystal ring ; 
 
 See, in the crystal moves a fairy hand, 
 
 Still where it moveth, moves the wandering King — 
 
 Or east, or north, or south, or west, where'er 
 
 Points the sure hand, thy onward path be there ! 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " Thine hour comes soon, young Gawaine ! to the jDort 
 The light heart boundeth o'er the stormiest wave ; 
 
 And thou, fair favourite in Gwyn-ab-Nudd's* court. 
 Whom fairies realms in every fancy gave ; 
 
 Fear not from glory exiled long to be. 
 
 What toil to others. Nature brings to thee." 
 
 * Gwyn-ab-Nudd, the king of the faries. He is, also, sometimes less pleasingly 
 delineated, as the king of the infernal regions ; the Welch I'luto — much the same 
 
70 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Thus with kind word, well chosen, unto each 
 Spoke the benign enchanter ; and the twain, 
 
 Less favoured, heart and comfort from his speech 
 Hopeful conceived ; the prophet up the plain, 
 
 Gathering weird simples, pass'd — to Carduel they; 
 
 And song escapes to Arthur's lonely way, 
 
 5XXVII. 
 
 On towards the ocean-shore (for thus the seer 
 Enjoin'd) — the royal knight, deep musing rode; 
 
 Winding green margins, till more near and near 
 Unto the deep the exulting river ilow'd. 
 
 Here too, a guide, when reach'd the mightier wave, 
 
 The heedful promise of the prophet gave. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Where the sea flashes on the argent sands, 
 Soars from a lonely rock a snow white dove; 
 
 Nor birds more beauteous to immortal lands 
 Bore Psyche rescued side by side with Love. 
 
 Even as some thought which, pure of earthly taint, 
 
 Springs from the chaste heart of a virgin saint. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 It hovers in the heaven, and from its wings 
 Shakes the clear dewdrops of unsuUying seas; 
 
 Then circling gently in slow-measured rings, 
 Nearer and nearer to its goal it flees. 
 
 And dropping, fearless, on that noble breast, 
 
 Murmuring low joy, it coos itself to rest. 
 
 as, in the chivalric romance writers, Proserpine is sometimes made the queen of the 
 fairies. 
 
BOOK II. 71 
 
 XL. 
 
 The grateful King, with many a soothing word, 
 And bland caress, the guileless trust repaid ; 
 
 When, gently gliding from his hand, the bird 
 
 Went fluttering where the hollow headlands made 
 
 A boat's small harbour; Arthur from the chain 
 
 Released the raft, — it shot along the main. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Now in that boat, beneath the eyes of heaven, 
 Floated the three, the steed, the bird, the man ; 
 
 To favouring winds the little sail was given; 
 The shore fail'd gradual, dwindling to a span ; 
 
 The steed bent wistfully o'er the watery realm ; 
 
 And the white dove perch'd tranquil at the helm. 
 
 XLTI. 
 
 H:iply by fisherman, its owner, left, 
 
 Within the boat were rude provisions stored; 
 
 The yellow harvest from the wild bee reft. 
 
 Bread, roots, dried fish, the luxuries of a board 
 
 Health spreads for toil ; while skins and fiasks of reed 
 
 Yield these the water, those the strengthening mead. 
 
 xLiir. 
 Five days, five nights, still onward, onward o'er 
 
 Light-swelling waves, bounded the bark its way; 
 At last the sun set reddening on a shore ; 
 
 Walls on the cliff, and war-ships in the bay ; 
 While from bright towers, overlooking sea and plain, 
 The Leopard-banners told the Yandals' reign. 
 
72 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Amid those shifting royalties, the North 
 
 Pour'd from its teeming breast, in tumult driven, 
 
 Now to, now fro, as thunder-clouds sent forth 
 
 To darken, burst, — and bursting, clear the heaven; 
 
 Ere yet the Nomad nations found repose, 
 
 And order dawn'd as Charlemain arose ; 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Amidst that ferment of fierce races, won 
 
 To jonder shores a wandering A^andal horde, 
 
 Whose chief exchanged his war-tent for a throne, 
 And shaped a sceptre from a conquerer's sword ; 
 
 His sons, expeird by rude intestine broil, 
 
 Sought that worst wilderness — the Stranger's soil. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 A distant kinsman, Ludovick his name, 
 
 Reign'd in their stead, a king of sage repute ; 
 
 His youth had wasted some few seeds on fame ; 
 His age, grown wiser, only planted — fruit. 
 
 War stormed the state, and civil discord rent. 
 
 He shunn'd the tempest till its wrath w^as spent. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Safe in serener lands he passed his prime ; 
 
 But mused not vainly on the strife afar : 
 Return'd, he watch'd — the husbandman of time — 
 
 The second harvest of rebellious war ; 
 Cajoled the Fjlelincjf^'''' fix'd the fickle Gau^ 
 And to the Leute promised equal law. 
 
 The EnKLiNRS were the nobles of the Teutonic races ; the Go-w or Gau, the 
 net composed of the union of clans (Mahcua), which had its own independent 
 
BOOK II. 73 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 The moment came, disorder split the reahu ; 
 
 Too stern the ruler, or too feebly stern ; 
 The supple kinsman slided to the helm. 
 
 And trimmed the rudder with a dexterous turn ; 
 A turn so dexterous, that it served to lling 
 Both over board — the people and the king. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 The captain's post repaid the pilot's task. 
 
 He seized the ship as he had cleared the prowj 
 
 Drop we the metaphor as he the mask : 
 
 And, while his gaping Vandals wondered how, 
 
 Behold the patriot to the despot grown, 
 
 Filch'd from the ^^\i, and juggled to the throne ! 
 
 L. 
 
 And bland in words was wily Ludovick ! 
 
 Much did he promise, nought did he fulfil ; 
 The trickster Fortune loves the hands that trick, 
 
 And smiled approving on her conjuror's skill ! 
 The promised freedom vanished in a tax. 
 And bays, turn'd briars, scourged bewildered backs. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Soon is the landing of the stranger knight 
 
 Known at the court ; and courteously the king 
 
 Gives to his guest the hospitable rite ; 
 
 Heralds the tromp, and harpers wake the string ; 
 
 Rich robes of minever the mail replace. 
 
 And the bright banquet sparkles on the dais. 
 
 administration, and chose its parliament of delegates (called Graven) ; and the Liti 
 (whence the modern German word Lecte), were the subject population. 
 
74 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LII. 
 
 Where on the wall the cloth, gold woven, glow'd, 
 Beside his chair of state, the Vandal lord 
 
 Made room for that fair stranger, as he strode, 
 With a king's footstep, to the kingly board. 
 
 In robes so nobly worn, the wise old man 
 
 Saw some great soul, which cunning whispered ' scan.' 
 
 LIII. 
 
 A portly presence had the realm-deceiver; 
 
 An eye urbane, a peoj)le-catching smile, 
 A brow, of webs the everlasting weaver. 
 
 Where jovial frankness mask'd the serious guile ; 
 Each word, well aim'd, he feathered with a jest, 
 And, unsuspected, shot into the breast. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Gaily he welcomed Arthur to the feast. 
 
 And press'd the goblet, which unties the tongue ; 
 
 As the bowl circled so his speech increast, 
 
 And chose such flatteries as seduce the young ; 
 
 Seeming in each kind question more to blend 
 
 The fondling father with the anxious friend. 
 
 LV. 
 
 If frank the prince, esteem him not the less ; 
 
 The soul of knighthood loves the truth of man ; 
 The boons he sought 't was needful to suppress. 
 
 Not mask the seeker ; so the prince began — 
 " Arthur my name, from Mel Ynys* I come. 
 And the steep homes of Cymri's Christendom. 
 
 • Mel Ynys, the Isle of Honey (sometimes Vol Ynys, with a more disputed sig- 
 nification), the old Welch name for Kngland, as is also Clas Merlin, which, like 
 most of such primitive Welch terms, is variously construed — by some into the 
 
BOOK II. 75 
 
 LVI. 
 
 " Five days ago, in Carduel's hall a king, 
 Now, over land and sea, a pilgrim knight ; 
 
 I seek such fame as gallant deeds can bring. 
 And take from danger what denies delight; 
 
 Lore from experience, thought from toil to gain, 
 
 And learn as man how best as king to reign." 
 
 LVII. 
 
 The Yandal smiled, and praised the high design ; 
 
 Then, careless, questioned of the Cymrian land : 
 ' Was earth propitious to the corn and vine ? 
 
 Was the sun genial ? — were the breezes bland ? 
 Did gold and gem the mountain mines conceal ?' 
 " Our soil bears manhood, and our mountains steel," 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Answered the Briton ; " and where these are found, 
 All plains yield harvests, and all mines the gold." 
 
 Next ask'd the Yandal, ' What might be the bound 
 Of Cymri's realm, and what its strongest hold ?' 
 
 " Its bound where might without a wrong can gain ; 
 
 Its hold a people that abhors the chain !" 
 
 LIX. 
 
 The Yandal mused, and thought the answer shrewd. 
 
 But little suited to the listeners by; 
 So turned the subject, nor again renewed 
 
 Sharp questions blunted by such bold reply. 
 Now ceased the banquet ; to a chamber, spread 
 With fragrant heath, his guest the Yandal led. 
 
 "garden of Merlin,'' by others into " the sea-girt green spot," &c. &c. Another 
 name for England is Ynys wen, or the While Island. 
 
76 KIXG ARTHUR.- 
 
 LX. 
 
 With his own hand uiicLisp'd the mantle's fold. 
 And took his leave in blessings without number ; 
 
 Bade every angel""*' shelter from the cold, 
 
 And every saint watch sleepless o'er the sluml3er ; 
 
 Then his own chamber sought, and rack'd his breast 
 
 To find some use to which to put the guest. 
 
 Lxr. 
 
 Three days did Arthur sojourn in that court, 
 And much he marvelled how that warlike race 
 
 Bowed to a chief, whom never knightly sport. 
 The gallant tourney, or the glowing chase 
 
 Allured ; and least those glory-lighted dyes 
 
 Which make Death lovely in a warrior's eyes. 
 
 Lxir. 
 
 Yet, midst his marvel, much the Cymrian sees 
 For king to imitate and sage to praise ; 
 
 Splendour and thrift in nicely poised degrees. 
 
 Caution that guards, and promptness that dismay ^j, 
 
 The mild demeanour that excludes not awe, 
 
 And patient purpose steadfast as a law. 
 
 LXIIT. 
 
 On his part, Arthur in such estimation 
 
 Did the host hold, that he proposed to take 
 A father's charge of his forsaken nation, 
 ' ' He loved not meddling, but for Arthur's sake. 
 Would leave his own, liis guest's afiairs to mind.' 
 An offer Arthur thankfully declined. 
 
 * As the Vandals in Africa were already converted to Christianity, we must pay 
 Ludovick and his northern tribes the compliment of supposing them no less enlight- 
 ened than their more celebrated brethren. 
 
•- BOOK II. n 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Mucli grieved the Vandal ^tliat he just had given 
 His last unwedded daughter to a Frank, 
 
 But still he had a wifeless son, thank heaven ! 
 Not yet provision'd as beseem'd his rank^ 
 
 And one of Arthur's sisters' — Uther's son 
 
 Smiled, and replied — " Sir king, I have but one, 
 
 LXV. 
 
 ^' Borne by my mother to her former lord ; 
 
 Not young." — "Alack ! youth cannot last like riches." 
 " Not fair." — " Then youth is less to be deplored." 
 
 "A witch. "'^' — "^4.// women till they're wed are witches! 
 Wived to my son, the witch will soon be steady !" 
 '' Wived to your son ? — she is a wife already !" 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 baseless dreams of man ! The king stood mute ! 
 
 That son, of all his house the favorite flower, 
 How had he sought to force it into fruit, 
 
 And graft the slip upon a lusty dower ! 
 And this sole sister of a king so rich, 
 A wife alreadv ! — Saints consume the witch. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 With brow deject, the mournful Vandal took 
 Occasion prompt to leave the royal guest, 
 
 And sought a friend who served him, as a book 
 Read in our illness, in our health dismist ; 
 
 For seldom did the Vandal condescend 
 
 To that poor drudge which monarchs call a friend ! 
 
 * The witch Mouiige, or Morgana, (historically Anxa), was Arthur's sister. 
 
/ 8 K I N G A R T H U R. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 And yet Astutio was a man of worth 
 
 Before the brain had reasoned out the heart ; 
 
 But now he learned to look upon the earth 
 As peddhng hucksters look upon the mart ; 
 
 Took souls for wares, and conscience for a till ; 
 
 And damn'd his fame to serve his master's will. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Much lore he had in men, and states, and things, 
 And kept his memory mapp'd in prim precision, 
 
 With histories, laws, and pedigrees of kings. 
 
 And moral saws, which ran through each division, 
 
 All neatly colour d with appropriate hue — 
 
 The history black, the morals heavenly blue ! 
 
 LXX. 
 
 But state-craft, mainly, was his pride and boast ; 
 
 " The golden medium" was his guiding star, 
 Which means " move on until you 're uppermost. 
 
 And then things can't be better than they are !" 
 Brief, in two rules he summ'd the ends of man — 
 ^' Keep all you have, and try for all you can !" 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 While these conferred, fair Arthur wistfully 
 Look'd from the lattice of his stately room ; 
 
 The rainbow spann'd the ocean of the sky. 
 Sunshine and cloud, the glory and the gloom, 
 
 Tike grief and joy from light's same sources given ; — 
 
 Tears weave with smiles to form the bridge to heaven ! 
 
BOOK II. - 79 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 As such, perchance, his thought, the snow-white dove, 
 Which at the threshold of the Vandal's towers 
 
 Had left his side, came circling from above, 
 
 Athwart the rainbow and the sparkling showers, 
 
 Flew through the open lattice, j)aused, and sprung 
 
 Where on the wall the abandoned armour hung; 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Hovered above the lance, the mail, the crest, 
 Then back to Arthur, and with querelous cries, 
 
 Peck'd at the clasp that bound the flowing vest, 
 Chiding his dalliance from the arm'd emprize, 
 
 So Arthur deem'd ; and soon from head to heel 
 
 Blazed War's dread statue, sculptured from the steel. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Then through the doorway flew the winged guide, 
 Skimm'd the long gallery, shunn'd the thronging hall, 
 
 And, through deserted posterns, led the stride 
 Of its arm'd follower to the charger's stall ; 
 
 Loud neigh'd the destrier at the welcome clang, 
 
 And drowsy horseboys into service sprang. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Though threaten'd danger well the prince divined, 
 He deem'd it churlish in ungracious haste 
 
 Thus to depart, nor thank a host so kind ; 
 
 But when the step the courteous thought retraced. 
 
 With breast and wing the dove opposed his way. 
 
 And warn'd with scaring scream the rash delay. 
 
80 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Eeluctant yields the King. Now in the court 
 Paws with impatient hoof the barbed steed ; 
 
 freed. 
 
 Now yawn the sombre portals of the fort; 
 
 Creaks the hoarse drawbridge ; — now the walls are 
 Thro' dun woods hanging o'er the ocean tide, 
 Glimmers the steel, and srleams the an2;el-iruide. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 An opening glade upon the headland's brow 
 
 Sudden admits the ocean and the day. 
 Lo ! the waves cleft before the gilded prow, 
 
 Where the tall w^ar-ship, towering, sweeps to bay. 
 Why starts the King ? — High over mast and sail 
 The Saxon Horse rides ghastly in the gale ! 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Grateful to heaven, and heaven's plumed messenger. 
 He raised his reverent eyes, then shook the rein : 
 
 Bounded the barb, disdainful of the spur, 
 
 Clear'd the steep cliff, and scour'd along the plain. 
 
 Still, while he sped, the swifter wings that lead 
 
 Seem'd to rebuke for sloth the swiftening steed. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Nor cause unmeet for grateful thought, I ween, 
 
 Had the good King ; nor vainly warn'd the bird, 
 
 Nor idly fled the steed ; as shall be seen. 
 
 If, where the Vandal and his friend conferr'd, 
 
 Awhile our path retracing, we relate 
 
 What craft deems guiltless when the craft of state. 
 
BOOK II. 81 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 " Sire," quoth Astutio, " well I comprehend 
 
 Your cause for grief; the seedsman breaks the ground 
 
 For the new plant ; new thrones that would extend 
 Their roots, must loosen all the earth around ; 
 
 For trees and thrones no rule than this more true, 
 
 What most disturbs the old best serves the new. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 " Thus all ways wise to push your princely son 
 Under the soil of Cymri's ancient stem ; 
 
 And if the ground the thriving plant had won, 
 
 What prudent man will plants that thrive, condemn. 
 
 Sir, in your move a master hand is seen. 
 
 Your well play'd bishop caught both towers and queen." 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 " And now checkmate !" the wretched sire exclaims. 
 With watering eyes, and mouth that watered too. 
 
 " Nay," quoth the sage ; " a match means many games. 
 Keplace the pieces, and begin anew." 
 
 " You want this Cymrian's crown — the want is just." 
 
 " But how to get it ?" — " Sir, with ease, I trust." 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 " The witch is married — better that than burn ; 
 
 (A well-known text^ — to witches not applied,) 
 But let that pass : — great sir to Anglia turn. 
 
 And mate your Yandal with a Saxon bride. 
 
 Her dower," — Cried Ludovick, " The dower's the thing !" 
 
 " The lands and sceptre of the Cymrian King." 
 
 6 
 
82 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 « 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Then to that anxious sire the learned man 
 Bared the large purpose latent in his speech ; 
 
 O'er Britain's gloomy history glibly ran ; 
 
 Anglia's new kingdoms, he described them each ; 
 
 But most himself to Mercia he addresses, 
 
 For Mercia s king, great man, hath two princesses ! 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Long on this glowing theme enlarged the sage, 
 And turn'd, return'd, and turn'd it o'er again; 
 
 Thus when a mercer would your greed engage 
 In some fair silk, or cloth of comely gram, 
 
 He spreads it out — upholds it to the sun — 
 
 Strokes and restrokes it, and the pelf is won ! 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 He showed the Saxon hungering to devour 
 
 The last unconquer'd realm the Cymrian boasts ; 
 
 He dwelt at length on Mercia's gathering power, 
 Swell'd year by year, from Elbe's unfailing hosts ; 
 
 Then proved how Mercia scarcely could retain 
 
 Beneath the sceptre what the sword might gain. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 ' For Mercia's vales from Cymri's hills are far, 
 And Mercian warriors hard to keep a-iield ; 
 
 And men fresh conquer'd stormy subjects are ; 
 What can't be held 't is no great loss to yield ; 
 
 And still the Saxon might secure his end. 
 
 If where the foe had reign'd he left the friend. 
 
BOOK II. 83 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 ' Nay, what so politic in Mercia's king 
 As on that throne a son-in-law to place ?' 
 
 While thus they saw their birds upon the wing 
 Ere hatched the egg, — as is the common case 
 
 With large capacious minds, the natural heirs 
 
 Of that vast property — the things not theirs ! 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 In comes a herald — comes with startling news : 
 A Saxon chief has anchored in the bay, 
 
 From Mercia's king ambassador, and sues 
 The royal audience ere the close of day. 
 
 The wise old men upon each other stare. 
 While monarchs counsel^ thus the saints prepare," 
 
 u 
 
 xc. 
 Murmured Astutio, with a pious smile. 
 
 " Admit the noble Saxon," quoth the kmg. 
 The two laugh out, and rub their palms, the while 
 
 The herald speeds the ambassador to bring ; 
 And soon a chief, fair-haired, erect, and tall. 
 With train and trumpet, strides along the hall. 
 
 xci. 
 Upon his wrist a falcon, bell'd, he bore ; 
 
 Leash'd at his heels six bloodhounds grimly stalked ; 
 A broad round shield was slung his breast before ; 
 
 The floors reclanged with armour as he walked ; 
 He gained the dais ; his standard-bearer spread 
 Broadly the banner o'er his helmed head ; 
 
84 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 And thrice the tromp his blazon'd herald woke, 
 And hail'd Earl Harold from the Mercian king.(^) 
 
 Full on the Vandal gazed the earl, and spoke : 
 " Greeting from Crida, Woden's heir, I bring, 
 
 And these plain words ; — ' The Saxon's steel is bare, 
 
 Red harvests wait it — Avill the Vandal share ? 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 " ' Hengist first chased the Briton from the vale ; 
 
 Crida would hound the Briton from the hill ; 
 Stern hands have loosed the Pale Horse on the gale ; 
 
 The Horse shall halt not till the winds are still. 
 Be ours your foeman, — be your foeman shown, 
 And we in turn will smite them as our own. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 " ' We need allies — ^in you allies we call ; 
 
 Your shores oppose the Cymrian's mountain sway ; 
 Your armed men stand idle in your hall ; 
 
 Your chiules* rot within your crowded bay : 
 Send three full squadrons to the Mercian bands — 
 Send seven tall war-sliips to the Cymrian lands. 
 
 xcv, 
 
 " ' If this you grant, as from the old renown, 
 Of Vandal valour, Saxon men believe, 
 
 Our arms will solve all question to your crown ; 
 If not, the heirs you banish we receive ; 
 
 But one rude maxim Saxon bluntness knows — 
 
 We serve our friends, who are not friends are foes ! 
 
 • Ships of war. 
 
BOOK II. 85 
 
 xcv^ 
 
 " ' Thus speaks King Crida.' " Not the manner much 
 Of that brief speech wise Ludovick admired ; 
 
 But still the matter did so nearly touch 
 The great state-objects recently desired, 
 
 That, with a smile, he gulped resentment down, 
 
 And trimmed the hook that angled for a crown. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Fair words he gave, and friendly hints of aid, 
 And pray'd the envoy in his halls to rest ; 
 
 And more, in truth, to please the earl had said, 
 But that the sojourn of the earlier guest 
 
 (For not the parting of the Cjonrian known) 
 
 Forbade his heart too broadly to be shown. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 But ere a long and oily speech had closed, 
 
 Astutio, who the hall, when it begun. 
 Had left, to seek the prince, (whom he proposed. 
 
 If yet the tidings to his ear had won 
 Of his foe's envoy, by some smooth pretext 
 To lull) came back with visage much perplext — 
 
 xcix. 
 
 And whispered Ludovick — " The King has fled !" 
 The Vandal stammer d, stared, but versed in all 
 
 The quick resources of a wily head, 
 That out of evil still a good could call. 
 
 He did but pause, with more effect to wing 
 
 The stone that chance thus fitted to his string. 
 
86 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 c. 
 
 " Saxon," lie said, " thus far we had premised, 
 And if still wavering, not our heart in fault. 
 
 Three days ago, the Cymrian king, disguised. 
 First drank our cup, and tasted of our salt, 
 
 And hence our zeal to aid you we represt. 
 
 Least men should say, ' the Vandal wrong'd his guest.' 
 
 CI. 
 juuy vvi.xj.ic; v> c Ductxrv, uiic ocixiiLo lixc muijiu. xcj 
 
 Lo, while we speak, the saints the bond release ; 
 Arthur but now hath left us — we are free.' 
 "Arthur — the Cymrian!" cried the envoy. "Peace; 
 
 In deed, not words, men's love the Saxons see : 
 Left you ! and whither ? But a word I need — 
 Leave to the rest my bloodhounds and my steed." 
 
 ClI. 
 
 Dumb sate the Vandal, dumb with fear and shame. 
 No slave to virtue, but its shade was he ; 
 
 A tower of strength is in an honest name — 
 'T is wise to seem what oft 't is dull to be ! 
 
 A kingly host a kingly guest betray ! 
 
 The chafing Saxon brook'd not that delay — 
 
 cm. 
 But tnrn'd his sparkling eyes behind, and saw 
 
 His knights and squires with zeal as fierce inflamed. 
 And out he spoke — " The hospitable law 
 
 We will not trench, whate'er the guest hath claim'd 
 Let the host yield ; forgive, that, hotly stirr'd, 
 His course I question'd ; I retract the word. 
 
BOOK II. 87 
 
 CIV. 
 
 " If on your hearth he stands, protect ; within 
 Your reahn if wandering, guard him as you may; 
 
 This hearth not ours, nor this our realm ; — no sin 
 To chase our foeman, whatsoe'er his way : 
 
 Up spear — forth sword ! to selle each Saxon man — 
 
 Unleash the warhounds — stay us those who can !" 
 
 cv. 
 Loud rang the armed tumult in the hall ; 
 
 Rush'd to the doors the Saxon's fiery band ; 
 Yell'd the gaunt bloodhounds loosened from the thrall ; 
 
 Steeds neigh'd ; leapt forth the falchion to the hand ; 
 Low on the earth the bloodhounds track'd the scent, 
 And where they guided there the hunters went. 
 
 cvi. 
 Amazed the Vandal with his friend debates 
 
 What course were best in such extremes to choose ; 
 Nicely they weigh ; — the Saxons pass the gates : 
 
 Finely refine ; — the chase its prey pursues. 
 And while the chase pursues, to him, whose way 
 The dove directs, well pleased, returns the lay. 
 
 CVII. 
 
 Twilight was on the earth, when paused the King, 
 Lone by the beach of far-resounding seas ; 
 
 Rock upon rock, behind, a Titan ring. 
 
 Closed round a gorge o'erhung with breathless trees, 
 
 A horror of still umbrage ; and, before, 
 
 Wave-hollow'd caves arch'd, ruinous, the shore. 
 
88 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 Column and vault, and seaweed-dripping dome^, 
 Long vistas opening through the streets of dark, 
 
 Seem'd like a city's skeleton ; the homes 
 Of giant races vanish'd since the ark 
 
 Rested on Ararat : from side to side 
 
 Moan'd the lock'd waves that ebb not with the tide. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 Here, path forbid ; where, length'ning up the land. 
 The deep gorge stretches to a night of pine. 
 
 Veer the white wings ; and there the slacken'd hand 
 Guides the tired steed ; deeplier the shades decline 
 
 Dull'd with each step into the darker gloom 
 
 Follows the ocean's hollow-sounding boom. 
 
 ex. 
 
 Sudden starts back the steed, with bristling mane 
 And nostrils snorting fear ; from out the shade 
 
 Loom the vast columns of a roofless fane. 
 
 Meet for some god whom savage man hath made ; 
 
 A mighty pine-torch on the altar glow'd 
 
 And lit the goddess of the grim abode — 
 
 CXI. 
 
 So that the lurid idol, from its throne, 
 
 Glared on the wanderer with a stony eye ; 
 
 The King breathed quick the Christian orison, 
 Spurr'd the scared barb, and passed abhorrent by, 
 
 Nor mark'd a figure on the floor reclined ; 
 
 It watch'd, it rose, it crept, it dogg'd behind. 
 
BOOK II. 89 
 
 CXII, 
 
 Three days, three nights, within that dismal shrine, 
 Had couch'd that man, and hungered for his prey. 
 
 Chieftain and priest of hordes that from the Rhine 
 Had track'd in carnage thitherwards their way ; 
 
 Fell souls that still maintained their rights of yore. 
 
 And hideous altars rank with human gore. 
 
 cxin. 
 By monstrous Oracles a coming foe, 
 
 Whose steps appal his gods, hath been foretold ; 
 The fane must fall unless the blood shall flow ; 
 
 Therefore three days, three nights, he watch'd ; behold 
 At last the death-torch of the blazing pine 
 Darts on the foe the lightning of the shrine ! 
 
 cxiv 
 
 Stealthily on, amidst the brushwood, crept 
 With practised foot, and unrelaxing eye, 
 
 The steadfast Murder ; — where the still leaf slept 
 The still leaf stirr'd not : as it glided by 
 
 The mosses gave no echo ; not a breath ! 
 
 Nature was hush'd as if in league w^ith Death ! 
 
 cxv. 
 
 As moved the man, so, on the opposing side 
 Of the deep gorge, with purpose like his own, 
 
 Did steps as noiseless to the blood-feast glide ; 
 And as the man before his idol's throne 
 
 Had watch'd, — so watch'd, since daylight left the air, 
 
 A giant wolf within its leafy lair. 
 
90 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 Whether the blaze allured or hunger stung, 
 
 There still had cower'd and crouch'dthe beast of prey ; 
 
 With lurid eyes unwinking, spell-bound, clung 
 To the near ridge that faced the torchlit way ; 
 
 As the steed pass'd, it rose ! On either side, 
 
 Here glides the wild beast, there the man doth glide. 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 But, all unconscious of the double foe, 
 
 Paused Arthur, where his resting-place the dove 
 
 Seem'd to select, — his couch a mound below ; 
 A bowering beech his canopy above : 
 
 From his worn steed the barbed mail released, 
 
 And left it reinless, to its herbage-feast. 
 
 cxviii. 
 Then from his brow the mighty helm unbraced, 
 
 And from his breast the hauberk's heavy load ; 
 On the tree's trunk the trophied arms he placed. 
 
 And, ere to rest the wearied limbs bestow'd. 
 Thrice sign'd the cross the fiends of night to scare, 
 And gaurded helpless sleep with potent prayer. 
 
 cxix. 
 
 Then on the moss-grown couch he laid him down, 
 Fearless of night and hopeful for the morn : 
 
 On Sleep's soft lap the head without a crown 
 Forgot the gilded trouble it had worn ; 
 
 Slumbered the King — the browsing charger stray 'd — 
 
 The dove, unsleeping, watch'd amidst the shade. 
 
BOOK II. 91 
 
 cxx. 
 
 And now, on either hand the dreaming King, 
 
 Death halts to strike the crouching wild beast, here, 
 
 From the close crag prepares the rushing spring ; 
 There, from the thicket creeping, near and near, 
 
 Steals the wild man, and listens for a sound — 
 
 Lifts the pale steel, and gathers for the bound. 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 But what befell ? thou, whose gentle heart 
 Lists, scornful not, this undiurnal rhyme ; 
 
 If, as thy steps to busier life depart. 
 
 Still in thine ear rings low the haunting chime. 
 
 When leisure suits, once more forsake the throng. 
 
 Call childhood back^ and redemand the song. 
 
NOTES TO BOOK II. 
 
 1 " By lips as gay the Hirlas horn is quaft." 
 
 Page 61, stanza iii. 
 
 The Hirlas, or drinking-horn, (made of the horn of a buffalo, 
 enriched either with gold or silver), was not a vessel peculiar 
 to the Welch ; the Scandinavian nations also used it. The 
 Hirlas Song of Owen, Prince of Powys, is familiar to all lovers 
 of Welch literature ; the best translation of which I am aware is 
 to be found in the notes to Southey's Ma doc. 
 
 2 " Therein Sir Brut, expelled from flaming Troy." 
 
 Page 63, stanza viii. 
 
 Caradoc's version of the descent of Brut differs somewhat 
 from that of Geoffrey of Monmouth, but perhaps it is quite as 
 true. According to Geoffrey, Brut is great-grandson to iEneas, 
 and therefore not expelled from ^'-flaming Troy." Caradoc 
 follow^s his own (no doubt authentic) legends, also, as to the 
 aboriginal population of the island, w^hich, according to Geof- 
 frey, were giants, not devils. The cursory and contemptuous 
 way in which that delicious Romance writer speaks of these 
 poor giants is inimitable — '^ Albion a nemine, exceptis paiicis 
 ^igantihus inhabit abatur.^^ — '^ Albion w^as inhabited by no- 
 body except J indeed^ a few giants V^ 
 
NOTES TO BOOK II. 93 
 
 " The vesper-bell afar 
 
 Swing from the dim cathedraL" 
 
 Page 64, stanza xiv. 
 
 A cathedral church at which Arthur was crowned, and of 
 which Dubricius was arch prelate, already existed at Caerlon, 
 according to the venerable authorities consulted rather by poets 
 than historians. 
 
 4 " And haird Earl Harold from the Mercian king." 
 
 Page 84, stanza xcii. 
 
 Harold is so familiar to us as a Saxon name, that it has been 
 used as such without scruple ; but, in strictness, it is a Scandi- 
 navian name, introduced into England by the Danes, 
 
KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Arthur still sleeps ; The sounds that break his rest ; The war between the 
 beast and the man ; How ended ; Tlie Christian foe and the heathen ; 
 The narrative returns to the Saxons in pursuit of Arthur ; Their chase 
 is stayed by the caverns described in the preceding book, the tides 
 having now advanced up the gorge through which Arthur passed, and 
 blocked that pathway ; the hunt is resumed at dawn ; the tides have 
 receded from the gorge ; One of the hounds finds scent ; The riders are 
 on the track ; Harold heads the pursuit ; The beech tree ; The man by 
 the water-spring ; The wood is left ; The knight on the brow of the 
 hill ; Parley between the earl and the knight ; The encounter ; Harold's 
 address to his men, and his foe ; His foe's reply; the dove and the fal- 
 con ; The unexpected succour ; And conclusion of the fray ; The nar- 
 rative passes on to the description of the Happy Valley; In which 
 the dwellers await the coming of a stranger ; History of the Happy 
 Valley ; A colony founded by Etrurians from Fiesole, forwarned of the 
 destined growth of the Roman dominion; Its strange seclusion and 
 safety from the changes of the ancient world ; The law that forbade 
 the daughters of the Lartian or ruling family to marry into other clans ; 
 Only one daughter (the queen) is left now, and the male line in the 
 whole Lartian clan is extinct ; The contrivance of the Augur for the 
 continuance of the royal house, sanctioned by two former precedents ; 
 A stranger is to be lured into the valley ; The simple dwellers therein 
 to be deceived into believing him a god ; He is to be married to the queen, 
 and then, on the birth of a son, to vanish again amongst the gods, (i. 
 e. to be secretly made away with) ; Two temples at the opposite ends 
 of the valley give the only gates to the place ; By the first, dedicated to 
 Tina, (the Etrurian Jove,) the stranger is to be admitted ; In the second, 
 dedicated to Mantu, (the god of the shades,) he is destined to vanish ; 
 Such a stranger is now expected in the happy valley ; He emerges, led 
 by the Augur, from the temple of Tina ; ^gle, the queen, described ; 
 Her stranger-bridegroom is led to her bower. 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 I. 
 
 We raise the curtain where the unconscious Kino: 
 Beneath the beech his fearless couch had made ; 
 
 Here the fierce fangs prepared their deadly sj^ring ; 
 There, in the hand of Murther gleamed the blade ; 
 
 And not a sound to warn him from above ; 
 
 Where still unsleeping, watch'd the guardian dove ! 
 
 II. 
 Hark, a dull crash ! — a howling, ravenous yell ! 
 
 Opening fell symphony of ghastly sound, 
 Jarring yet blent, as if the dismal hell 
 
 Sent its strange anguish from the rent profound : 
 Through all its scale the horrible discord ran, 
 Now mock'd the beast, now took the groan of man ; 
 
 III. 
 
 Wrath, and the grind of gnashing teeth ; the growl 
 
 Of famine routed from its red repast; 
 Sharp shrilling pain ; and furj^ from some soul 
 
 That fronts despair, and wrestles to the last. 
 Sprang to his feet the King ; — the feeble ray 
 Through the still leaves just wins its glimmering way, 
 
 7 
 
98 • KING ARTHUR. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And lo, before him, close, yet ^vanly faint. 
 
 Forms that seem shadows, strife that seems the sport 
 
 Of things that oft some holy hermit saint 
 Lone in Egyptian plains — (the dread resort 
 
 Of Nile's dethroned demon gods) hatli \dewed; 
 
 The grisly tempters, born of Solitude : — 
 
 V. 
 
 Coird in the strong death-grapple, through the dim 
 And haggard air, before the Cymrian lay 
 
 Writhing and interlaced, with fang and limb. 
 As if one shape, what seem'd a beast of prey 
 
 And the grand form of Man ! — The bird of Heaven 
 
 Wisely no note to warn the sleep had given ; 
 
 The sleep protected ; — as the Murther sprang 
 So sprang the wolf, — before the dreamer's breast 
 
 Death death encountered ; Murther found the fang, 
 The wolf the steel ; — so, starting from his rest 
 
 The saved man woke to save ! Nor time was here 
 
 For pause or caution ; for the sword or spear ; 
 
 VII. 
 
 Clasp'd round the wolf, swift arms of iron draw 
 From their fierce hold the buried fan2:s ; — on hi<>h 
 
 Up-ljorne, the baffled terrors of its jaw 
 
 Gnash vain ; — one yell howls, hollow, through the sky, 
 
 And dies abruptly, stifled to a gasp, 
 
 As the grim heart pants crushing in the grasp 
 
BOOK III. 99 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Fit for a nation's bulwark, that strong breast 
 
 To which the strong arms lock the powerless foe ! — 
 
 Nor opes the vice till breath's last anguish ceast ; 
 'Tis done ; and dumb the dull weight drops below. 
 
 The kindred form, which now the King surveys, 
 
 Those arms all gentle as a woman's, raise. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The pale cheek pillow'd on the pitying heart. 
 
 He wipes the blood from face, and breast, and limb. 
 
 And joyful sees (for no humaner art 
 
 "Which Christian knighthood knows, unknown to him) 
 
 That the fell fangs the nobler parts forbore. 
 
 And, thanks, sweet Virgin ! — life returns once more. 
 
 X. 
 
 Stared round the savage man : from dizzy eyes 
 Toss'd the wild shaggy hair ; and to his knee, — 
 
 His reeling feet — up stagger d — Lo, where lies 
 The dead wild beast ! — lo, in his saviour, see 
 
 The fellow-man, whom ; — with a feeble bound 
 
 He leapt, and snatch'd the dagger from the ground ; 
 
 XI. 
 
 And faithful to his gods, he sprang to slay ; [Ijlade ; 
 
 The weak limb fail'd him; gleam'd and dropp'd the 
 The arm hung nerveless ; — by the beast of prey 
 
 Murder, still baffled, fell ; — Then, soothing, said 
 Tlie gentle King — '' Behold no foe in me !" 
 And knelt by Hate like pitying Charity. 
 
100 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XII. 
 
 In suffering man he could not find a foe, 
 
 And the mild hand clasp'd that which yearn'd to kill I 
 ^' Ha," gasp'd the gazing savage, "dost thou know 
 
 That I had doom'd thee in thy sleep ? — that still 
 My soul w^ould doom thee, could my hand ohey ? — 
 Wake thou, stern goddess — seize thyself the prey!" 
 
 XIII. 
 
 *' Serv'st thou a goddess," said the wondering King, 
 " Whose rites ask innocent blood ? — brother, learn 
 
 In heaven, in earth, in each created thing, 
 
 One God, whom all call ' Father,' to discern !" 
 
 *' Can thy God suffer thy God's foe to live ?"— 
 
 *' God once had foes, and said to man, ' forgive !' " 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Answered the Cymrian ! Dream-like the mild words 
 Fell on the ear, as sense again gave way 
 
 To swooning sleep ; which woke but with the birds 
 In the cold clearness of the dawning day. — 
 
 Strung by that sleep, the savage scowl'd around ; 
 
 Why droops his head ? Kind hands his wounds have 
 bound ! 
 
 XV. 
 
 Ix)nely he stood, and niiss'd that tender foe ; 
 
 The wolf's glazed eye-ball mutely met his own ; 
 Beyond, the pine-])rand sent its sullen gloAV, 
 
 Circling blood-red the aAvful altar stone ; 
 Blood-red, as sinks the sun, from land afar, 
 Ere tempests wreck the Amalfian mariner j 
 
BOOK III. 101 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Or as, when Mars sits in the House of Death 
 For doom'cl Aleppo, on the hopeless Moor 
 
 Glares the fierce orlj from skies without a breath, 
 While the chalk'd signal on the abhorred door 
 
 Tells that the Pestilence is come !^The pine 
 
 Unheeded wastes upon the hideous shrine ; 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The priest returns not ; — from its giant throne, 
 The idol calls in vain : — its realm is o'er ; 
 
 The Dire Religion flies the altar-stone. 
 
 For love has breath'd on what was hate before. 
 
 Lured bj man's heart, by man's kind deeds subdued, 
 
 Him who had pardoned, he who wrong'd pursued. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Meanwhile speeds on the Saxon chase, behind ; — 
 Baffled at first, and doubling to and fro 
 
 At last the war dogs snort the fatal wind. 
 
 Burst on the scent which gathers as they go ; 
 
 Day wanes, night comes ; the star succeeds the sun, 
 
 To light the hunt until the quarry's won. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 At the first gray of dawn, they halt before 
 The fretted arches of the giant caves ; 
 
 For here the tides rush full upon the shore. 
 
 The failing scent is snatch'd amidst the waves, — 
 
 Waves block the entrance of the gorge unseen ; 
 
 And roar, hoarse-surging, up the pent ravine. 
 
102 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XX. 
 
 And worn, and spent, and panting, fiag the steeds, 
 With mail and man bow'd down; nor meet to breast 
 
 The hell of waters, whence no pathwaj^ leads, 
 And which no phnnmet sounds ; — Reluctant rest 
 
 Checks the pursuit, till sullenly and slow 
 
 Back, threatening still, the hosts of Ocean go, — 
 
 XXI. 
 
 And the bright clouds that circled the fair sun 
 Melt in the azAire of the mellowing sky ; 
 
 Then hark again the human hunt begun, 
 The ringing hoof, the hunter's cheering cry ; 
 
 Round and around, by sand, and cave, and steep. 
 
 The doubtful ban-dogs, undulating, sweep : 
 
 XXII. 
 
 At kngth, one windeth where the wave hath left 
 The unguarded portals of the .gorge, and there 
 
 Far-wandering halts ; and from a rocky cleft 
 Spreads his keen nostril to the wdiispering air ; 
 
 Then, with trail'd ears, moves cowering o'er the ground 
 
 The deep bay booming breaks : — the scent is found. 
 
 xxiir. 
 Hound answers hound, — along the dank ravine 
 
 Pours the fresh w^ave of spears and tossing plumes ; 
 On — on ; and now the idol-shrine obscene 
 
 The dying pine-brand tlickeringly illumes ; 
 The dogs go glancing through the shafts of stone, 
 Trample the altar, hurtle round the throne ; 
 
BOOK III. 103 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Where the lone priest had watch'd, they pause awhile ; 
 
 Then forth, hard-breathing, down the gorge they 
 swoop; 
 Soon the swart woods that close the far defile 
 
 Gleam Avith the shimmer of the steel-clad troop ; 
 Glinting thro' leaves — noAV bright'ning thro' the glade, 
 Now lost, dispersed amidst the matted shade. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Foremost rode Harold, on a matchless steed, 
 Whose sire, from Afric coasts a sea-king bore. 
 
 And gave the Mercian, as his noblest meed, 
 
 What time (then beardless) to Norwegian shore 
 
 Against a common foe, the Saxon Thane (^) 
 
 Led three tall ships, and loosed them on the Dane : 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Foremost he rode, and on his mailed breast 
 
 Cranch'd the strong branches of the groaning oak. 
 
 Hark; with full peal, as suddenly supprest. 
 Behind, the ban-dog's choral joy-cry broke ! 
 
 Led by the note, he turns him back, to reach. 
 
 Near the wood's marge, a solitary beech. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Clear space spreads round it for a rood or more ; 
 
 Where o'er the space the feathering branches bend, 
 The dogs, wedg'd close, with jaws that drip with gore. 
 
 Growl o'er the carcase of the wolf they rend. 
 Shamed at their lord's rebuke, they leave the feast — 
 Scent the fresh foot-track of the idol priest ; 
 
104 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 And, track by track, deep, deeper through the maze, 
 Slowly they go — the watchful earl behind. 
 
 Here the soft earth a recent hoof betrays ; 
 
 And still a footstep near the hoof they find ; — 
 
 So on, so on — the pathway spreads more large, 
 
 And daylight rushes on the forest marge. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The dogs bound emulous ; but, snarling, shrink 
 Back at the anger of the earl's quick cry ; — 
 
 Near a small water spring, had paused to drink 
 A man half clad, who now, with kindling eye, 
 
 And lifted knife, roused by the hostile sounds. 
 
 Plants his firm foot, and fronts the glaring hounds. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Fear not, rude stranger," quoth the earl in scorn ; 
 
 " Not thee I seek ; my dogs chase nobler prey. 
 Speak, thou hast seen (if wandering here since morn) 
 
 A lonely horseman ; — whither wends his way ?" 
 " Track'st thou his steps in love or hate ?" — " Why, so 
 As hawk its quarry, or as man his foe." 
 
 XXXT. 
 
 " Thou dost not serve his God," the heathen said ; 
 
 And sullen turn'd to quench his thirst again. 
 The fierce earl chafed, but longer not delay'd ; 
 
 For what he sought the earth itself made plain 
 In the clear hoof-prints ; to the hounds he showed 
 The clue, and, cheering as they track'd, he rode. 
 
BOOK III. 105 
 
 xxxii. 
 
 But thrice, to guide his comrades from the maze, 
 Rings through the echoing wood his lusty horn. 
 
 Now o'er waste pastures where the wild bulls graze, 
 Now labouring up slow-lengthening headlands borne, 
 
 The steadfast hounds outstrip the horseman's flight, 
 
 And on the hill's dim summit fade from sight. 
 
 xxxin. 
 But scarcely fade, before, though faint and far. 
 
 Fierce Avrathful yells the foe at bay reveal. 
 On spurs the Saxon, till, like some pale star. 
 
 Gleams on the hill a lance — a helm of steel. 
 The brow is gained ; a space of level land. 
 Bare to the sun — a grove at either hand ; 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 And in the middle of the space a mound ; 
 
 And, on the mound a knight upon his barb. 
 No need for herald there his trump to sound ! — 
 
 No need for diadem and ermine garb ! 
 Nature herself has crown'd that lion mien ; 
 And in the man the king of men is seen. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Upon his helmet sits a snow-white dove. 
 
 Its plumage blending with the plumed crest. 
 
 Below the mount, recoiling, circling, move 
 The ban-dogs, awed by the majestic rest 
 
 Of the great foe ; and, yet with fangs that grin, 
 
 And eyes that redden, raves the madding din. 
 
106 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Still stands the steed ; still, shining in the sun, 
 Sits on the steed the rider, statue-like : 
 
 One stately hand upon his havnich, while one 
 Lifts the tall lance, disdainful even to strike ; 
 
 Calm from the roar obscene looks forth his gaze, 
 
 Calm as the moon at which the watch-dog bays. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 The Saxon rein'd his destrier on the brow 
 Of the broad hill ; and if his inmost heart 
 
 Ever confest to fear, fear touched it now ; — 
 
 Not that chill pang which strife and death impart 
 
 To meaner men, but such religious awe 
 
 As from brave souls a foe admired can draw : 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Behind a quick and anxious glance he threw, 
 And pleased beheld spur midway up the hill 
 
 His knights and(^) squires; again his horn he blew. 
 Then hush'd the hounds, and near'd the slope where 
 still 
 
 The might of Arthur rested, as in cloud 
 
 Rests thunder ; there his haughty crest he bowed, 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 And lowered his lance, and said — " Dread foe and lord. 
 
 Pardon the Saxon Harold, nor disdain 
 To yield to warrior hand a kingly sword. 
 
 Behold my numbers ! to resist were vain, 
 And llight — " Said Arthur, " Saxon, is a word 
 From warrior lips a King should not have heard ; 
 
BOOK III. 107 
 
 XL. 
 
 ^^ And, sootli to say, when Cymri's knights shall ride 
 To chase a Saxon monarch from the plain, 
 
 More knightly sport shall Cymri's king provide, 
 And Cymrian tromps shall ring a nobler strain. 
 
 Warrior, forsooth ! when first went warrior, say. 
 
 With hound and horn — -God's image for the prey ?" 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Gall'd to the quick, the firey earl erect 
 Rose in his stirrups, shook his iron hand, 
 
 And cried — " Alfader ! (' ) but for the respect 
 Arm'd numbers owe to one, my Saxon brand 
 
 Should — but why words ? Ho, Mercia to the field ! 
 
 Lance to the rest ! — yiQld, scornful Cymrian, 3'ield 1" 
 
 XLII. 
 
 For answer, Arthur closed his bassinet, 
 
 Then down it broke, the thunder from that cloud ! 
 And, even as thunder by the thunder met. 
 
 O'er his spurr d steed broad-breasted Harold bow'd ; 
 Swift through the air the rushing armour flash'd. 
 And in the shock commingling tempests clash'd ! 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 The Cymrian's lance smote on the Mercian's breast, 
 Thro' the pierced shield, there, shivering in the hand. 
 
 The dove had stirr'd not on the Prince's crest, 
 And on his destrier bore him to the band. 
 
 Which, moving not, but in a steadfast ring. 
 
 With levell'd lances front the comins: Kin«:. 
 
108 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 His shivered lance thrown by, high o'er his head, 
 Pluck'd from the selle, his battle-axe he shook — 
 
 Paused for an instant — breathed his foaming steed, 
 And chose his pathway with one lightning look : 
 
 From the hill's brow extending either side, 
 
 The Saxon troop the rearward woods denied ; 
 
 XLV. 
 
 These gain'd, their numljers less the strife avail. 
 
 He jDaused, and every voice cried — "Yield, brave King! 
 Scarce died the word ere through the wall of steel 
 
 Flashes the breach, and backward reels the ring, 
 Plumes shorn, shields cloven, man and horse o'erthrown, 
 As the armed meteor flames and rushes on. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Till then, the danger shared, upon his crest, 
 Unmoved and calm, had sate the faithful dove, 
 
 Serene as, braved for some beloved breast 
 All peril finds the gentle hero, — Love ; 
 
 But rising now, towards the dexter side 
 
 Where stretch the woods, the prescient pinions guide. 
 
 XL VII. 
 
 Near the green marge the Cymrian checks the rein. 
 And, even forgetful of the dove, wheels round. 
 
 To front the foe that follows up the plain : 
 So when the lion, with a single bound, 
 
 Breaks through Numidian spears, — his den before 
 
 He halts, and roots dread feet that fly no more. 
 
BOOK III. 109 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Their riven ranks reform'd, the Saxons move 
 In curving crescent, close, compact, and slow 
 
 Behind the earl ; who feels a hero's love 
 Fill his large heart for that great hero foe ; 
 
 Murmuring " May Harold, thus confronting all, 
 
 Pass from the spear-storm to the Golden Hall !"* 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Then to his band — '' If prophecy and sign 
 
 Paling men's cheeks, and read by wizard seers, 
 
 Had not declared that Woden's threatened line, 
 And the large birthright of the Saxon spears. 
 
 Were cross'd by SKULDA,f in the baleful skein 
 
 Of him who dares ^ The Choosers of the Slain. 'J 
 
 L. 
 
 " If not forbid against his single arm 
 Singly to try the even-sworded strife. 
 
 Since his new gods, or Merlin's mighty charm, 
 Hath made a host,§ the were-geld of his life — 
 
 Not ours this shame ! — here one, and there a field, 
 
 But men are waxen when the Fates are steel'd. 
 
 • Walhalla. 
 
 ■\ Skulda, the Noma, or Destiny, of the Future. 
 
 i. The Valkyas (in Saxon, Valcyrge, Valcyrian), the Choosers of the Slain, who 
 ride before the battle, and select its viclims; to whom, afterwards, (softening their 
 character) they administer in Walhalla. 
 
 § Id est — " Have made him a match for a host" — the line is imitated from an 
 old Saxon poem. 
 
110 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LI. 
 
 " Seize we our captive, so the gods command — 
 But ye are men, let manhood guide the blow ; 
 
 Spare life, or but with life-defending hand 
 Strike — and Walhalla take that noble foe ! 
 
 Sound trump, speed truce." — Sedately from the rest 
 
 Rode out the earl^ and Cymri thus addrest : — 
 
 LII. 
 
 " Our steels have cross'd : hate shivers on the shield ; 
 
 If the speech gall'd, the lance atones the word : 
 Yield, for thy valour wins the right to yield ; 
 
 Unstain'd the scutcheon, though resign'd the sword. 
 Grant us the grace, which chance (not arms) hath won : 
 Why strike the many who would save the one ?" 
 
 LIII. 
 
 " Fair foe, and courteous," answered Arthur, moved 
 By that chivalric speech, " too well the might 
 
 Of Mercia's famous Harold have I proved. 
 
 To deem it shame to yield as knight to knight ; 
 
 But a king's sword is by a nation given. 
 
 Who guards a people holds his post from heaven, 
 
 LIV. 
 
 " This freedom which thou ask'st me to resign 
 Than life is dearer ; w^ere it but to show 
 
 That with my people thinks their King ! — divine 
 Through me all Cymri ! — Streams shall cease to flow, 
 
 Yon sun to shine, before to Saxon strife 
 
 One Cymrian yields his freedom save with life. 
 
BOOK III. Ill 
 
 LV. 
 
 " And so the saints assoil ye of my blood ; 
 
 Return ; — the rest we leave unto our cause 
 And the just heavens ;" All silent, Harold stood 
 
 And his heart smote him. Now, amidst that pause, 
 Arthur look'd up, and in the calm above 
 Behold a falcon wheeling round the dove ! 
 
 LVI. 
 
 For thus it chanced ; the bird which Harold bore 
 (As was the Saxon wont(^) whate'er his way. 
 
 Had, in the woodland, slipp'd the hood it wore, 
 
 Unmark'd; and, when the bloodhounds bark'd at bay, 
 
 Lured by the sound, had risen on the wing. 
 
 Far o'er the fierce encounter hovering — 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Till when the dove had left, to guide, her lord. 
 
 It caught the white plume dancing where it went ; 
 
 High in large circles to its height it soared, 
 
 vSwoop'd ; — the light pinion foil'd the fierce descent ; 
 
 The falcon rose rebounding to the prey ; 
 
 And barred the refuge — fronting still the way. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 In vain to Arthur seeks the dove to flee ; 
 
 Round her and round, with every sweep more near, 
 The swift destroyer circles rapidly, 
 
 Fixing keen eyes that fascinate with fear, 
 A moment — and a shaft, than wing more fleet. 
 Hurls the pierced falcon at the Saxon's feet. 
 
112 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 s 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Down, heavily it fell ; — a moment stirr'd 
 
 Its fluttering plumes, and roll'd its glazing eye j 
 
 But even before the breath forsook the bird, 
 
 Even while the arrow whistled through the sky, 
 
 Rush'd from the grove that screen'd the marksman's hand 
 
 With yell and whoop, a wild barljarian band — 
 
 LX. , 
 
 Half clad, with hides of beast, and shields of horn, 
 And huge clubs cloven from the knotty pine ; 
 
 And spears like those by Thor's great children borne, 
 When Ca3sar arch'd with moving steel (^) the Rhine — 
 
 Countless they start, as if from every tree 
 
 Had sprung the uncouth defending deity ; 
 
 Lxr. 
 
 They pass the King, low bending as they pass ; 
 
 Bear back the startled Harold on their way; 
 And roaring onward, mass succeeding mass. 
 
 Snatch the hemm'd Saxons from the King's survey. 
 On Arthur's crest the dove refolds its wing ; 
 On Arthur's ear a voice comes murmuring : 
 
 LXIf. 
 
 ^' Man, have I served thy God ?" and Arthur saw 
 The priest beside him, leaning on his bow ; 
 
 ^' Not till, in all, thou hast fulfill'd the law 
 
 Thou hast saved the friend — now, aid to shie 
 And as a ship, cleaving the severed tides. 
 Eight through the sea of spears the hero rides. 
 
 "foe ;" 
 d the 
 
BOOK III. 113 
 
 LXIIT. 
 
 The wild troop part submissive as he goes ; 
 
 Where, like an islet in that stormy main, 
 Gleam'd Mercia's steel ; and like a rock arose, 
 
 Breasting the breakers, the undaunted Thane.; 
 He doff 'd his helmet, look'd majestic round ; 
 And dropp'd the murderous weapon on the ground ; 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 And with a meek and brotherly embrace 
 
 Twined round the Saxon's neck the peaceful arm. 
 
 Strife stood arrested — the mild kingly face, 
 The loving gesture, like a holy charm 
 
 Thrill'd thro' the ranks : you might have heard a breath ! 
 
 So did soft silence seem to bury Death. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 On the fair locks, and on the noble brow. 
 
 Fell the full splendour of the heavenly ray ; 
 
 The dove, dislodged, flew up — and rested now, 
 Poised in the tranquil and translucent day. 
 
 The calm wings seem'd to canopy the head ; 
 
 And from each plume a parting glory spread 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 So leave we that still picture on the eye ; 
 
 And turn, reluctant, where the wand of Song 
 Points to the walls of Time's long gallery : 
 
 And the dim Beautiful of Eld — too long 
 Mouldering unheeded in these latter days, 
 Starts from the canvass, bright'ning as we gaze. 
 
 8 
 
114 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 lovely scene which smiles upon my view, 
 As sure it smiled on sweet Albano's dreams ; 
 
 He to whom Amor gave the roseate hue 
 
 And that harmonious colour-wand which seems 
 
 Pluck'd from the god's own wing ! — Arcades and bowers, 
 
 Mellifluous waters lapsing amidst flowers, 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Or springing up, in multiform disport. 
 
 From countless founts, delightedly at play ; 
 
 As if the Naiad held her joyous court 
 
 To greet the goddess whom the flowers obey ; 
 
 And all her nymphs took varying shapes in glee, 
 
 Bell'd like the blossom — branching like the tree. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Adown the cedarn alleys glanced the wings 
 
 Of all the painted populace of air. 
 Whatever lulls the noonday while it sings 
 
 Or mocks the iris with its plumes, — is there — 
 Music and air so interfused and blent. 
 That music seems life's breathing element. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 And every alley's stately vista closed 
 
 With some fair statue, on whose gleaming base, 
 Beauty, not earth's, benignantly repose, 
 
 As if the gods were native to the place ; 
 And fair indeed the mortal forms, I ween, 
 Whose presence brings no discord to the scene ! 
 
BOOK III. 115. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 fair tliej are, if mortal forms they be ! 
 
 Mine eye the lovely error must beguile ; 
 See I the Hours, when from the lulled Sea* 
 
 Come Aphrodite to the rosy isle, 
 What time they left their orient halls above, 
 To greet on earth their best beguiler — Love ? 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Or are they Oreads from the Delphian steep 
 Waiting their goddess of the silver bow ? 
 
 Or shy Napa3aB,f startled from their sleep, 
 
 Where blue Cythseron guards sweet vales below. 
 
 Watching as home, from vanquish'd Ind afar. 
 
 Comes their loved Evian in the panther-car ? 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Why stream ye thus from yonder arching bowers ? 
 
 Whom wait, whom watch ye for, lovely band ? [ers. 
 With spears that, thyrus-like, glance, wreath'd with flow- 
 
 And garland fetters, linking hand to hand. 
 And locks, from which drop blossoms on your way, 
 Like starry buds from the loose crown of May ? 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Behold how Alp on Alp shuts out the scene 
 From all the ruder world that lies afar ; 
 
 Deep, fathom-deep, the valley which they screen, 
 Deep, as in chasms of cloud a happy star ! 
 
 What pass admits the stranger to your land ? 
 
 Whom wait, whom watch ye for, O lovely band ? 
 
 • Horn Hymn. 
 
 f Na.p:e]e, ihe most bashful of all the rural nymphs ; their rare apparition was 
 supposed to produce delirium in the beholder. 
 
116 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Ages agOj what time the barbarous horde. 
 
 From whose rough bosoms sprang Imperial Rome, 
 
 Drew the slow widening circle of the sword, 
 Till kingdoms vanish'd in a robbers home, 
 
 A wise Etrurian Lar, forwarn'd ('t was said) 
 
 By his dark CaBre, ( '' ) from the danger fled : 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 lie left the vines of fruitful Fiesole, 
 
 Left, with his household gods and chosen clan, 
 
 Intent beyond the Ausonian bounds to flee, 
 
 And Rome's dark shadow on the world of man. 
 
 So came the exiles to the rocky wall 
 
 Which, centuries after, frown'd on Hannibal. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Here, it so chanced, that down the deep profound 
 Of some huge Alp — a stray'd Etrurian fell ; 
 
 The pious rites ordained to explore the ground, 
 And give the ashes to the funeral cell ; 
 
 Slowly they gained the gulf, to scare away 
 
 A vulture ravening on the mangled clay ; 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Smit by a javelin from the leader's hand. 
 The bird crept fluttering down a deep defile. 
 
 Through whose far end faint glimpses of a land, 
 Sunn'd by a softer daylight, sent a smile ; 
 
 This seen, the attendant seer, ordained the Lar 
 
 To take the glimmer for the guiding s!ar. 
 
BOOK III. 117 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 What seem'd a gorge was but a vista d cave, 
 
 Long-drawn and hollo w'd through the daedal stone ; 
 
 Rude was the path, but as, beyond the grave, 
 Elysium shines, the glorious landscape shone. 
 
 Broadening and brightening — till their wonder sees 
 
 Bloom through the Alps the lost Hesperides. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 There, the sweet sunlight, from the heights debarr'd, 
 Gathered its pomp to lavish on the vale ; 
 
 A wealth of wild sweets glittered on the sward, 
 Screen'd by the very snow-rocks from the gale ; 
 
 Murmured clear waters, murmured joyous birds. 
 
 And o'er soft pastures roved the fearless herds. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 His rod the Augur waves above the ground. 
 And cries, " In Tina's name I bless the soil."(''') 
 
 With veiled brows the exiles circle round ; 
 Along the rod propitious lightnings coil ; 
 
 The gods approve : rejoicing hands combine, 
 
 Swift springs a sylvan city from the pine. 
 
 LXXXII, 
 
 What charm yet fails them in the lovely place ? 
 
 Childhood's gay laugh — and woman's tender smile. 
 A chosen few the venturous steps retrace ; 
 
 Love lightens toil for those who rest the while ; 
 And, ere the winter stills the sadden'd bird. 
 The sweeter music of glad homes is heard ; 
 
118 KING ARTHUR. ' 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 And with the objects of the dearer care, 
 The parting gilts of the old soil are borne ; 
 
 Soon Tusca's grape hangs flushing in the air, 
 Soon lields wave golden with the rippling com ; 
 
 Gleams on gray slopes the olive's silvery tree, 
 
 In her lone Alpine child, — far Fiesole 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Eevives — reblooms, but under happier stars ! 
 
 Age rolls on age, — upon the antique world 
 Full many a storm hath graved its thunder scars ; 
 
 Tombs only speak the Etrurian's language ;* — hurFd 
 To dust the shrines of Naith ;f — the serpents hiss 
 On Asia's throne in lorn Persepolis ; 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 The seaweed rots upon the ports of Tyre ; 
 
 On Delphi's steep the Pythian's voice is dumb ; 
 Sad Athens leans upon her broken lyre ; 
 
 From the doom'd east the Bethlem Star hath come ; 
 But Rome an empire from an empire's loss 
 Gains in the god Rome yielded to the Cross ! 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 And here, as in a crypt, the miser, Time, 
 
 Hoards, from all else, embedded in the stone, 
 
 One eldest treasure — fresh as when, sublime 
 
 O'er gods and men, Jove thundered from his throne. 
 
 The garb, the arts, the creed, the tongue, the same 
 
 As when to Tarquin Cuma's sybil came. 
 
 * The Etrurian language perished between the age of A ugustus and that of Julian. 
 — Lkitch's Mailer on Ancient Art. 
 \ r<aith, the Egyptian goddesa. 
 
BOOK III. 119 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 The soil's first fathers, with elaborate hands, 
 Had closed the rocky portals of the place ; 
 
 No egress opens to unhappier lands : 
 As tree on tree so race succeeds to race, 
 
 From sleep the passions no temptations draw. 
 
 And strife bows childlike to the patriarch's law ; 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 Ambition wri^ not ; each soft lot was cast ; 
 
 Gold had no use ; with war expired renown ; 
 From priest to priest mysterious reverence past ; 
 
 From king to king the mild Saturnian crown : 
 Like dews, the rest came harmless into birth; 
 Like dews exhaling — after gladdening earth. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Not wholly dead indeed, the love of praise — 
 
 When can that warmth from heaven forsake the heart ? 
 
 The Hister's* lyre still thrill'd with Camsee's lays, 
 Still urn and statue caught the Arretian art. 
 
 And hands, least skill'd, found leisure still to cull 
 
 Some flowers, in offering to the Beautiful. 
 
 xc. 
 
 Hence, the whole vale one garden of delight 
 Hence every home a temple for the Grace ; 
 
 Who worships Nature finds in Arts the rite ; 
 And Beauty grows the Genius of the Place. 
 
 Enough this record of the happy land ; 
 
 Whom watch, whom wait ye for, lovely band ? 
 
 * HisTEK, the Etfuscan minstrel. — Camsee, Camese, or Cam(ese, the mytho- 
 logical sister of Janus (a national diety of the Etrurians) whose art of song is sup- 
 posed to identify her with the Caraoena or music of the latin poets — Akbetium 
 celebrated for the material of the Etruscan vases. 
 
120 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Listen awhile ! — The strength of that soft state, 
 The arch's kej^-stones, are the priest and king ; 
 
 To guard all power inviolate from debate. 
 To curb all impulse, or direct its wing, 
 
 In antique forms to mould from childhood all ; — 
 
 This guards more strongly than the Alpine wall. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 The regal chief might wed as choice inclined, 
 Not so the daughters sprung from his embrace, 
 
 Law, strong as caste, their nuptial rite confined 
 To the pure circle of the Lartian race j 
 
 Hence with more awe the kingly house was viewed, 
 
 Hence nipp'd ambition bore no rival feud. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 But now, as on some eldest oak, decay 
 
 In the proud topmost boughs is serely shown ; 
 
 While life yet shoots from every humbler spray — 
 So, of the royal tribe, one branch alone 
 
 Remains ; and all the honours of the race 
 
 Lend their last bloom to smile in Ogle's face.(®) 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 The great arch-priest (to whom the laAvs assign 
 The charge of this sweet blossom from the bud). 
 
 Consults the annals archived in the shrine. 
 
 And, twice before, Avhen fail'd the Lartian blood, 
 
 And no male heir ^vas found, the guiding page 
 
 Records the expedient of the elder age. 
 
BOOK III. 121 
 
 xcv. 
 Rather than yield to rival tribes the hope 
 
 That wakes aspiring thought and tempts to strife, 
 And (lowering awful reverence) rashly ope 
 
 The pales that mark the set degrees of life, 
 The priest (to whom the secret only known) 
 Unlock'd the artful portals of the stone ; 
 
 xcvi. 
 And watch'd and lured some wanderer, o'er the steep, 
 
 Into the vale, return for ever o'er ; 
 The gate, like Death's, reclosed upon the keep — 
 
 Earth left its ghost upon the Elysian shore. 
 And what more envied lot could earth provide — 
 The Hesperian gardens and the royal bride ? 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 A priestly tale the simple flock deceived : 
 
 The gods had care of their Tagetian child ! (^) 
 
 The nuptial garland for a god they weaved ; 
 A god himself U23on the maid had smiled ; 
 
 A god himself renewed the race divine. 
 
 And gave new monarchs to the Lartian line. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 Yet short, alas, the incense of delight 
 
 That lull'd the new-found Ammon of the Hour ; 
 
 Like love's own star, upon the verge of night. 
 Trembled the torch that lit the bridal bower ; 
 
 Soon as a son was born — his mission o'er — 
 
 The stranger vanish'd to his gods once more. 
 
122 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 Two temples closed the boundaries of the place, 
 One (vow'd to Tina) in its walls conceal'd 
 
 The granite-portals, by the former race 
 So deftly fashion'd, — not a chink reveal'd 
 
 Where (twice unbarr d in all the ages flown) 
 
 The stonj^ donjon mask'd the door of stone. 
 
 c. 
 The fane of Mantu* form'd the opposing bound 
 
 Of the long valley ; where the surplus wave 
 Of the main stream a gloomy outlet found, 
 
 Split on sharp rocks beneath a night of cave, 
 And there, in torrents, down some lost ravine 
 Where Alps took root — fell heard but never seen. 
 
 CI. 
 
 Right o'er this cave the Death-Power's temple rose ; 
 
 The cave's dark vault was curtain' by the shrine ; 
 Here by the priest (the sacred scrolls depose) 
 
 Was led the bridegroom when renewed the line ; 
 At night, that shrine his steps unprescient trod — 
 And morning came, and earth had lost her god ! 
 
 CII. 
 
 Nine days had now the Augur to the flock 
 
 Announced the coming of the heavenly spouse ; 
 
 Nine days his steps had wandered through the rock, 
 And his eye watched through unfamiliar boughs, 
 
 And not a foot-fall in those rugged ways ! 
 
 The lone Alps wearied on his lonely gaze — 
 
 * Mantu, or Mandu, the Etrurian God of the Shades. Fane is a purely Etrus- 
 can word. 
 
BOOK III. 123 
 
 cm. 
 
 But now this day (the tenth"''') the signal torch 
 Streams from the temple ; the mysterious swell 
 
 Of long-drawn music peals from aisle to porch : — 
 He leaves the bright hall where the j:Esarsf dwell. 
 
 He comes, o'er flowers and fountains to preside, 
 
 He comes, the god-spouse to the mortal bride — 
 
 CIV. 
 
 He comes, for whom ye watch'd, lovely band, 
 Scatter your flowers before his welcome feet ! 
 
 Lo, where the temple's holy gates expand. 
 
 Haste, ye nymphs, the bright'ning steps to meet ! 
 
 Why start ye back ? — What though the blaze of steel 
 
 The form of Mars, the expanding gates reveal — 
 
 cv. 
 
 The face, no helmet crowns with war, displays 
 Not that fierce god from whom Etruria fled ; 
 
 Cull from far softer legends while ye gaze, 
 
 Not there the aspect mortal maid should dread ! 
 
 Have ye no songs from kindred Castaly 
 
 Of that bright wanderer from the OlympianJ sky, 
 
 CVI, 
 
 When in Arcadian dells his silver lute 
 
 Hush'd in delight the nymph and breathless fawn ? 
 Or are your cold Etrurian minstrels mute 
 
 Of him whom Syria worshipp'd as the Dawn 
 And Greece as fair Adonis ? Hail, hail ! 
 Scatter your flowers, and welcome to the vale ! 
 
 * Ten was a sacred number of the Etrurians, so also was twelve, 
 •j- ^SARS, the name given culkdively to the deities. 
 
 Suet. Aug. 97. Diu. Cass, xxvi. p. 589. 
 ^ Apollo. 
 
124 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 evil. 
 
 Wondering the stranger moves ! That fairy land, 
 Those forms of dark yet lustrous loveliness, (^^) 
 
 That solemn seer, who leads him by the hand ; 
 The tongue unknown, the joy he cannot guess, 
 
 Blend in one marvel every sound and sight ; 
 
 And in the strangeness doubles the delight. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 Young ^gle sits within her palace bower, 
 
 She hears the cymbals clashing from afar — 
 
 So Ormuzd's music welcomed in the hour 
 When the sun hastened to his morning-star. 
 
 Smile, Star of Morn — he cometh from above ! 
 
 And twilight melteth round the steps of Love. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 Save the gray Augur (since the unconscious child 
 Sprang to the last kiss of her dying sire) 
 
 Those eyes by man's rude presence undefiled. 
 Had deepened into woman's. As a lyre 
 
 Hung on unwitnessed boughs, amidst the shade, 
 
 And but to air her soul its music made. 
 
 ex. 
 
 Fair was her prison, walled with woven flowers, 
 In a soft isle embraced by softest waters. 
 
 Linnet and lark the sentries to the towers. 
 And for the guard Etruria's infant daughters ; 
 
 But stronger far than walls, the antique law, 
 
 And more than hosts, religion's shadowy awe. 
 
BOOK III. 125 
 
 CXI. 
 
 Thus lone, thus reverenced, the young virgin grew 
 Into the age, when on the heart's calm wave 
 
 The light winds tremble, and emotions new 
 Steal to the peace departing childhood gave; 
 
 When for the vague Beyond the captive pines, 
 
 And the soul misses — what it scarce divines, 
 
 CXII. 
 
 Lo where she sits — (and blossoms arch the dome) 
 Girt by young handmaids ! — Near and nearer swelling 
 
 The cymbals sound before the steps that come 
 O'er rose and hayacinth to the bridal dwelling ; 
 
 And clear and loud the summer air along 
 
 From virgin voices floats the choral song. 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 Lo where the sacred talismans diffuse (") 
 
 Their fragrant charms against the Evil Powers ; 
 
 Lo where young hands the consecrated dews 
 
 From cusped vervain sprinkle round the flowers, 
 
 And o'er the robe(^^) with broidered palm-leaves sown. 
 
 That decks the daughter of the peaceful throne ! 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 Lo, on those locks of night the myrtle crown ! 
 
 Lo where the heart beats quick beneath the veil ; 
 Lo where the lids, cast tremulously down. 
 
 Cloud stars which Eros as his own might hail ; 
 Oh lovelier than Endymion's loveliest dream, 
 Joy to the heart on which those eyes shall beam ! 
 
126 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 The bark comes bounding to the islet shore, 
 The trelKced gates fly back ; the footsteps fall 
 
 Through jasmined galleries on the threshold floor; 
 And in the Heart-Enchainer's golden thrall, 
 
 There, spell-bound halt ; — So, first since youth began 
 
 Her eyes meet youth in the charm'd eyes of man ! 
 
 CXVT. 
 
 And there Art's two opposed Ideals rest ; 
 
 There the twin flowers of the old world bloom forth 
 The classic symbol of the gentle West, 
 
 And the bold type of the chivalric North. 
 What trial waits thee, Cymrian, sharper here 
 Than the wolfs death-fang or the Saxon's spear ? 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 But would ye learn how he we left afar. 
 Girt by the stormy people of the wild. 
 
 Came to the confines of the Hesperus Star, 
 And the soft gardens of the Etrurian child ? 
 
 Would ye yet lingering in the wondrous vale, 
 
 Learn what time spares if sorrow can assail? 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 What there, forgetful of the vanish'd dove, 
 (Lost at those portals) did the King befall ; 
 
 Pause till the hand has tuned the harp to love. 
 And notes that bring young listeners to the hall ; 
 
 And he whose sires in Cymri reign'd, shall sing 
 
 How Tusca's daughter loved the Cymrian King. 
 
NOTES TO BOOK III. 
 
 The Saxon Thane 
 
 Led three tall ships, and loosed them on the Dane." 
 
 Page 103, stanza xxv. 
 
 Harold is called both Earl and Thane ; in fact, though the 
 names imply different degrees of rank ; an Earl was a Thane 
 (thegn) though a Thane was not necessarily an Earl. The word 
 " Thane," appears applied by Saxon poets indiscriminately to 
 those possessed of superior dignity. Thus, Csedmon calls the 
 angels Thanes — 
 
 " The glory-fast Thegns 
 Praised the King.'' 
 
 Shauon Tuuner's Tran&lation from Csedmon, ^ng. 
 iSaxo?is, vol. i. p. 386; 
 
 and in the two MSS. of Layamon's Brut, (copies of which Sir 
 F. Madden has annexed to a translation that, for the first time, 
 makes the public acquainted with a poem that has much higher 
 claims to our admiration than mere antiquity,) knight and Thane 
 seem to have borne much the same general signification, knight 
 (or cniht) in the one being often Thegn in the other.* 
 
 * These thanes were also known as knights." (PAXcnAVE's Commonwealth, 
 part i. p. 578); this, however, refers to a later period than that of Arthur: originally 
 cniht meant a youth, and is used in that sense by Caedmon. See Sharon Turner's 
 Anglo-Sa.xons, vol. iii. p. 126. 
 
128 KINGARTHTJE. 
 
 2 "And pleased, beheld spur midway up the hill, 
 His knights and squires." 
 
 Page 106, stanza xxxviii. 
 
 It need scarcely be observed, that the title of knight,* as it is 
 now understood, is very incorrectly given to the followers of the 
 Heathen Harold (or, indeed, in an age so early, to the Christian 
 Arthur himself.) It may be remarked, however, that when 
 Harold speaks in his own person, he does not lay claim to the 
 title. Nor were heralds (so freely introduced in the poem) yet 
 known. They do not appear in England, under that name at 
 least, till the reign of Edward III. But those accustomed to 
 the delightful anachronisms of a similar kind, both in the ro- 
 mantic lays and the heroic poems of chivalry, will require no 
 apology for what, while most departing from the costume of 
 Arthur's historical day, does in truth adhere strictly to the man- 
 ners of the time in which Arthur took his poetical existence, and 
 was re-created by knightly minstrels as the type of knighthood. 
 
 I assume, throughout the poem, that Arthur understands the 
 language of the Saxons, and that any conversation between them 
 is carried on in that tongue. For the evidence that a dialect 
 closely allied to the Anglo-Saxon was spoken in Britain long 
 before the invasion of Hengist, see Palgrave's English Com- 
 monwealth (vol. i. c. i. p. 27), a work that combines English 
 discretion with German learning. I assume, also, that Arthur, 
 as sovereign over tributary kings in Gaul, and as intimately allied 
 with Teutonic and Scandinavian potentates, is acquainted with 
 the chief dialects of the north, and is thus enabled to communi- 
 cate with the idolatrous Aleman priest, and other Northern per- 
 sonages, whom the progress of the story may introduce. 
 
 * Even the word Earl, though not unknown to the earlier Anglo-Saxons, was 
 employed by them in a dilTerent sense from that which it afterwards borrowed from 
 the Danish jarl. At first, it meant merely a person of noble race, of Earl kind, — 
 but the Danes applied it originally to a leader ; it then became the name given to 
 the rulers of the provinces under the king, and at length wholly supplanted the old 
 English title of Alderman, as applied to such high dignitaries." See Palgrave's 
 History of England, p. 2G7, and Palgrave's Commonwealth, part I. c. iii. p. 118. 
 
 y 
 
NOTES TO BOOK III. 129 
 
 3 "And cried 'Alfader! but for the respect/'' &c. 
 
 Page 107, stanza xli. 
 
 Alfader — Universal Father — a name given by the Teuton 
 and Scandinavian nations to the supreme Deity, often applied 
 to Odin, (and indeed, in the Prose Edda, never applied to any 
 other god), but, according to some learned authorities, apper- 
 taining only, in strict mythological truth, to a more serene and 
 supreme chief in the Northern Pantheon. It should here be re- 
 membered that the Saxons (though not yet converted to Christi- 
 anity) are represented as having attained to a much greater de- 
 gree of civilization than the wandering Aleman tribe,* whose 
 priest Arthur saves from the wolf: and so (somewhat too flat- 
 teringly) their superstition is supposed to have lost much of its 
 elder and more sanguinary barbarism. 
 
 4 " The bird which Harold bore 
 
 As was the Saxon wont, whate'er his way." 
 
 Page 111, stanza Ivi. 
 
 The haw^k, or falcon, was also the usual companion of the 
 Cymrian chiefs. But there may be a peculiar reason for the 
 special favour it enjoyed with the Saxons. The hawk w^as 
 sacred to Odin, or, as the Saxons (fond of the w) wrote the 
 name, Woden, and almost inseparably borne by the high-born 
 warriors of the nation by whom Odin was worshipped, w^hether 
 Teutonic or Scandinavian. Those wdio have only glanced over 
 the picturesque passages of our Saxon history will remember 
 that the Bayeux tapestry represents Harold, the last Saxon king, 
 with his faithful falcon on his wrist. Hounds were also invari- 
 able attendants of the Saxon chiefs, and I may here remark that 
 the gre-hound of Wales and Saxon England could scarcely be 
 the present greyhound, who tracks his quarry by the eye, not 
 scent, since Ethelstan sent to North Walesf (famous for that de- 
 
 * The heathen priest and his wild troop are not represented as a fair specimert 
 in that day, of the great Aleman family, but as a primitive and barbarous offshoot 
 from the main stem. 
 
 f Malmsb. lib. ii p. 60. 
 
 9 
 
130 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 scription of dog) for such as had " s cent-tracking noses^'^'' to 
 find the deer in their coverts. Whatever the precise species of 
 the hunting dogs, so esteemed and promoted (which I have called 
 *^ blood-hounds or ban-dogs,")* they were capable of coping 
 with the wolf and the wild boar, which then abounded in Great 
 Britain. t The reader will notice that, though Harold unscrupu- 
 lously uses his dogs to find his foe, he does not employ them to 
 seize it — a delicate distinction which later Anglo-Saxons, in 
 their colonial settlements, have not always observed. 
 
 5 " AVlien Caesar arch'd with moving steel the Rhine." 
 
 Page 112, stanza Ix 
 
 See in Plutarch (vit. Cses.) and in Caesar's Commentaries (lib. 
 iv.) the description of this renowned passage. Cassar w^as the 
 first Roman who ever crossed the Rhine as an enemy. To do 
 so in vessels he deemed it not only unsafe, but unworthy of his 
 own and the Roman dignity. Ten days were consumed in the 
 construction of this bridge and the transport of his legions. 
 
 6 "A wise Etrurian Lar, forewarned ('t was said) 
 By his dark Ctere, from the danger fled." 
 
 Page 116, stanza Ixxv. 
 
 Csere, one of the twelve cities in the Etrurian league (though 
 not originally an Etrurian population), imparted to the Romans 
 their sacred mysteries : hence the word Casremonia. This holy 
 
 * Ban-dogs, more properly barid-dogs, (a race not very satisfactorily defined in 
 Johnson's Dictionary,) were hounds trained to bait the boar and the bull. Cam- 
 den (see Middlesex in his Britannia) says that "three of them could manage a 
 bear." The name is apparently derived from their being banded against their 
 quarry. In later times they were much used as watch-dogs. The Saxon name 
 for blood-hound was statth-hound. 
 
 t In the curious Anglo-Saxon Calendar, published by Strutt (Horda, 1. 24,) Sep- 
 tember is the month appropriated to " Hunting the Wild Boar," Edward the Con- 
 fessor gave a wood and a hyde of land, with the custody of Bernwood Forest, in 
 Bucks, to the huntsman, Nigel, (and his heirs) for having slain a wild boar which 
 had much infested the said forest of Bernwood. See Archa^ol. vol. iii. p. 15. Even 
 so late as the time of Fitstephen, wild boars abounded in the large forest " that lieth 
 very near London." 
 
NOTES TO BOOK III. 131 
 
 city was in close connexion with Delphi. An interesting account 
 of it, under its earlier name *' Agylla," will be found in Sir W. 
 Cell's *' Topography of Rome and its vicinity." The obscure 
 passage in Plutarch's Life of Sylla, which intimates that the 
 Etrurian soothsayers had a forewarning of the declining fates of 
 their country, is well known to scholars ; who have made more 
 of it than it deserves. 
 
 The word lar is here used in its most reserved sense — that of 
 " Lord." It occurs too frequently in monumental inscriptions 
 to designate any regal, or, perhaps, any lofty title ; but those an- 
 tiquaries who have proceeded to strip its -signification of any 
 rank at all (see Micali, v. ii. c. xxi. page 70, note), and consider 
 it merely a prenomen, argue on very insufficent grounds ; they 
 presume too much on the frequency of the word in inscriptions 
 — a good argument against its identification with princely rank, 
 none against its identification with noble. It would rarely hap- 
 pen that any not noble would have had mortuary inscriptions at 
 all. I may as well observe here that the adjective larian 
 would be derived from the lar, or household god ; the adjective 
 lartian, from the lars, or lord : But for the sake of euphony, 
 the word lar (as applied to a chief) has been used in this poem 
 instead of lars. 
 
 7 " His rod the Augur waves above the ground, 
 And cries ' In Tina's name I bless the soil !' " 
 
 Page 117, stanza Ixxxi. 
 
 Tina was the Jove of the Etrurians. The mode in which 
 this people (whose mysterious civilization so tasks our fancy 
 and so escapes from our researches) appropriated a colony is 
 briefly described in the text. The Augur made lines in the air 
 due north, south, east, and west, marked where the lines crossed 
 upon the earth ; then he and the chiefs associated with him sat 
 down, covered their heads, and waited some approving omen 
 from the gods. The Etrurian Augurs were celebrated for 
 their power over the electric fluid. The vulture was a popular 
 
132 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 bird of omen in the founding of colonies. See Niebuhr, 
 MuUer, &c. 
 
 8 " And all the honours of the race 
 
 Lend their last bloom to smile on ^]<2;lo\s face.'^ 
 
 Page 120, stanza xciii. 
 
 The Etrurinns paid more respect to women than most of the 
 classical nations, and admitted females to the throne. The 
 Augur (a purely Etruscan name and office) was the highest 
 power in the state. In the earlier Etruscan history the Augur 
 and the king were unquestionably united in one person. Lat- 
 terly, this does not appear to have been necessarily (nor perhaps 
 generally) the case. The King (whether we call him lar or 
 lucumo), as well as the Augur, was elected out of a certain 
 tribe, or clan; but in the strange colony described in the poem, 
 it is supposed that the rank has become hereditary in the 
 family of the chief who headed it, as would probably ha^e been 
 the case even in more common-place settlements in another 
 soil. Thus, the first Etrurian colonist, Tarchun, no doubt had 
 his successors in his own lineage. 
 
 I cannot assert that ^^gle is a purely Etruscan name ; it is one 
 common both with the Greeks and Latins. In Apollodorus 
 (ii. 5) it is given to one of the Hesperides, and in Virgil (Eclog. 
 vi. 1. 20) to the fairest of the Naiads, the daughter of the Sun ; 
 but it is not contrary to the conformation of the Etruscan lan- 
 guage, as, by the way, many of the most popular Latinized 
 Etruscan words are, such as Lucumo^ for Lauchme ; and even 
 Porsena, or, as Virgil (contrary to other authorities) spells and 
 pronounces it, Porse;?na (a name which has revivecl to fresh 
 fame in Mr. Macaulay's noble " Lays"") is a sad corruption ; 
 for, as both Niebuhr and Sir William Gell remark, the Etruscans 
 had no o in their language. Pliny informs us that they supplied 
 its place by the v. \ apprehend that an Etrurian would have 
 spelt Porsena Pwrsna.* 
 
 * Drydcn, with an accurate tlelicacy of erudition for which one might scarcely 
 give him credit, does not in his translation follow Virgil's quantity I'orscnna, but 
 makes the word short, Porsena. 
 
NOTES TO BOOK III. 133 
 
 9 " The gods had care of their Tagetian child." 
 
 Page 121, stanza xcvii. 
 
 Tages — the tutelary genius of the Etrurians. They had a 
 noble legend that Tages appeared to Tarchun, rising from a 
 furrow beneath his plough, with a man's head and a child's 
 body ; sung the laws destined to regulate the Etrurian colonist, 
 then sunk, and expired. In Ovid's Metamorphoses (xvi. 533) 
 Tages is said to have first taught the Etrurians to foresee the future. 
 
 10 " Those forms of dark yet lustrous loveliness." 
 
 Page 124, stanza cvii. 
 
 Whatever the original cradle of the mysterious Etrurians, 
 scholars, with one or two illustrious exceptions, are pretty well 
 agreed that it must have been somewhere in the East ; and the 
 more familiar we become with the remains of their art, the 
 stronger appears the evidence of their early and intimate con- 
 nexion with the ^Egyptians, though in themselves a race de- 
 cidedly not ^Egyptian. See Micali, Stor. (S.^^. Antich. Pop. 
 But in referring to this delightful and learned writer, to whom 
 I am under many obligations, in this part of my poem, 1 must 
 own, with such frankness as respect for so great an authority 
 will permit, that I think many of his assumptions are to be 
 taken with great qualification and reserve. 
 
 11 "Lo ! where the sacred talismans diffuse 
 
 Their fragrant charms against the Evil Powers. 
 Lo ! where vouno- hands the consecrated dews 
 From cusped vervain sprinkle round the flowers." 
 
 Page 125, stanza cxiii. 
 
 The Etrurians had talismans against the evil eye, wiiich were 
 impregnated with spices. The vervain was as holy with the 
 Etrurians as with our Druid ancestors. A crown of vervain 
 was, on solemn occasions, worn by the Augur. 
 
 12 "And o'er the robe with broidered palm-leaves sown." 
 
 Page 125, stanza cxiii. 
 
 The purple gown, or toga, broidered with palm-leaves and 
 stars, is supposed to have been the distinguishing robe of the 
 princely families. It was semicircular, as Micali observes in a 
 note, vol. i. 97. 
 
KINa ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Invocation to Love ; Arthur, iEgle, and the Augur ; Dialogue between the 
 Cymrian and the Etrurian ; Meanwhile Lancelot gains the sea-shore, 
 where he meets with the Aleman-priest and his sons, and hears tidings 
 of Arthur ; He tells them the tale of his own infancy ; Crosses the sea ; 
 Lands on the coast of Brcttanuie ; And is guided by the crystal ring 
 in quest of Arthur towards the Alps ; He finds the King's charger, 
 which Arthur had left without the vaulted passage into the Hap}>y Val- 
 ley ; But the rock-gate being closed, he cannot discover the King, and, 
 winding by the foot of the Alps round the valley, gains a lake and a con- 
 vent; The story now returns to Arthur and iEgle ; Descriptive stanzas ; A 
 raven brings Arthur news from Merlin ; The King resolves to quit the 
 valley ; He seeks and finds the Augur ; Dialogue ; Parting scene with 
 ^gle ; Arthur follows the Augur towards the fane of the funereal gud. 
 
BOOK IV. 
 
 I. 
 
 Hail, thou, the ever young, albeit of Night 
 
 And of primeval Chaos eldest born ; 
 Thou, at whose birth broke forth the Founts of Light, 
 
 And o'er Creation flush'd the earliest Morn ! 
 Life, in thy life, suffused the conscious whole ; 
 And formless matter took the harmonious soul. 
 
 11. 
 
 Hail, Love ! the Death-defyer ! age to age 
 
 Linking, with flowers, in the still heart of man ! 
 
 Dream to the bard, and marvel to the sage, 
 Glor}^ and mystery since the world began. 
 
 Shadowing the cradle, bright'ning at the tomb, 
 
 Soft as our joys, and solemn as our doom ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Ghostlike amidst the unfamiliar Past, 
 
 Dim shadows flit along the streams of Time ; 
 
 Vainly our learning trifles with the vast 
 
 Unknown of ages ! — Like the wizard's rhyme 
 
 We call the dead, and from the Tartarus 
 
 'Tis but the dead that rise to answer us ! 
 
138 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A^oiceless and Avan, we question them in vain ; 
 
 They leave unsolved earth's mighty yesterday. 
 But wave thy wand — they bloom, they breathe again ! 
 
 The link is found ! — as we love, so loved they ! 
 Warm to our clasp our human brothers start, 
 Man smiles on man, and heart speaks out to heart. 
 
 V. * . ^ 
 
 Arch Power, of every power most dread, most sweet, 
 
 Ope at thy touch the far celestial gates ; 
 Yet terror flies with Joy before thy feet, 
 
 And, with the Graces, glide unseen the Fates. 
 Eos and Hesperus ; one, with twofold light, 
 Bringer of day, and herald of the night. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But, lo ! again, where rise upon the gaze 
 The Tuscan Virgin in the Alpine bower, 
 
 The steel-clad wanderer, in his rapt amaze, 
 Led thro' the fiowrets to that living flower : 
 
 Eye meeting eye, as in that blest survey 
 
 Two hearts, unspeaking, breathe themselves away ! 
 
 vn. 
 Behind the King the dark-robed Augur stood, 
 
 And watch'd the meeting with his calm, cold eye ; 
 As calm, as cokl, as human passions view'd 
 
 From the still Dis by iron Destiny. 
 And setting sunbeams, thro' the blossoms stealing. 
 Lit circled Childhood round the Virgin kneeling. 
 
BOOK ly. 139 
 
 Viii. 
 
 Slow from charm'd wonder woke at last the King, 
 And the frank mien regain'd the princely grace. 
 
 Gently he pass'd amidst the kneeling ring, 
 Knelt with the infants to that downcast face ; 
 
 And on the hand that thrill'd in his to be, 
 
 Press'd the pure kiss of courteous chivalry. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And in his bold, rough-music'd mountain tongue. 
 Spoke the knight's homage and the man's delight. 
 
 Is there one common language to the 3'oung 
 
 That, with each word more troubled and more bright, 
 
 Stirred the quick blush — as when the south wind heaves 
 
 Into sweet storm the hush of rosy leaves ? — 
 
 X. 
 
 But now the listening Augur to the side 
 Of Arthur moves ; and sighing silently, 
 
 The handmaid children from the chamber glide, 
 And ^gle followeth slow, with drooping eye. — 
 
 Then on the King the soothsayer gazed and spoke, 
 
 And Arthur started as the accents broke. 
 
 XI. 
 
 For those dim sounds his mother-tongue express 
 
 But in some dialect of remotest age ; 
 Like that in which the far Saronides* 
 
 Exchanged dark riddles with the Samian sage.(^) 
 Ghostlike the sounds ; a founder of his race 
 Seem'd in that voice the haunter of the place. 
 
 * Saronides — the Druids of Gaul : " The Samian Sage" — PrxHAGORAS, The 
 
140 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Guest/' said the priest, with labour'd words and slow, 
 " If, as thy language, tho' corrupt, betrays. 
 
 Thou art of those great tribes our records show 
 As the crown'd wanderers of untrodden ways, 
 
 Whose eldest god, from pole to pole enshrined, 
 
 Gives Greece her Kronos and her Boudu to Ind ; 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Who, from their Syrian parent-stem, spread forth 
 Their giant roots to everj^ farthest shore, 
 
 Sires of young nations in the stormy North, 
 
 And slumberous East ; but most renown'd of yore 
 
 In purple Tyre ; — if, of Phcenician race, 
 
 In truth thou art, — thrice welcome to the place ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Know us as sons of that old friendly soil 
 
 Whose ports, perchance, yet glitter with the prows 
 
 Of Punic ships, when resting from their toil 
 In Luna's* gulf, the sunbeat crews carouse. 
 
 Unless in sooth (and here he sigh'd) the day 
 
 Caere foretold hath come to Rasena !"-j- 
 
 Augur is here supposed to speak Phoenician as the parent language of Arthur's 
 native Celtic. See Note 1. 
 
 • Luna, a trading town on the gulf of Spezia, said to have heen founded by the 
 Etrurian Tarchun. See Sfruho, lib, v. Cat. Orig. xxv. In a fragment of Ennius, 
 Luna is mentioned. In Lucan's time it was deserted, " desertaj mocnia Luna;." — 
 Luc. i. 586. 
 
 I Rasexa was the name which the Etrurians gave to themselves. — Tiviss*s 
 Niebuhr, vol. i. c. vii. Muller die Eirusker: Uion. i. 30. 
 
BOOK IV. 141 
 
 XV. 
 
 -^ Grave sir," quoth Arthur, piteously perplext, 
 " Or much — forgive me, hath my hearing err'd, 
 
 Or of that People quoted in thy text, 
 
 (Perish'd long since) — but dimly have I heard : 
 
 Phoenicians ! True, that name is found within 
 
 Our scrolls ; — they came to Ynys-wen* for tin ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " As for my race, our later bards declare" 
 
 It springs from Brut, the famous Knight of Tro}^ ; 
 
 But if Sir Hector spoke in Welch, I ne'er 
 
 Could clearly learn — meanwhile, I hear with joy. 
 
 My native language (pardon the remark) 
 
 Much as Noah spoke it when he left the ark. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " More would my pleasure be increased to know 
 That that fair lady has your own precision 
 
 In the dear music which so long ago, [cian." 
 
 We taught — observe, not learnd from — the Phoeni- 
 
 " Speak as yovi ought to speak the maiden can ; 
 
 guttural-grumbling and disvow^ell'd man."(^) 
 
 • Ynys-wen — England, " the White Island." 
 
 f Sir F. Palgrave bids us remark that Taliessiv, who was a contemporary of 
 Arthur, or nearly so, addresses his countrymen as "the remnant of Troy." — Pul- 
 grave^s Commonwen/lh, vol. i. c. x. p. 323. The Britons no doubt received that 
 legend with many others, to which Welch scholars have too fondly assigned a more 
 remote antiquity, from the Romans. 
 
142 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Replied the priest " But, ere I yet disclose 
 The bliss that Northia* singles for your lot, 
 
 Fain would I learn what change the gods impose 
 On the old races and the sceptres ? — what 
 
 The latest news from Rasena ?" — " With shame 
 
 I own, grave sir, I never heard that name !' " 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The Augur stood aghast ! — " 0, ruthless Fates ! 
 
 Who then rules Italy ?"— " The Ostrogoth." 
 " The Os — the what ?" — " Except the Papal states ; 
 
 Unless the Goth, indeed, has ravished both 
 The Caesar's throne and the Apostle's chair — 
 Spite of the knight of Thrace, — Sir Belisair."*j* 
 
 XX. 
 
 " What else the warrior nations of the earth ?" 
 
 Groan'd the stunn'd Augur. — "Reverend sir, the Huns, 
 
 Franks, Vandals, Lombards — all have warlike worth ; 
 Nor least, I trust, old Cymri's Druid sons !" 
 
 " 0, Northia, Northia ! and the East ?" — " In peace. 
 
 Under the Christian Emperor of Greece ; 
 
 * Northia, the Etrurian Deity, which corresponds with the Fortune of the 
 Koraans, but probably with something more of the sterner attributes which the 
 Greek and the Scandinavian gave to the Fates. I cannot but observe here on the 
 similarity in sound and signification between the Etrurian Northia and the Scan- 
 dinavian Noma. Noma with the last is the general term applied to Fate, The 
 Etrurian name for the deities collectively — ^sars, is not dissimilar to that given 
 collectively to their deities by the Scandinavians — viz., ^sir, or Asas. 
 
 •j- liclisarius, whose fame was just then rising under Justinian. The Ostrogoth, 
 Theodoric, was on the throne of Italy. 
 
BOOK IV. 143 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Whose arms of late have scourged the Payniin race. 
 And worsted Satan !" — " Satan, who is he ?" 
 
 Greatly the knight was shock' d, in that fair place, 
 To find such ignorance of the powers that be : 
 
 So then, from Eve and Serpent he began ; 
 
 And sketch'd the history of the Foe of Man. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " Ah," said the Augur — " here, I comprehend, 
 ^gypt, and Typhon, and the serpent creed !(^) 
 
 So, o'er the East the gods of Greece extend, 
 And Isis totters ?" — " Truly, and indeed," 
 
 Sighed Arthur, scandalized — " I see, with pain. 
 
 You have much to learn my monks could best explain — 
 
 XXIIT. 
 
 " Nathless for this, and all you seek to know 
 Which I, no clerk, though Christian, can relate, 
 
 Occasion meet my sojourn may bestow ; — 
 
 Now, wherefore, pray you, through yon granite gate 
 
 Have you, with signs of some distress endured, 
 
 And succour sought, my wandering steps allured ?" 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Pardon, but first, soul-startling stranger," said 
 The slow-recovering Augur — " say if fair 
 
 The regions seem to whicli those steps were led ? 
 And next, the maid to whom you knelt compare 
 
 With those you leave. Are hers, in sober truth, 
 
 The charms that fiK the rovino^ heart of vouth ?" 
 
144 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Lovelier than all on earth mine eyes have seen 
 Smiles the gay marvel of this gentle realm ; 
 
 Of all earth's beauty that fair maid the queen ; 
 And, might I place her glove upon my helm, 
 
 I would proclaim that truth with lance and shield, 
 
 In tilt and tourney, sole against a field !" 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 *^ Since that be so (though what such custom means 
 I rather guess than fully comprehend) 
 
 Answer again ; — if right my reason gleans 
 From dismal harvests, and discerns the end 
 
 To which the Beautiful and Wise have come, 
 
 Hard are the fates beyond our Alpine home : 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 '' What makes, without, the chief pursuit of life ?" 
 " War," said the Cj^mrian, with a mournful sigh : 
 
 *^ The fierce provoke, the free resist the strife, 
 The daring perish and the dastard fly ; 
 
 Amidst a storm we snatch our troubled breath, 
 
 And life is one grim battle-field of death." 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 ^' Then here, stranger, find at last repose ! 
 
 Here, never smites the thunder-blast of war ; 
 Here all unknown the very name of foes ; 
 
 Here, but with yielding earth men's contests are ; 
 Our trophies — flower and oUve, corn and wine : — 
 Accept a sceptre, be this kingdom thine ! 
 
BOOK ly. 145 
 
 '^ Oar queeiij tlie virgin who liath cliarni'd thine eyes — 
 Our laws her spouse, in whom the gods shall send, 
 
 Decree ; the gods have sent thee ; — what the skies 
 Allot, receive : — Here, shall thy wanderings end, 
 
 Here thy woes cease, and life's voluptuous day 
 
 Glide, like yon river through our flowers, away." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Kind sir," said Arthur gratefully — ^^ such lot 
 Indeed were fair beyond what dreams display ; 
 
 But earth has duties which — " — " Relate them not 1" 
 Exclaim'd the Augur — " or at least delay, 
 
 Till better known the kingdom and the bride. 
 
 Then youth, and sense, and nature, shall decide." 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 With that, the Augur, much too wise as yet 
 To hint compulsion, and secure from flight, 
 
 Arose, resolved each scruple to beset 
 
 With all which melteth duty in delight — 
 
 Here, for awhile, we leave the tempted King, 
 
 And turn to him who owns the crystal ring. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Oh, the old time's divine and fresh romance ! 
 When o'er the lone yet ever-haunted ways 
 Went frank-eyed Knighthood with the lifted lance. 
 
 And life with wonder charm'd adventurous days ; 
 When light more rich, through prisms that dimm'd it 
 
 shone ; 
 And Nature loom'd more large through the Unknown. 
 
 10 
 
146 KING ARTnUR. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Nature, not then the slave of formal law ! 
 
 Her each free sport a miracle might be ; 
 Enchantment clothed the forest with sweet awe ; 
 
 Astolfo'*' spoke from out the Bleeding Tree ; 
 The Fairy wreath'd his dance in moonlit air ; 
 On golden sands the Mermaid sleek'd her hair — 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Then soul learn'd more than barren sense can teach 
 (Soul with the sense now evermore at strife) 
 
 Wherever fancy wandered man could reach — 
 And what is now called poetry was life. 
 
 If the old Ijeauty from the world is fled, 
 
 Is it that Truth or that Belief is dead ? 
 
 XXXV. _ 
 
 Not following, step by step, the devious King, 
 But whither best his later steps are gained, 
 
 Moved the sure index of the fairy ring. 
 
 And since, at least, a moon hath wax'd and weaned 
 
 What time the pilgrim left the father-land — 
 
 So towards his fresher footsteps veered the hand. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 And now where pure Sabrina'}* on her breast 
 Hushes sweet Isca, and, like some fair nun 
 
 That yearns, earth-wearied for the golden rest. 
 Unfolds her spotless bosom to the sun ; 
 
 Ever and ever glad'ning gloriously, 
 
 Till her last wave melts noiseless in the sea : 
 
 * Ariosto, canto vi. 
 
 I Sahuina, the Severn ; whose legendary tale Milton has so exquisitely told in 
 the Comus. — Isca, the Usk. 
 
BOOK IT. 147 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Across that ford pass'd sprightly Lancelot, 
 
 Then, towards those lovely lands which yet retain 
 
 The Cymrian freedom, rode, and rested not 
 
 Till, rough on Devon,* broke the broaden'd main. 
 
 Through rocks abrupt the strong waves force their way, 
 
 Here cleave the land — there^ hew the indented bay. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Paused the good knight. Kude huts lay far and wide ; 
 
 The dipping sea-gulls wheel'd with startled shriek ; 
 Drawn on the sand lay coracles of hide,f 
 
 And all was desolate ; when towards the creek^ 
 Near which he halts, comes loud the splashing oar ; 
 A boat shoots in ; the seamen leap to shore. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Three were their number, — two in youthful prime. 
 One of mid years ; — tall, huge of limb the three ; 
 
 Scarce clad, with weapons of a northward clime ; 
 Clubs, spears, and shields — the uncouth armoury 
 
 Of man, while yet the wild beast is his foe. 
 
 Yet something still the lords of earth may show. 
 
 * The shore which Lancelot reaches (long after his time occupied but by a few 
 straggling fishermen) appears to be that which now, in ihe harbour of Plymouth, 
 receives the merchandize of the world. 
 
 f The ancient British boats, covered with corii or hyd«s — " The ancient 
 Britons," as Mr. Pennant observes, " had them of large size, and even made short 
 voyages in them, according to the accounts we receive from Lucan." — Fennanf, 
 vol. i. p. 303. 
 
148 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XL. 
 
 The pride of eye, the majesty of mien, 
 The front erect that looks upon the star ; 
 
 While round each neck the twisted chains are seen 
 Of Teuton chiefs ; — (and signs of chiefs they are 
 
 In Cymrian lands — where still the torque* of gold 
 
 Or decks the higliborn or rewards the bold.) 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Stern Lancelot frown'd; for in those sturdy forms 
 The Briton's eye the Saxon foeman fear'd. 
 
 " Why come ye hither ? — nor compelled by storms, 
 Nor proffering barter ?" As he spoke they near'd 
 
 The noble knight ; — and thus the elder said, 
 
 '^ Nought save his heart the Aleman hath led ! 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " Ere more I answer, say if this the shore 
 
 And thou the friend of him who owns the dove ? 
 
 Arthur the King, — who taught us to adore 
 
 By the m n's deeds the God whose creed is love? 
 
 Then Lancelot answered, with a moistening eye, 
 
 '' Arthur's true knight and lealest friend am I." 
 
 XLITI. 
 
 With that, he leapt from selle to clasp his hand 
 Who spoke thus gently of the absent one ; 
 
 And now behold them seated on the sand, 
 Frank faces smiling in the cordial sun ; 
 
 The absent, there, seemed present; to unite 
 
 In loving bonds, his converts and his knight. 
 
 * The twisted chain, or oollar, denotecl the chiefs of all the olil tribes, known ns 
 Hauls to the Roman!'. It is by this badge that the critics in art have riglitly de- 
 cided that the statue called "The Dying Gladiator'' is in truth nieant to iierponiiy 
 
BOOK IV. 149 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Then told the Aleman the tale by sono^ 
 
 Already told — and we resume its flow 
 Where the mild hero charm'd the stormy throng 
 
 And twined the arm that sheltered round his foe : 
 Not meanly conquered but sublimely won — 
 Stern Harold veil'd his plume to Uther's son. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 The Saxon troop resought the Vandal king, 
 And Arthur sojourn'd with the savage race : 
 
 More easy such rude proselytes to bring 
 
 To Christian truth, than in the wondrous place 
 
 Where now he rests, — proud wisdom he shall find ! 
 
 Clearliest dawns heaven upon the simplest mind. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 But when his cause of wrong the Cymrian showed ; 
 
 The heathen foe — the carnage-crimson'd fields ; 
 With one fierce impulse those fierce converts giow'd, 
 
 And their wild war-howl chimed with clashing shields; 
 But by the past's dark history Arthur taught, 
 Refused the aid which Yortigern had sought. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Yet to the chief (for there at least no fear) 
 And his two sons, a slow consent he gave : 
 
 Show'd by the prince the stars hj which to steer. 
 They hew'd a pine and launched it on the wave ; 
 
 Bringing rough forms but dauntless hearts to swell 
 
 The force that guards the fates of Carduel. 
 
 a wounded Gaul. The collar, or torque, was long retained by the chiefs of Britain 
 — and allusions to it are frequent in the songs of the Welch 
 
150 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 The story heard, the son of royal Ban* 
 
 Questions the paths to which the King was led. 
 
 " Know/' answered Faul (so hight the Aleman,) 
 " That, in our father's days, our warriors spread 
 
 O'er lands wherein eternal summer dwells, 
 
 Beyond the snow-storm's siegeless pinnacles ; 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 " And on the borders of those lands, 't is told, 
 There lies a lake, some dead great city's grave, 
 
 Where, when the moon is at her full, behold 
 Pillar and palace shines up from the wave 1 
 
 And o'er the water glideth, still and dark, 
 
 .v! 
 
 Seen btit by seers, a spectre and a barl 
 
 " It chanced, as round our fires w^e sate at night. 
 And saga-runes to wile our watch were sung, 
 
 That with the legends of our father's might 
 
 And wandering labours, this old tale was strttng. 
 
 Then the roused King much question'd ; — what we knew 
 
 We told, still question from each answ^er grew. 
 
 * Aconrdins: to the French romance writers, Lancelot was the son of King Ban 
 of Bcnoic, a tributary to the Cyrnrian crown. The Welch claim him, however, as a 
 national hero, in spile of his name, which they inter{)ret as a translation from one 
 of their own — Paladr tldclt, splinten^d spear, (Lady C CJuest's Mabinogion, vol. 
 i. p 91.) The favourite device, by the way, of [?ichard Corur de Lion was a mailed 
 hand, holding a splintered lance, with the noble motto. " labor viris convenit," la- 
 hour becomes men. In a subse(|uent page, Lancelot tells the tale (pretty nearly as 
 it i.s ti)Id in the French romance) which obtained him the title of "Lancelot of 
 the Lake." See uotc in Ellis's edition of W ay's Fabliau.v, vol ii. p. 2oG. 
 
BOOK ly. 151 
 
 LI. 
 
 a 
 
 That night he slept not — with the morn was gone ; 
 
 And the dove led him where the snow-storms sleep." 
 Then Lancelot rose, and led his destrier on, 
 
 And gained the boat, and motioned to the deep, 
 His purpose well the Alem^en divine, 
 And launch once m.ore the bark upon the brine. 
 
 LII. 
 
 And ask to aid — " Know, friends," replied the knight, 
 " Each wave that roUeth smooths its frown for me ; 
 
 My sire and mother, by the lawless might 
 Of a fierce foe expell'd, and forced to flee 
 
 From the fair halls of Benoic, paused to take 
 
 Breath for new woes, beside a Fairy's lake. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 " With them was I, their new-born helpless heir, — 
 The hunted exiles gazed afar on home, 
 
 And saw the giant fires that dyed the air [dome. 
 
 Like blood, spring wreathing round the crushing 
 
 They clung, they gazed — no word by either spoken ; 
 
 And in that hush the sterner heart was broken. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 " The woman felt the cold hand fail her own ; 
 
 The head that lean'd fell heavy on the sod ; 
 She knelt — she kiss'd the lips, — the breath was flown ! 
 
 She call'd upon a soul that was with God : 
 For the first time the wife's sweet power was o'er — 
 She who had soothed till th<3n could soothe no more ! 
 
152 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LV. 
 
 " In the wife's woe, the mother was forgot. 
 
 At hist — (for I was all earth held of him 
 Who had been all to her, and now was not) — 
 
 She rose, and look'd, with tearless eyes, but dim, 
 In the babe's face the father still to see ; 
 And lo ! the babe was on another's knee ! — 
 
 LVI. 
 
 " Another's lip had kissed it into sleep. 
 
 And o'er the slee23 another, watchful, smiled ; — 
 
 The Fairy sate beside the lake's still deep. 
 
 And hush'd with chaunted charms the orphan child ! 
 
 Scared at the cry the startled mother gave, 
 
 It sprang, and snow-like, melted in the wave. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 " There, in calm halls of lucent crystalline. 
 Fed by the dews that fell from golden stars. 
 
 But through the lymph I saw the sunbeams shine. 
 Nor dreamed a world beyond the glistening spars ; 
 
 And my nurse blessed me with the charm that saves 
 
 On stream, on sea — no matter where the waves. 
 
 N 
 
 LVIIT. 
 
 " In my fifth year, to Uther's royal towers 
 The fairy bore me, and her charge resign'd. 
 
 My mother took the veil of Christ — the Hours 
 With Arthur's life the orphan's life entwined. 
 
 O'er mine own element my course I take — 
 
 All oceans smile on Lancelot of the Lake !" 
 
BOOK lY. 153 
 
 LIX. 
 
 He said, and waived his hand : around the boat 
 The curlews hovered, as it shot to sea. 
 
 The wild men, lingering, watch'd the lessening float, 
 Till in the far expanse lost desolately, 
 
 Then slowly towards the hut they bent their way, 
 
 And the lone waves moaned up the lifeless bay. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Pass we the voyage. Hunger-worn, to shore 
 
 Gain'd man and steed; there food and rest they found 
 
 In humble roofs. The course, resumed once more, 
 Stretch'd inland o'er not unfamiliar ground ; 
 
 Pleased, as he rides by tower and town, to see 
 
 Cymri's old oak rebloom in Brettanie. . 
 
 LXT. 
 
 Nathless, no pause, save such as needful rest 
 demands, delays him in the friendly land. 
 
 No tidings here of Arthur gain'd, his breast 
 
 Springs to the goal of the quick-moving hand, 
 
 Howbeit not barren of adventurous days, 
 
 Sweet Danger found him in the devious ways. 
 
 Lxir. 
 
 What foes encountered or what damsels freed — 
 What demon spells in lonely forests braving, 
 
 Leave we to songs yet vocal to the reed 
 On every bank, beloved by poets, waving; 
 
 Our task reluctant from the muse of old, 
 
 Takes but the tale by nobler bards untold. 
 
154 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Now as he journeys, frequent more and more 
 Tiie traces of the steps he tracks are found ; 
 
 Fame, Hke a hght, shines broadening on before 
 His path, and cleaves the shadows on the ground ; 
 
 High deeds and gentle, bruited near and far, 
 
 Show where that soul went flashing as a star. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 At length he gains the Ausonian Alpine walls ; 
 
 Here, castle, convent, town, and hamlet fade ; 
 Lone, through the rolling mists, the hoof-tread falls ; 
 
 Lone, earth's mute giants loom amidst the shade ; 
 Yet still, as sure of hope, he tracks the king. 
 Up steep, through gorge, v/here guides the crystal ring. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 One day — along by daedal chasms his course — 
 
 He saw before him indistinctly pass 
 Through the dun fogs, what seemed a phantom hor;'e, 
 
 Like that which oft, amidst the dank morass, 
 Bestrid by goblin-meteor, starts the eye — 
 So fleshles>s flitting — wan and shadowy. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 By a bare rock it paused, and feebly neigh'd. 
 As the good knight descending, seized the rein ; 
 
 Dew-rusted mail the shrunken front array'd ; 
 The rich selle rotted with the moulder stain ; 
 
 And on the selle were slung helm, axe, and mace ; 
 
 And the great lance lay careless near the place. 
 
BOOK ly. 155 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Then first tlie seeker's stricken spirit fell ; 
 
 Too well that helmet, with its dragon crest, 
 Speaks of the mighty owner ; and too well 
 
 That steed, so oft by snowy hands carest, 
 When bright-eyed Beauty from the balcon Ijent 
 To crown the victor-lord of tournament. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Near and afar he searched — he call'd in vain, [seen ; 
 
 By crag and combe* nought answering, and nought 
 Return'd, the charger long refused the rein, 
 
 Clinging, poor slave, where last its lord had been. 
 At length the slow reluctant hoofs obey'd 
 The soothing words ; so went they through the shade : 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Following the gorge that wound the Alpine wall, 
 Like the huge fosse of some Cyclopean town, 
 
 (While roaring round, invisible cataracts fall) ; 
 On the black rocks twilight comes ghostly down, 
 
 And deep and deeper still the windings go, 
 
 And dark and darker as to worlds below. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Night halts the course, resumed at earliest day, 
 Through day pursued, till the last sunbeams fell 
 
 On a broad mere whose margin closed the way. 
 Hark ! o'er the waters swung the holy bell 
 
 From a gray convent on the rising ground. 
 
 Amidst the subject hamlet stretch'd around. 
 
 * Combe an old Saxon word, from the British cwm — a valo, hullow, passage 
 between lv\o rocks. 
 
156 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Here while both man and steeds the welcome rest 
 Under the sacred roof of Christ receive, 
 
 We turn once more to yEgle and her guest. 
 Lo ! the sweet valley and the flush of eve ! 
 
 Lo ! side by side, where through the rose-arcade, 
 
 Steals the love star, the hero and the maid ! 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Silent tliej^ gaze into each other's eyes. 
 Stirring the inmost soul's unquiet sleep ; 
 
 So pierce soft star-beams, blending wave and skies, 
 Some holy fountain tremljling to its deep ! 
 
 Bright to each eye each human heart is bare. 
 
 And scarce a thought to start an angel there ! 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Love to the soul, whate'er the harsh may say. 
 Is as the hallowing Naiad to the well — 
 
 The linking life between the forms of clay 
 And those ambrosia nurtures ; from its spell 
 
 Fly earth's rank fogs, and Thought's ennobled flow 
 
 Shines with the shape that glides in light below. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Taste while ye may, Beautiful ! the brief 
 Fruit, life but once wins from the Beautiful ; 
 
 Ripe to the sun it l)lushes from the leaf. 
 Hear not the blast that rises while ye cull ; 
 
 Brief though it be, how few in after hours 
 
 Can say, " at least the Beautiful was ours !" 
 
BOOK IV. 157 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Two loves (and both divine and pure) there are ; 
 
 One by the roof-tree takes its root for ever, 
 Nor tempests rend, nor changeful seasons mar — 
 
 It clings the stronger for the storm's endeavour ; 
 Beneath its shade the wayworn find their rest, 
 And in its boughs the calm bird builds its nest. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 But one more frail, (in that more prized, perchance,) 
 Bends its rich blossoms over lonely streams 
 
 In the untrodden ways of wild Eomance, 
 
 On earth's far confines, like the Tree of Dreams,* 
 
 Few find the path ; — bliss ! woe to find ! 
 
 What bliss the blossom ! — ah ! what woe the wind ! 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Oh the short spring ! — the eternal winter ! — All 
 Branch, — stem all shattered ; fragile as the bloom ! 
 
 Yet this the love that charms us to recall ; 
 Life's golden holiday before the tomb ; 
 
 Yea ! tliis the love which age again lives o'er. 
 
 And hears the heart beat loud with youth once more ! 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Before them, at the distance o'er the blue 
 Of the SAveet waves which girt the rosy isle. 
 
 Flitted light shapes the inw^oven alleys thro' : 
 Kemotely mellowed, musical the while, 
 
 Floated the hum of voices, and the sweet 
 
 Lutes chimed with timbrels to dim-glancing feet. 
 
 * "In medio ramos,'' &c. — Virgil, 1. vi. 282. 
 '•An elm displays her dusky arms abroad, 
 And empty dreams on every leaf are spread." — Dryden. 
 
158 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 The calm swan rested on the breathless glass 
 Of dreamy waters, and the snow-white steer 
 
 Near the opposing margin, motionless, 
 
 Stood, knee-deep, gazing wistful on its clear 
 
 And life-like shadow, shimmering deep and far, 
 
 Where on the lucid darkness fell the star. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Near them, upon its lichen-tinted base. 
 Gleamed one of those fair fancied imai>:es 
 
 Which art hath lost — no god of Id an race. 
 
 But the Aving'd symbol which, by Caspian seas, 
 
 Or Susa's groves, its parable addrest 
 
 To the w^ild faith of Iran's Zendavest.* 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Light as the soul, whose archetype it was, 
 The Genius touch'd yet spurn'd the pedestal ; 
 
 Behind, the foliage, in its purple mass. 
 Shut out the flush'd horizon -, clasping all, 
 
 Nature's hush'd giants stood to guard and girth 
 
 The only home of peace upon the earth. 
 
 * Zexiiavkst. Compare the winjeJ genius of the Etrurians with the Fcroher 
 of the Persians, in the sculptured reUefs of PersepoHs. (See Heeren's Historical 
 Researches, Art. Persians.) Micah, vol. ii. p. 174, points out some points of simi- 
 larity between the Persian and Etrurian cosmogony. It may be here observed, by 
 the way, that it was peculiar to the Ktrurians, amongst the classic nations of FjU- 
 rope, to delineate their deities with wings. Even when they borrowed some Hel- 
 lenic god, they still invested him with this attribute, so especially Eastern. Not 
 less worth noting by students is tlie resemblance, in many points, between the Scan- 
 dinavian and Persian mythology. 
 
BOOK IT. 159 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 And, when, at last, from Ogle's lips, the voice 
 Came solt as murmur'd hymns at closing day, 
 
 The sweet sound seem'd the sweet air to rejoice — 
 To give the sole charm wanting, — to convey 
 
 The crowning music to the Musical ; 
 
 As with the soul of love infusing all ! 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 And to the Northman's ear that antique tongue. 
 Which from the Augur's lips fell weird and cold, 
 
 Seem'd as the thread in fairy tales,* which strung 
 Enchanted pearls, won from the caves of old, 
 
 And woven round a sunbeam ; — so was wrought 
 
 O'er cordial love the pure and delicate thought. . 
 
 LXXXTV. 
 
 She spoke of youth's lost years, so lone before, 
 
 And coming to the present, paused and blushed ; 
 As if Time's wing were spell-bound evermore, 
 • And Life, the restless, in the hour were hushed : 
 The pause, the blush, said, more than words, " and thou 
 Art found! — thou lovest me! — Fate is powerless now!" 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 That hand in his — that heart his own entwininor 
 With its life's tendrils, — youth his pardoner be. 
 
 If in his heaven no loftier star were shining — 
 If round the haven boom'd unheard the sea — 
 
 If in the wreath forgot the thorny crown. 
 
 And the harsh duties of severe renown. 
 
 * In a legend of Brctagne, a fairy weaves pearls round a sunbeam, to convince 
 her lover of her magical powers. 
 
160 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 Blame we as well the idlesse of a dream, 
 As that entranced oblivion from the reign 
 
 Of the Great Curse, which glares in every beam 
 Of labouring suns to the stern race of Cain ; 
 
 So life from earth did Nature here withdraw, 
 
 That the strange peace seem'd but earth's common law. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Yet some excuse all stronger spirits take 
 
 For all repose from toil (to strength the doom) 
 
 How sweet in that fair heathen soil to wake 
 The living palm God planted on the tomb ! 
 
 And so, and long, did Passion's subtle art 
 
 Mask with the soul the impulse of the heart. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 Wonderous and lovely in that last retreat 
 Of the old Gods, — the simple speech to hear 
 
 Tell of the Messenger whose beauteous feet 
 Had gilt the mountain-tops with tidings clear 
 
 Of veilless Heaven — while ^gle, thoughtful, said. 
 This love makes plain — ^yes, love can ne'er be dead !" 
 
 a 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Now, as Night gently deepens round them, while 
 Oft to the moon upturn their happy e^^es — 
 
 Still, hand in hand, they range the lulled isle. 
 
 Air knows no breeze, scarce sighing to their sighs ; 
 
 No bird of night shrieks bode from drowsy trees, 
 
 Nought lives between them and the Pleiades : 
 
BOOK lY. 161 
 
 xc. 
 
 Save where the moth strains to the moon its wing, 
 Deeming the reachless near ; — the prophet race 
 
 Of the cold stars forewarn'd them not ; the Ring 
 Of great Orion, who for the embrace 
 
 Of Morn's sweet Maid had died,* look'd calm above 
 
 The last unconscious hours of human love. 
 
 xci. 
 Each astral influence unrevealing shone 
 
 O'er the dark web its solemn thread en wove ; 
 Mars shot no anger from, his fatal throne, 
 
 No beam spoke trouble in the House of Love ; 
 Their closing path the treacherous smile illumed ; 
 And the stern Star-kings kiss'd the brows thej doom'd — 
 
 XCII, 
 
 ' T is morn once more ; upon the shelving green 
 Of the small isle, alone the Cymrian stood 
 
 With his full heart, — when suddenly, between 
 Him and the sun, the azure solitude 
 
 Was broken by a dark and rapid wing, 
 
 And a dusk bird swooped downward towards the King. 
 
 * Aurora. The scholar will remember the beautiful use Homer makes of this 
 fable in the 5th Book of the Odyssy. Calypso conaplaining " thai the Gods afflict 
 niO't their own race," says — 
 
 '♦ So when Aurora sought Orion's love. 
 Her joys disturbed vour blissful hours above, 
 Till in Ortygia, Dian's winged dart 
 Had pierced the hapless hunter to the heart." — Pope. 
 
 11 
 
162 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 And tlie King's cheek grew pale, for well to Lim, 
 (As now the raven, settlmg, touch'd his feet,) 
 
 Was known the mystic messenger : — where grim 
 O'er hlack Cwm Idwal,* demon shadows fleet 
 
 Glassed on the hosom of that ghastly mere, 
 
 Where never wings that love the day will steer, 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 The Prophet's dauntless childhood stray 'd and found 
 The weird hird muttering by the waves of dread ; 
 
 Three days and nights upon the haunted ground 
 The raven's beak the solemn infant fed : 
 
 And ever after (so the legend ran) 
 
 The lone bird tended on that lonely man. 
 
 xcv. 
 O'er the Child's brow jorest the last snows of age. 
 
 As fresh the lustrous ebon of the Bird, — 
 Less awe had credulous horror of the sage 
 
 Than that familiar by the Fiend conferr'd — 
 So thought the crowd ; nor knew what holy lore 
 Lives in all things whose instinct is to soar. — 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Hoarse croaks the bird, and with its round bright eye. 
 
 Fixes the gaze of the recoiling King ; 
 Slowly the hand, that trembles, cuts the tie 
 
 That binds the white scroll gleaming from the wing, 
 And these the words, " Weak Loiterer from tli}^ toil, 
 The Saxon's march is on thy father's soil." 
 
 • Cwm Itlwal (in Snowtlonia). "A lit place to inspire murderous thonghls, — 
 environed with horrible i)re( ipiccs shading a lake lodgeil in its bottom. 'J'he shep- 
 
BOOK lY. 163 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Bounded the Prince ! — As when the sudden sun 
 Looses the ice-chains on the halted rill, 
 
 Smites the dumb snow-mass, and the cataracts run 
 In molten thunder down the clanging hill, 
 
 So from his heart the fetters burst; and strong 
 
 In its rough course the great soul rush'd along. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 As looks a warrior on the fort he scales, 
 
 Sweeps his broad glance around the eternal steeps — 
 Not there escape ! — the wildest fancy quails 
 
 Before those heights on which the whitening deeps 
 Of measureless heaven repose : — below their frown. 
 Planed as a wall, sheers the smooth granite down. — 
 
 xcix. 
 
 Marvel, indeed, how even the enchanted wing 
 Had o'er such rampires won to the abode ; 
 
 But not for marvel paused the kindled King, 
 Swift, as Pelides stung to war, he strode ; 
 
 While the dark herald, with its sullen scream, 
 
 Rose, and fled, dismal as an evil dream. 
 
 c. 
 
 Carved as for Love — a slender boat rock'd o'er 
 The ripple with the murmuring marge at play, 
 
 He loosed its chain, he gain'd the adverse shore, 
 Startled the groups that fluttered round his way, 
 
 Awed by the knitted brow and flashing eyes 
 
 Of him they deeni'd the native of the skies. 
 
 herds' fable that it is the haunt of demons, and that no bird dare fly over its damned 
 waters.'' — Pennant, v. iii. p. 324. 
 
164 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CI. 
 
 Towards the far temple, thro' whose tomb-like door 
 First he had pass'd into the Elysian Land, 
 
 He strode — when suddenly, he saw before 
 
 His j)ath the seated priest ; — with earnest hand 
 
 Turning strange lettered scrolls upon his knee ; 
 
 While o'er him spread the platan's murmuring tree :- 
 
 ClI. 
 
 On his mysterious leisure broke the cry 
 Of the imperious Northman, " Rise, unbar 
 
 Your granite gates — the eagle seeks the sky, 
 The captive freedom, and the warrior w^ar !" 
 
 Slow rose the Augur, and this answer gave, 
 
 " Man, see thy world — its outlet is the grave ! 
 
 cm. 
 " What ! dost thou think us so in love with fear, 
 
 That of our peace we should confide the key ? 
 Tina hath closed the gates of Janus here. 
 
 Shall we expand them ? — never !" Scornfully 
 He turn'd — but thrill'd wdth priestly wrath to feel 
 His sacred arm lock'd in a grasp of steel. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 " Trifle not, host, — Fate calls me to depart ; 
 
 On my shamed soul a prophet's voice hath cried ! 
 Thy secret ! — tliat is safer in the heart 
 
 Of a true Man than in an Alp."— ^' Thy bride ?" 
 Said the pale Augur — " A true man, forsooth ! 
 What says wrong'd ^Egle, boaster, of thy truth ?" 
 
BOOK IV. 165 
 
 cv. 
 " Let yEgle answer," cried the noble lover ; 
 
 " Let ^gle judge the trust I hold from Heaven. 
 I faithless ! — I ! a King ? — my labours over, 
 
 From mine own soil the surge of carnage driven, 
 And I will come, as kings should come, to claim 
 Mates for the throne, and partners for the fame !" — 
 
 cvi. 
 Long mused the AugUi', and at length replied. 
 
 His guile scarce mask'd in his malignant gaze, 
 " Well, guest — thy fate thine ^gle shall decide — 
 
 Then, if still wearied of untroubled days — 
 No more from Mantu Pales shall controuP 
 And one free gate shall open on thy soul !" 
 
 CVII. 
 
 He said, and drew his large robe round his form, 
 And wrathful swept along, as o'er the sky 
 
 A cloud sw^eeps dark, secret with hoarded storm ; 
 Behind him went the guest as silently ; 
 
 Afar the gazing wonders wdiispered, while 
 
 They crossed the girdling wave and reach'd the isle. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 With violet buds, bright ^gle, in her bower. 
 Knits the dark riches of her lustrous hair ; 
 
 Her heart springs eager to the counted hour 
 When to loved eyes 't is glorious to be fair : 
 
 Gleams of a neck, proud as the swan's, escape 
 
 The light-spun tunic rounded to the shape. 
 
 * Mintu, the God of the Shades— Pales, the Pastoral Deity. 
 
166 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 cix. 
 
 Now from the locks the airy veil, dividing 
 
 Falls, and floats fragrant, from the violet crown. 
 
 What happy thought is in that breast presiding 
 Like some serenest bird that settles down 
 
 (Its w^anderings over) on calm summer eves 
 
 Into its nest, amid .the secret leaves ? 
 
 ex. 
 
 What happy thought in those large tranquil eyes 
 Seems prescient of the eternity of love? 
 
 The fixed content in conquered destinies 
 Which makes the being of the lives above, 
 
 Which from itself, as from the starred sphere. 
 
 Weaves round its own melodious atmosphere ? 
 
 CXI. 
 
 Who ever gazed on perfect happiness. 
 Nor felt it as the shadow cast from God ? 
 
 It seems so still in its sublime excess. 
 
 So brings all heaven around its hush'd abode, 
 
 That in its very beauty awe has birth, 
 
 Dismay'd by too much glory for the earth. 
 
 CXII. 
 
 Across the threshold now abruptly strode 
 
 Her youth's stern guardian. '' Child of Rasena," 
 
 He said, " the lover on thy youth bestowed 
 For the last time on earth thine eyes survey, 
 
 Unless thy })ower can chain the faithless breast, 
 
 And sated bliss deigns gracious to be blest." 
 
BOOK IV. 167 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 " Not so !" cried Arthur, as his loyal kuee 
 
 Bent to the earth, and with the knightly truth 
 
 Of his right hand he clasped her own ; — " to be 
 Thine evermore ; youth mingled with thy youth, 
 
 Age with thine age ; in thy grave mine ; above, 
 
 Spirit beside thy spirit ; — this the love 
 
 cxiv. 
 
 " God teacheth man to pray for ! Oft thy smile 
 Shone o'er me, telling of great Knighthood's vow. 
 
 Faith without stain, and honour without guile. 
 
 To guard. Sweet lady, trust to Knighthood now !" 
 
 Hurrying his words rush'd on ; the threatened land, 
 
 The fates confided to the sceptred hand, 
 
 cxv. 
 
 Here gathering w^oes, and there suspended toil ; 
 
 And the stern warning from the distant seer. 
 " Thine be my people — thine this bleeding soil ; 
 
 Queen of my realm, its groaning murmurs hear ! 
 Then ask thyself, what manhood's choice should be; 
 False to my country, were I worthy thee ?" 
 
 cxvr. 
 
 Dim through her struggling sense the light came slow, 
 Struck from those words of fire. Alas, poor child ! 
 
 What, in thine isle of roses, shouldst thou know 
 Of earth's grave duties ?— of that stormy wild 
 
 Of care and carnage — the relentless strife 
 
 Of man with happinesS; and soul with life ? 
 
168 KING ARTE UK. 
 
 ex VI I. 
 
 Tliou wlio liaclst seen the sun but rise and set 
 
 O'er one Saturnian Arcacly of rest, 
 Snatch'd from the age of Iron ? Ever, yet, 
 
 Dwells that high instinct in each nobler breast, 
 Which truth, like light, intuitive receives. 
 And what the Reason grasps not, Faith believes. 
 
 CXVITT. 
 
 So in mute woe, one hand to his resign'd, 
 
 And one press'd firmly on her swelling heart, 
 
 Passive she heard, and in her labouring mind 
 
 Strove with the dark enigma — " part ! — to part !" 
 
 Till, having solved it by the beams that broke 
 
 From that clear soul on hers, struggling she spoke : — 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 " Trust — trust in thee ! — but no, I will not weep ! 
 
 What thou deem'st good is the sole good to me. 
 Let my heart l^reak, before thy heart it keep 
 
 From aught, which lost, could give a pang to thee. 
 Thou speak'st of dread and terror, strife and woe ; 
 And I might wonder why they tempt thee so ; 
 
 cxx. 
 
 " And I might ask how more can mortals please 
 The heavens, than thankful to enjoy the earth ? 
 
 But through its mist my soul, though faintly, sees 
 Where thine sweeps on beyond tliis mountain girth, 
 
 And, awed and dazzled, bending T confess 
 
 Life may have holier ends than happiness ! 
 
BOOK IV. 169 
 
 cxxi. 
 
 '' For something bright and high thyself without, 
 Thou makest thy heart an offering ; so my heart 
 
 Could sacrifice to thee ! Then wherefore doubt 
 There are to thy soul what to mine thou art ?" 
 
 She paused and raised her earnest eyes above, 
 
 Bright with the trust devotion breathes in love. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 Then as she felt his tears upon her hand, 
 
 Earth call'd her back ; — o'er him her face she bow'd : 
 
 As when the silver gates of heaven expand, 
 And on the earth descends the melting cloud, 
 
 So sunk the spirit from sublimer air. 
 
 And all the woman rush'd on her despair. 
 
 CXXTII. 
 
 " To lose thee — oh, to lose thee ! To live on 
 
 And see the sun — not thee ! Will the sun shine, 
 
 Will the birds sing, flowers bloom, wdien thou art gone ? 
 Desolate, desolate ! Thy right hand in mine. 
 
 Swear, \yy the Past, thou wilt return ! — Oh, say, 
 
 Say it again !" — voice died in sobs away ! 
 
 cxxrv. 
 Mute look'd the Augur, with his deathful eyes. 
 
 On the last anguish of their lock'd embrace. 
 •^ Priest," cried the lover, " canst thou deem this prize 
 
 Lost to my future ? — No, tho' round the place 
 Yon Alps took life, with all your rites obey 
 Of demon legions. Love would force the way. 
 
170 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 • 
 
 " Hear me, adored one !" On the silent ear 
 
 The promise fell, and o'er the unconscious frame 
 
 Wound the protecting arm. — '^ Since neither fear 
 Of the great Powers thou dost blaspheming name, 
 
 Nor the soft impulse native in man's heart 
 
 Kestrains thee, doom'd one — hasten to depart. 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 " Come, in thy treason merciful at least, 
 
 Come, while those eyes by Sleep the Pityer bound, 
 
 See not thy shadow pass from earth !" — The priest 
 Spoke, — and now call'd the infant handmaids round -, 
 
 But o'er that form with arms that vainly cling, 
 
 And words that idly comfort, kneels the King. 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 " Nay, nay, look up ! It is these arms that fold ; — 
 I still am here ; — this hand, these tears, are mine." 
 
 Then, when they sought to loose her from his hold, 
 He waived them back with a fierce jealous sign ; 
 
 O'er her hush'd breath his listening ear he bow'd, 
 
 And the awed children round him wept aloud. 
 
 CXXVTII. 
 
 But when the soul broke faint from its eclipse, 
 And his own name came, shaping life's first sigh, 
 
 His very heart seem'd breaking in the lips 
 
 Press'd to those faithful ones ; — then, tremblingly. 
 
 He rose ; — he moved; — he paused ; — his nerveless liand 
 
 Veil'd the dread agony of man unmanned. 
 
BOOK IV. 171 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 Thus, from the chamber, as an infant meek 
 
 The priest's weak arm led forth the mighty King ; 
 
 In vain wide air came fresh upon his cheek, 
 Passive he went in his great sorrowing ; 
 
 Hate, the mute guide, — the waves of death, the goal ; — 
 
 So, following Hermes, glides to Styx a soul. 
 
NOTES TO EOOK IV. 
 
 1 " Like that in which the fur Saroiiides 
 
 Exchano-ed dark riddles with the Samian sag-e/' 
 
 rage 139, stanza xi. 
 
 DioDORUS SicuLUs speaks with great respect of the Saro- 
 NiDES as the Druid priest of Gaul.* Pythagoras and the Druids 
 held similar notions as to the transmigration of souls, and other 
 intricate points of Heathen theology. For the initiation of this 
 very legendary philosopher (whose name sometimes represents 
 a personage genuinely historical — sometimes a sect partly scho- 
 lastic, partly political) into the Druid mysteries, see Clem. Alex. 
 Strom. L. i. Ex. Alex. Polyhist. It will be observed that the 
 author here takes advantage of the well-known assertions of 
 many erudite authorities that the Phcenician language is the 
 parent of the Celtic, in order to obtain a channel of oral com- 
 munication between Arthur and the Etrurian ;* though, con- 
 
 * Mr. Davis, in his Celtic Researches, insists upon it that Saronides is a British 
 word, compounded from s^r, stars ; and honydd, " one who discriminates or points 
 out;" in fine, according to him the Saronides are Seronyddion, i. e. astronomers. 
 
 ■j- It may perhaps occur to the reader that Latin, with which Arthur (in an age 
 so shortly subsequent to the Iloman occupation of Britain) could scarcely fail to 
 he well acijuainted, might have furnished a belter mode of communication between 
 himself and the Augur. But the Latin language would have been very jmper- 
 fectly settled at the time of the supposed Etrurian eniigration ; would have liad no 
 connexion with the literature, sacred or profane, of the Etrurians ; and would long 
 have been despised as a rude medley of various tongues and dialects, by the proud 
 and polished race which the Romans subjected. 
 
NOTES TO BOOK lY. 17 
 
 Q 
 
 tented with those authorities, as sufficing for all poetic purpose, 
 he prudently declines entering into a controversy equally abstruse 
 and interminable, as to the affinity between the countrymen of 
 Dido and the scattered remnants of the Briton. Arthur, with 
 that generous pride of descent which characterizes his people, 
 takes care, in a subsequent passage, to insinuate that the Cyn,- 
 rians taught the Phoenicians to speak Welch — not that they 
 taught the Welch to speak Phoenician ; this hero is always 
 tenacious of the honour of his country ! It is not surprising 
 that the Augur should know Phoenician, for we have only to 
 suppose that he maintained, as well as he could in his retreat, 
 the knowledge common with his priestly forefathers. The in- 
 tercourse between Etruria and the Phoenician states, (especially 
 Carthage), was too considerable not to have rendered the lan- 
 guage of the last familiar to the learning of the first, to say 
 nothing of those more disputable affinities of origin and reli- 
 gion, which, if existing, would have made an acquaintance 
 with Phoenician necessary to the solution of their historical 
 chronicles and sacred books. Nor, w^hen the Augur afterwards 
 assures Arthur that Mgle also understands Phoenician, is any 
 extravagant demand made upon the credulity of the indulgent 
 reader ; for those who have consulted such lights as research 
 has thrown upon Etrurian records, are aware that their more 
 high-born women appear to have received no ordinary mental 
 cultivation. 
 
 2 "0, guttural-grumbling, and disYowelled man." 
 
 Page 141, stanza xvii. 
 
 The Etrurian here insinuates a charge very common, but sin- 
 gularly unjust, against the Welch language. Want of vowels 
 is certainly not the fault of that tongue, though it must be owned 
 that it often appears so to an uninitiated ear. Owen, in his 
 Welch grammar, proposes to English jaws the following some- 
 w^hat hard nut to crack — " Gwaewawr." Now, as I before 
 remarked, the w is a vowel answering to our oo, and the word 
 may therefore be written ^* Gooaeooaoor." Will any candid 
 man sav there are not vowels enoup-h there? 
 
174 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 3 " Ah," said the Augur, "here, I comprehend, 
 ^gypt, and Tvphun, and the serpent creed." 
 
 Page 143, stanza xxii. 
 
 It is clear that all which the poor bewildered Augur could 
 comprehend, from the theological relations with w^hich Arthur 
 (no doubt with equal glibness and obscurity) relieves his histo- 
 rical narrative, would be that, in " worsting Satan," the Em- 
 peror of Greece is demolishing the Typhon worship of the Egyp- 
 tians, and enforcing the adoration of the Dorian Apollo — that 
 deity who had passed a probation on earth, and expiated a mys- 
 terious sin by descending to the shades; and it would require a 
 more erudite teacher than we can presume Arthur to be before 
 the Augur would cease to confuse with the Pagan divinity the 
 Divine Foun ler of the Christian gospel. Such confusion existed 
 long among the heathens, and to this day the sabbath of the 
 Christians retains its Pagan appellation, "The day of our Lord 
 the Sun." 
 
KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK V. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 The council-hall hi Carduel ; The twelve knif»hts of the round Tal>le de- 
 scribed, viz., the three Knij^hts of Council, the three Knights of Battle, 
 the three Knights of Eloquence, and the three Lovers ; Merlin warns 
 the chiefs of the coming Saxons, and enjoins the fire beacons to be light- 
 ed ; The story returns to Arthur ; the dove has not been absent, though 
 unseen ; It comes back to Arthur ; The priest leads the King through 
 the sepulchral valley into the temple of the Death-god ; Description of 
 the entrance of the temple, with the walls on which is depicted the pro- 
 gress of the guilty soul through the realms below ; The cave, the raft, 
 and the stream which conducts to the cataract; Arthur enters the boat, 
 and the dove goes before him ; ^Egle awakes from her swoon, and follows 
 the King to the temple ; Her dialogue with the Augur ; She disappears 
 in the stream ; MeauAvhile Lancelot wanders in the valleys on the other 
 side of the Alps, and is led to the cataract by the magic ring ; The ap- 
 parition of the dove ; He follows the bird up the skirts of the cataract ; 
 He finds Arthur and iEgle, and conveys them to the convent: The Chris- 
 tian hymn and the Etrurian dirge ; iirthur and Lancelot seated by the 
 lake ; The Lady of the Lake appears in her pinnace to Lancelot ; The 
 King's sight is purged from its film by the bitter herb, and he enters the 
 magic bark. 
 
BOOK V. 
 
 I. 
 
 In the high Council Hall of Carduel, 
 Beside the absent Arthur's ivory throne, 
 
 (What time the earlier shades of evening fell), 
 Wan-silvering through the hush, the cresset shone 
 
 O'er the arch seer, — as, mid the magnates there, 
 
 Rose his large front august with prophet care ; 
 
 11. 
 
 Rose his large front above the luminous guests, 
 The deathless twelve of that Heroic Ring, 
 
 Which, as the belt wherein the Orion rests, 
 Girded w^itli subject stars the starry king • 
 
 Without, strong towers guard Rome's elaborate wall ; 
 
 Within is manhood ! — strongest tower of all. 
 
 III. 
 
 First, Muse of Cymri, name the Council Three^' 
 Who, of maturer years and graver mien. 
 
 Wise in the past, conceived the things to be, 
 
 And temper'd impulse quick with thought serene ; 
 
 Nor young, nor old — no dupes to rushing Hope, 
 
 Nor narrowing to tame Fear th' ignoble scope. 
 
 * Three counselling knights were in the court of Arthur, which were Cynon, 
 the son of Clydno Eiddin, Aron the son of Kynfarch ap Meirchion-gul, and iJy- 
 
 12 
 
178 KING APwTHUR. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Of these was Cynon of the highborn race, 
 A cold but dauntless — calm but earnest man ; 
 
 With deep eyes shining from a thoughtful face, 
 And spare slight form, for ever in the van 
 
 When ripening victories crown'd laborious deeds ; 
 
 Reaper of harvest — sower not of seeds ; 
 
 V. 
 
 For scarcely his the quick far-darting soul 
 
 Which like Apollo's shaft, strikes lifeless things 
 
 Into divine creation ; but, the whole 
 
 Once rife, the skill which into concord brings 
 
 The jarring parts ; shapes out the rudely wrought. 
 
 And calls the action living from the thought. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Next Aron see — not rash, yet gaily bold, 
 With the frank polish of chivalric courts ; 
 
 Him from the right, no fear of wrong controul'd ; 
 And toil he deem'd the sprightliest of his sports ; 
 
 O'er War's dry chart, or Wisdoms mystic page, 
 
 Alike as smiling, and alike as sage ; 
 
 VII. 
 
 With the warm instincts of the knightly heart 
 That rose at once if insult touch'd the realm. 
 
 He spurn'd each state-craft, each deceiving art, 
 And rode to war, no vizor to his helm ; 
 
 This proved his worth, this line his tomb may boast — 
 
 ^ Who hated Cymri, hated Aron most !' 
 
 warch hen the son of Elidir Lydanwyn, <Src. — Note in Lady Charlotte Gucft's cdi- 
 fon of the Mubinocrion, vol. i. p. 93. In the text, for the sake of euphony to 
 English ears, for the name of Lly warch is substituted that of his father Elidir. 
 
BOOK y. 179 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But who with eastern hue and haughty brow, 
 Stern with dark beauty sits apart from all ? 
 
 Ah, couldst thou shun thy friends, Elidir ! — thou 
 Scorning all foes, before no foe shalt fall ! 
 
 On thy wronged grave one hand appeasing lays 
 
 The humble flower — oh, could it yield the bays ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Courts may have known than thou a readier tool, 
 States may have found than thine a subtler brain. 
 
 But States shall honour many a formal fool, 
 And many a tawdry fawner courts may gain 
 
 Ere King or People in their need shall see 
 
 A soul as grand as that which fled with thee ! 
 
 X. 
 
 For thou wert more than true ; thou Avert a Truth ! 
 
 Open as Truth, and yet as Truth profound ; 
 Thy fault was genius — that eternal youth 
 
 Whose weeds but prove the richness of the ground — 
 And dull men envied thee, and false men feared, 
 And where soared genius, there convention sneer'd. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Ah, happy hadst thou fallen, foe to foe. 
 
 The bright race run — the laurel o'er thy grave ! 
 
 But hands perfidious strung the ambush bow, 
 And the friend's shaft the ranklino; torture srave- 
 
 The last proud wish its agony to hide, 
 
 The stricken deer to covert crept and died. 
 
180 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Next came tlie warrior Three.* Of glory's cliarms 
 (Glory, the bride of heroes) nobly vain 
 
 Dark Mona's Owainef shines with golden arms, 
 The Roland of the Cvmrian Charlemain, 
 
 Scathed by the storm the holy chief survives, 
 
 For Fame makes holy all its lightning rives. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Beside, with simplest garb and sober mien, 
 
 Solid as iron, not yet wrought to steel. 
 In his plain manhood Cornwall's chiefj is seen, 
 
 Who (if wild tales some glimpse of truth reveal) 
 Gave Northern standards to the Indian sun — 
 And wreaths from palms that shaded Evian won. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Lo he whose fame outshines the Fabulous ! 
 
 Sublime with eagle front, and that gray crown 
 Which Age, the arch-priest, sets on laurell'd brows ; 
 
 Lo, Geraint, bending with a world's renown ! 
 Yet those gray hairs one ribald scoffer found ; — 
 The moon sways ocean and provokes the hound. 
 
 • Three knights of battle vpere in the court of Arthur; Cadwr the Earl of Corn- 
 wall, Lancelot du Lac, and Owaine the son of Urien Rheged ; and this was their 
 characteristic, that they would not retreat from battle, neither for spear, nor for 
 arrow, nor for sword ; and Arthur never had shame in battle the day he saw their 
 faces there, &c.—Ladi/ C. Guest's Mabinoi^. vol. i. p. 91. In the poem, for Lan- 
 celot of the Lake, whose fame is not yet supposed to be matured, is substituted the 
 famous Geraint, the hero of a former generation. 
 
 t Owaine's birth-place and domains are variously surmised ; in the text they are 
 ascribed to Mona, (Anglesey) St. Palayc, concurrently both with French fabliasts 
 and Welch bards, makes this hero very fond of the pomp and blazonry of arms, and 
 attributes to him the introduction of buckles to spurs, furred mantles, and the use 
 of gloves. I Cadwr. 
 
BOOK y. 181 
 
 XV. 
 
 Next the three chiefs of Eloquence j"^' the kings [mmd, 
 Whose hosts are thoughts, whose reahn the human 
 
 Who out of words evoke the souls of things, 
 And shape the lofty drama of mankind ; 
 
 Wit charms the fancy, wisdom guides the sense ; 
 
 To make men nobler — tliat is Eloquence ! 
 
 xvr. 
 As from the Mount of Gold, auriferous flows 
 
 The Lydian wave, thy pomp of period shines 
 Resplendent Drydas — glittering as it goes 
 
 High from the mount, but labouring thro' the mines, 
 x\nd thence the tides, enriching while they run. 
 Glass every fruit that ripens to the sun. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 But, like the vigour of a Celtic stream. 
 Comes Lolod's rush of manly sense along, 
 
 Fresh with the sparkles of a healthful beam. 
 And quick with impulse like a poet's song. 
 
 How listening crowds that knightly voice delights — 
 
 If from those crowds are banished all but knights ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The third, though young, well worthy of his place. 
 Was Gawaine, courteous, blithe, and debonnair, 
 
 Arch Mercury's wit, with careless Cupid's face ; 
 Frank as the sun, but searching as the air, 
 
 Who with bland parlance prefaced doughtiest blows, 
 
 And mildly arguing— argiiing brain'd his fqes, 
 
 * There were three golden tongued knights in the court of Arthur — Gwalchrnai 
 (Gawaine), Drudwas (Drydas in the text), and Eliwlod (Lolod) Lady C. GutbCs 
 Mabinog. note vol. i. p. 118, 
 
182 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Next came the Three — in mystic Triads hight 
 
 " The Knights of Loye ;"* some type the name 
 conveys, 
 
 For where no lover, there methinks no knight ; 
 All knights were lovers in King Arthur's days : 
 
 Caswallawn ; Trystan of the lion rock ;-j- 
 
 And, leaning on his harp, calm Caradoc ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 Thus class'd, distinct in peace, — let war dismay, 
 
 Straight in one bond the divers natures blend- 
 So varying tints in tranquil sunshine play. 
 
 But form one iris if the rains descend ; 
 And, fused in Hght against the clouds that lower, 
 Forbid the deluge while they own the shower ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 On the bright group the Prophet rests his gaze. 
 Then the deep voice sonorous thrills aloud — 
 
 " In Carduel's vale the steers unheeded graze. 
 To jocund winds the yellowing corn is bow'd. 
 
 By hearths of mirth the waves of Isca flow. 
 
 And Heaven above smiles down on peace below. 
 
 * The three ardent lovers of the island of Britain — Caswallawn, Tristan, and 
 Cynon, (for the last, already placed amongst the counselling knights, Caradoc is 
 substituted). — Laclif C. Guest's Mnbinog, vol. i. note to page 94. 
 
 I Trystan's birth-place, Lyonness, is supposed to have been that part of Cornwall 
 since destroyed by the sea. See Southey's note to Morte d'Arlhur, vol. ii. p. 477. 
 
BOOK y. 183 
 
 o 
 
 XXII. 
 
 ^' But far looks forth the warder from the tower, 
 And to the halls of Cj^mri's antique kings 
 
 A soul that sees the future m the hour 
 The desolation of its burthen brings ; 
 
 Hollow sounds earth beneath the clanging tread : 
 
 Yon fields shall yield no harvest but the Dead ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 ^^ And waves shall rush in crimson to the deep, 
 The Meteor Horse shall pale autumnal skies- — 
 
 From Rauran's"^ lairs the jojous wolves shall leap — 
 From EiFLE'sf crags the screaming eagles rise- — 
 
 Yea ! while I speak, these halls the havoc nears ! 
 
 Ked sets the sun behind the storm of spears ! 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " The Sons of Woden sound no tromp before 
 
 Their march ! No herald comes their war to tell ! 
 
 No plea for slaughter, dress'd in clerkly lore, 
 
 Makes death seem justice! As the rain clouds swell. 
 
 When air is stillest, in Bal Huan'sJ halls ; 
 
 The herbage waves not till the tempest falls ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Of old je know them ; ye the elect remains 
 Of perish'd rac^ — rock-saved ; anchoring here 
 
 The ark of empire ! For your latest fanes. 
 For your last hearths, for all to freemen dear. 
 
 And to God sacred ; take the shield and brand ! 
 
 Accurst each Cymrian who survives his land !" 
 
 * Aran — called Rauran by Spenser, who makes it the place of Arthur's eiluca- 
 tion under Timon ; 
 
 "Under the foot of Rauran mossy hore." 
 •j- More correctly Yr Eifl, or Reifel, in Caernarvonshire. ^ The Sun. 
 
184 KIXG ARTHUR. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Accurst each Cvmrian who survives his land !'^ 
 Echoed deep tones, hollow as blasts escaped 
 
 From Boreal caverns, and in every hand 
 
 The hilts of swords to sainted croziers shaped 
 
 Were grimly griped — as by that symbol sign 
 
 Hallowing the human wrath to war divine. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The Prophet mark'd the deep unci amorous vow 
 Of the pent passion ; and the morning light 
 
 Of young Humanity flash'd o'er the brow 
 
 Dark with that wisdom which, like Nature's night, 
 
 Communes with stars and dreams; it flash'd and waned 
 
 And the vast front its awful hush regain'd. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 '' Princes, I am but as a voice ; be you 
 
 As deeds ! The wind comes through the hollow oak, 
 And stirs the green woods that it wanders through. 
 
 Now wafts the seeds, now wings the levin stroke. 
 Now kindles now destroys ; — that Wind am I, 
 Homeless on earth ; the mystery of the sky ! 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " But when the wind in noiseless air hath sunk. 
 Behold the sower tends and rears the seeds ; 
 
 Behold the woodman shapes the fallen trunk ; 
 
 The viewless voice hath waked the human deeds ; 
 
 Born of the germs, flowers bloom and harvests spring; 
 
 The pine uprooted speeds the Ocean King. 
 
BOOK y. 185 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Warriors, since absent, (not from wanton lust 
 Of errant emprize, but by Fate ordained, 
 
 For all lone labouring, worthy of his trust) 
 
 He whose young lips in thirst of glory drained 
 
 All that of arts Mavortian, elder Eome 
 
 Taught to assail the foe, or guard the home ; 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " Be ye his delegates, and oft with prayer 
 
 ' Bring angels round his wild and venturous way ; 
 
 As one great orb gives life and light to air. 
 
 So times there are when all a people's day 
 Shines from a single life ! This known, revere 
 The exile ; mourn not — let his soul be here. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 ^^ Yours then, high chiefs, the conduct of the war, 
 But heed this counsel (won or wrung from Fate) 
 
 Strong rolls the tide when curb'd its channels are, 
 Strong flows the force that but defends a state ; 
 
 In Carduel's walls concentre Cymri's power. 
 
 And chain the dragon to his charmed tower. 
 
 xxxiir. 
 ^' This night the moon should see the beacon brand 
 
 Link fire to fire from Beli's Druid pile ; 
 Rock call on rock, till blazes all the land 
 
 From Sabra's wave to Mona's parent isle ! 
 Let freedom write in characters of fire, 
 ' ^yho climbs my throne ascends his funeral jDj^re !' " 
 
186 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 The Prophet ceased ; and rose with stern accord 
 The warrior senate. Sudden every shield 
 
 Leapt into lightning from the clashing sword ;* 
 And choral voices consentaneous peal'd — 
 
 " Hail to our guests ! the wine of war is red ; 
 
 Fire light the banquet — steel prepare the bed !" 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 While thus the peril threat'ning land and throne, 
 Unarmed, unheeding, dreaming, goes the King, 
 
 Where from the brief Elysium, Acheron 
 
 Awaits the victim which its priest shall bring. 
 
 And where art thou meek guardian of the brave ? 
 
 Though fails the eagle, still the dove may save ! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 When, lured by signs that seem'd his aid to implore. 
 From his good steed the lord of knighthood sprung, 
 
 [And left it wistful by the dismal door, 
 
 Since the cragg d roof too low-descending hung 
 
 For the great war-horse in his barb'd array ; 
 
 And little dreamed he of the long delay] 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 His path the dove nor favoured nor forbade ; 
 
 Motionless, folding on sharp rocks its wing. 
 With its soft eyes it watch'd, resign'd and sad. 
 
 Where fetes, ordain'd for sorrow, led the King ; 
 Nor did he miss, (till earth regained the day) 
 The plumed angel vanish'd from his way. 
 
 • The striking the sword against the shield was the Gallic signal of war — com- 
 mon alike to the Teutonic and Scandinavian races. 
 
BOOK Y. 187 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Then oft, in truth, and oft in blissful hours, 
 
 Miss'd was that faithful guide through stormier life. 
 
 Ah common lot ! how oft, mid summer flowers, 
 We miss the soother of the winter strife ; 
 
 How oft we mourn in Fortune's sunlit vale 
 
 Some silenced heart with which we shared the gale ! 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 But absent not the dove, albeit unseen ; 
 
 In some still foliage it had found its nest ; 
 At night it hovered where his steps had been. 
 
 Pale through the moonbeams in the air of rest ; 
 By the lull'd wave and shadowy banks it pass'd. 
 Lingering where love with ^gie lingered last. 
 
 XL. 
 
 And when with chiller dawn resought the lone 
 And leafy gloom in which it shunn'd the day. 
 
 Beneath those boughs you might have heard it moan, 
 Low-wailing to itself its plaintive lay ; 
 
 Till with the sun rose all the songs that fill 
 
 Morn with delight 5 and then the dove was still. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 But now, as towards the Temple of the Shades 
 The King went heavily — a gleam of light 
 
 Shot throvigh the gloaming of the cedarn glades. 
 And the dove glided to his breast : the sight 
 
 Came like a smile from heaven upon the King, 
 
 And his heart warmed beneath the brooding wing. 
 
188 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Strange was the thrill of joy, heyoiid belief, 
 
 Sent from the soft touch of those plumes of down ! 
 
 He was not all deserted in his grief, 
 
 The brows of Fate relax'd their iron frown ; 
 
 And his soul quickened to that glorious power 
 
 WJiich fronts the future and subdues the hour ; 
 
 XLTII. 
 
 The hope it brought — not seem'd the dove to share, 
 
 As if it felt the tempest in the sky ; 
 TrembHng, it nestled to its shelter there. 
 
 Nor lifted to the light its drooping eye. 
 Not, as its wont, to guide it came ; but brave 
 With him the ills from which it could not save. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Now lost the lovelier features of the land, 
 
 Dull waves replace the fount, dark pines the bowers, 
 
 Gray-streeted tombs, far stretch'd on either hand. 
 Rear the dumb city of the Funeral Powers, 
 
 Massive and huge glooms up the dome of dread. 
 
 Where the stern Death-god frowns above the dead. 
 
 XLV, 
 
 Hewn from a rock, stand the great columns square. 
 With tryglyphs wrought and j)onderous pediment ; 
 
 Such as yet greet the musing wanderer where, 
 Near the old Fane to which Etruria sent 
 
 Her sovereign twelve, the thick-sown violet blooms, 
 
 In Castel d'Asso's vale of hero-tombs.* 
 
 * Castel (I'Asso (the Castellum Axla, in Cicero), the name now given to the 
 valleys near Viterbo, which formed the great burial-place of the Etrurians, ^"ear 
 
BOOK Y. 189 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Passing a bridge that sj)ann'd the barrier wave, 
 
 The J reach the Thebes-Uke porch ; — the Augur here 
 
 First entering, leaves the King. Within the nave 
 Now swell the iiutes (which went before the bier 
 
 What time the funeral chaunt of Pagan Eome 
 
 Knell'd some throne-shatterer to his six feet home.) 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Jar back the portals — long, in measured line, 
 There stand within the mute Aruspices, 
 
 In each pale hand a torch ; and near a shrine 
 Sit on still thrones, the guardian deities ; 
 
 Here Sethlans,'''' sovereign of life's fix'd domains — 
 
 There fatal Northia with the iron chains. 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 Between the two the Death-god broods sublime ; 
 
 On his pale brow the inexorable peace 
 Which speaks of power beyond the shores of time ; 
 
 Calm, not benign like the sweet gods of Greece, 
 Calm as the mystery, which in Memphian skies. 
 Froze life's warm current from a sphinx's eyes. 
 
 these valleys, and, as some suppose, on the site of Viterbo, was Voltumna (Fanuni 
 VoltumnEej, at which the twelve sovereigns of the twelve dynasties, and the otht-r 
 chiefs of the Etrurians, met in the spring of every year. Views of the rock-temples 
 at Norchea, in this neighbourhood, are to be seen in Inghirami's Etrusc. Antiq. 
 
 * Sethlans, the Etrurian Vulcan. He appears sometimes to assume the attributes 
 of Terminus, though in a higher and more ethereal sense — presiding over the bounds 
 of life as Terminus over those of the land. 
 
190 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 With many a grausome sliape unutterable, 
 Liinn'd were tlie cavernous sepulchral walls ; 
 
 Life-like they stalk'clj the Populace of Hell, 
 Through the pale pomp of Acherontian halls ; 
 
 Distinct as when the Trojan's living breath, 
 
 Yex'cl the wide silence in the waste of death. 
 
 L. 
 
 Shown was the Progress of the guilty Soul 
 
 From earth's warm threshold to the throne of doom ; 
 
 Here the black genius to the dismal goal 
 
 Dragg'd the wan spectre from the unsheltering tomb ; 
 
 While from its side it never more may warn 
 
 The better angel, sorrowing, fled forlorn. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Hideous with horrent looks and goading steel 
 The fiend drives on the abject cowering ghost 
 
 Where (closed the eighth) sev'n yawning gates reveal 
 The sev'nfold anguish that awaits the lost ; 
 
 By each the gryphon flaps his ravening wings, 
 
 And dire Chimaera whets her hungry stints. 
 
 LII. 
 
 Here, even that God, of all the kindliest one, 
 
 Life of all life (in Tusca's later creed. 
 Blent with the orient worship of the Sun, 
 
 Or His who loves the madding nym23hs to lead 
 On the Fork'd Hill) — abjures the genial smile,* 
 And, scowls transform'd, the Typhon of the Nile. 
 
 * Tina, the Etrurian Bacchus (son of Tina), identified symbolically \vith the 
 pod of the infernal regions. In the funeral monuments he sometimes ussumes the 
 most fearful aspect. 
 
BOOK V. 191 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Closed the eiglitli gate — for tlierey the Happy dwell ! 
 
 No glimpse of joy beyond makes horror less. 
 But that closed gate upon the exiled Hell 
 
 Sets Hell's last seal of misery — Hopelessness ! 
 Nathless, despite the Deemon's chacing thong, 
 Here, as if hoping still, the Hopeless throng."^ 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Before the northern knight each nightmare dream 
 Of Theban soothsayer or Chaldaean mage. 
 
 Thus kindling in the torches' breathless beam. 
 As if incarnate with resistless rage. 
 
 And Hell's true malice, starts from wall to wall ; 
 
 He signs the cross, and looks unmoved on all. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Before the inmost Penetralian doors. 
 
 Holding a cypress branch the Augur stands ; 
 
 The King s firm foot strides echoeless the floors, 
 And with dull groan the temple veil expands ; 
 
 Advance the torches, and their shaken shine 
 
 Glares o'er the wave that yawns behind the >shrine ; — 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Glares o'er the wave, as, under vaulted rock, 
 Dark as Cocytus, the false smoothness flows ; 
 
 But wdiere the light fades — there is heard the shock, 
 As hurrying on the headlong torrent goes ; 
 
 With mocking oars — a raft sways, moored beside, 
 
 What keel save Charon's ploughs that dismal tide ? 
 
 * The above description of the Etrurian Hades, with its eight gates, is taken in 
 each detail from vases and funeral monuments, most of which are cited by Micali. 
 
192 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Proud Arthur smiled upon the guileful host, 
 As welcome danger roused him and restored. — 
 
 " Friend," quoth the King, " methinks jour streams 
 mii>ht boast 
 A gentler margin and a fairer ford." 
 
 " As birth to man," replied the priest, " the cave, 
 
 guest; to thee ! as death to man the wave. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 " Doth it appal thee ? thou canst yet return ! 
 
 There love, there sunny life ; — and yonder" — " FamCy 
 Cymri, and God !" said Arthur. " Paynim, learn 
 
 Death has two victors, deathless both — the name, 
 The soul ; — to each a realm eternal given. 
 This rules the earth, and that achieves the heaven." 
 
 LIX. 
 
 He said and seized a torch with scornful hand : 
 The frail raft rock'd to his descending tread ; 
 
 Uj^on the prow he x'd the glowing brand. 
 
 And the raft drifted down the waves of dread. 
 
 So with his fortunes went confidinsf forth 
 
 The knightly Ceesar of the Christian North. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Then, from its shelter on his breast, the dove 
 Rose, and sail'd slow before with doubtful wing ; 
 
 The dun mists rolling round the vaults above, 
 Below, the gulf with torch-fires crimsoning ; 
 
 Wan through the glare, or white amidst the gloom. 
 
 Glanced Heaven's mute daughter with the silver plume. 
 
BOOK y. 193 
 
 Lxr. 
 
 Meanwhile to ^gle : from the happier trance, 
 And from the stun of the first human ill 
 
 Labourinof returns the soul ! — As lio-htninprs alance 
 O'er battle fields, with sated slaughter still. 
 
 The fitful reason flickerino; comes and 2;oes 
 
 O'er the past struggle — o'er the blank repose. 
 
 Lxrr. 
 At length with one long, eager, searching look, 
 
 She gazed around, and all the living space 
 With one great loss seem'd lifeless ! — then she strook 
 
 Her clench'd hand on her heart ; and o'er her fixce 
 Settled inefiable that icj gloom, 
 Which only falls when hope abandons doom. 
 
 LXIIT. 
 
 Why breaks the smile — why waves the exulting hand ? 
 
 Why to the threshold moves that step serene ? 
 The brow superb awes back the maiden band. 
 
 From the roused woman towers sublime the queen. 
 Past bower, past aisle — and dazzled crowds survey^ 
 That pomp of beauty burst upon the day. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Brief and imperious rings her question ; quick 
 A hundred hands point, answering to the fane. 
 
 As on she sweeps, behind her, fast and thick. 
 Gather the groups far following in her train. 
 
 Behind some bird unknown, of glorious dyes, 
 
 So swarm the meaner people of the skies. 
 
 13 
 
194 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Oh the great force that sleeps in woman's heart ! 
 
 She will, at least, behold that form once more ; 
 See its last vestige from her world depart, 
 
 And mark the spot to haunt and wander o'er ; 
 Eased in that impulse of the human breast 
 All the cold lessons on its leaves impress'd ; — 
 
 Lxvi. ^It- 
 
 Snapped in the strength of the divine desire 
 
 All the vain swathes with which convention thralls;- 
 Nature breaks forth, and at her breath of fire 
 
 The elaborate snow-pile's molten temple falls ; 
 And life's scar'd priestcrafts fly before that Truth, 
 Whose name is Passion, whose great altar, Youth ! 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Unknown the egress, dreamless of the snare, 
 Sole aim to look the last on the adored ; 
 
 She gains the fane — she treads the aisle — and there 
 The deathlights guide her to the bridal lord ; 
 
 On, through pale groupes around the yawning cave, 
 
 She comes — and looks upon the livid wave. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 She comes — she sees afar, amidst the dark. 
 That fair, serene, undaunted, godlike brow — 
 
 Sees on the lurid deep the lonely bark. 
 
 Drift through the circling horror — sees, and now 
 
 On light's far verge it hovers, wanes, and fades, 
 
 As roars the hungering cataract up the shades. 
 
BOOK V. 195 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Voiceless she look'd, and voiceless look'd and smiled 
 On her the priest ; strange though the marvel seem, 
 
 The old man, childless, loved her more than child ; 
 She link'd each thought — she coloured every dream ; 
 
 But love, the varying Genius, guides, in turn, 
 
 The soft to pity, to revenge the stern. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Not his the sympathy which soothes the woe. 
 
 But that which, wrathful, feels, and shares, the wrong. 
 
 He in the faithless but beheld the foe ; 
 
 The weak he righted when he smote the strong ; 
 
 In one dread crime a twofold virtue seen, 
 
 Here saved the land, and there avenged the queen. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 So through the hush his hissing munnur stole — 
 " Ay, ^gle, blossom on the stem of kings. 
 
 Not to fresh altars glides the perjurer's soul, 
 
 Not to new maids the vows still thine he brings ; 
 
 No rival mocks thee from the bloodless shore, 
 
 The dead, at least, are faithful ever more." 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 As when around the demigod of love. 
 
 Whom men Prometheus call, relentless fell 
 
 The flashing fires of Zeus, and Heaven above 
 Open'd in flame, in flame the opening hell ; 
 
 While gazing dauntless on the Thunderer's frown. 
 
 Sunk from the Earth, the Earth's Light-bringer do;vn 
 
 ; 
 
196 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 So, while both worlds before its sight lay bare, 
 And o'er one ruin burst the lightning shock, 
 
 Love, the Arch-Titan, in sublime despair, 
 
 Faced the rent Hades from the shattered rock ; 
 
 And saw in Heaven, the future Heaven foreshown. 
 
 When Love shall reign where Force usurps the throne.* 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 The Woman heard, and gathering majesty 
 
 Beam'd on her front, and crown'd it w ith command ; 
 
 The pale priest shrunk before her tranquil eye. 
 And the light touch of her untrembling hand — 
 
 '^ Enjoy," she said, with voice as clear as low, 
 
 " Enjoy thy hate ; Avhere love survives I go. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 '^ Sweetly thou smilest — sweetly, gentle Death, 
 Kinder than life ; — that severs, thou unitest ! 
 
 To realms He spoke of goes this living breath 
 A living soul, wherever space is brightest — 
 
 Fair Love — I trusted, now I claim, thy troth ! 
 
 Blest be thy couch, for it hath room for both !" 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 She said, and from each hand that would restrain 
 Broke, in the strength of her sublime despair; 
 
 Swift as the meteor on the northern main 
 
 Fades from the ice-lock'd sea-king's livid stare — 
 
 She sprang ; the rolje a sudden glimmer gave, 
 
 And o'er the vision swept the closing wave. 
 
 * Prometh. Vinci, ^sch. 
 
BOOK Y. 197 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Return, wild Song, to Lancelot ! Behold 
 
 Our Lord's lone house beside the placid mere ! 
 
 There pipes the careless shepherd to his fold, 
 Or from the crags the shy capellae peer 
 
 Through the green rents of many a hanging brake, 
 
 Which sends its quivering shadow to the lake. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 And by the pastoral margins mournfully 
 
 Wanders from dawn to eve the earnest knight ; 
 
 And ever to the ring he turns his eye, 
 
 And ever does the ring perplex the sight ; 
 
 The fairy hand that knew no rest before. 
 
 Rests now as fix'd as if its task were o'er. , 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Towards the far head of the calm water turn'd 
 The unmoving finger ; yet when gain'd the place. 
 
 No path for human foot the knight discern'd — 
 Abrupt and huge, the rocks enclosed the space. 
 
 His scath'd front veil'd in everlasting snows. 
 
 High above eagles Alpine Atlas rose. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 No cleft ! save that a giant torrent clove. 
 
 For its fierce hurry to the lake it fed; 
 Check'd for awhile in chasms conceal'd above. 
 
 Thence all its pomp the dazzling horror spread, 
 And from the beetling ridges, smooth and sheer, 
 Flash'd in one mass, down-roaring to the mere. 
 
198 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Still to that spot the fairy hand inclined, 
 And daily there with wistful searching eyes 
 
 Wandered the knight ; each day no path to find ; 
 And climb in vain the ladder to the skies ; 
 
 Still foil'd each step the inexorable wall, 
 
 Still the old guide refused its aid in all. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 One noon, as thus he gazed in stern despair 
 
 On rock and torrent ; — from the tortured spray, 
 
 And through the mists, into cserulean air, 
 A dove descending rush'd its arrowy way ; 
 
 Swift as a falling star which, falling, brings 
 
 Woe on the helmet-crown of Dorian kings 1* 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Straight to the wanderer's hand bore down the bird. 
 With plumage crisp'd with fear, and piercing plaint ; 
 
 Oft had he heedful, in his wanderings, heard 
 Of the great Wrong-Redresser, whom a saint 
 
 In the dove's guise directed — " Hail," he cried, 
 
 " I greet the token — I accept the guide 1" 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 And sudden as he spoke, arose the wing, 
 (Warily veering towards the dexter Hank 
 
 Of the huge chasm, through which leapt thundering 
 From Nature's heart her savage) ; on the bank 
 
 Of that fell stream, in root, and jag, and stone. 
 
 It traced the ladder to the glacier's throne. 
 
 * In moonless nights, every eighth year, the Spartan Ephors consulted the hea- 
 vens ; if there appeared the meteor, which we call the shooting star, they adjudged 
 their kings to have committed some oHcncc against the gods, and suspended them 
 
BOOK V. 199 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Slow sail'd the dove, and paused, and look'd behind, 
 As labouring after, crag on crag, the knight 
 
 (Close on the deafening roar, and whirling wind 
 Lash'd from the surges) , through the vaporous night 
 
 Of the gray mists, loom'd up the howling wild ; 
 
 Strong in the charm the fairy gave the child. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 With bleeding hands that leave a moment's red 
 On stone and stem wash'd by the mighty spray, 
 
 He gains at length the inter-alpine bed. 
 
 Whose lock'd Charybdis checks the torrent's way, 
 
 And forms a basin o'er abyssmal caves. 
 
 For the grim respite of the headlong waves. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Torrents below — the torrents still above ! 
 
 Above less awful — as precipitous peak 
 And splinter'd ledge — and many a curve and cove 
 
 In the compress'd indented margins, break 
 That crushing sense of power, in which we see 
 What, without Nature's God, would Nature be ! 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 Before him, stretch'd the maelstrom of the ab}' ss ; 
 
 And, in the central torrent, giant pines, 
 Uprooted from the bordering wilderness 
 
 By some gone winter s blast — in flashing lines 
 Shot through the whirl — then pluck'd to the profound, 
 Vanish'd and rose, swift eddying round and round. 
 
 from their office till acquitted by the Delphic oracle, or Olympian priests. — Plut. 
 ^g'ts, 11. MuLLEu's Dorians, b. iii. c. 6. 
 
200 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 But oil the marge as on the wave thou art, 
 
 coFiquering Death ! — what human, hueless face 
 
 Rests pillow'd on a silenced human heart ? 
 
 AVhat arm still clasps in more than love's embrace 
 
 That form for which yon vulture flaps its wing ? 
 
 Kneel, Lancelot, kneel, thine eyes behold thy King ! 
 
 xc. 
 
 Alas in vain — still in the Death-god's cave. 
 
 Ere yet the torrent snatch'd the hurrying stream, 
 
 Beside a crag gray-shimmering from the wave, 
 And near the brink by which the pallid beam 
 
 Sliow'd one pent path along the rugged verge. 
 
 By which to leave the raft and scape the surge, — 
 
 xci. 
 
 Alas in vain, that haven to the ark 
 
 The dove had given ! — just won the refuge-place, 
 When, thrice emerging from the sheeted dark. 
 
 White glanced a robe, and livid rose a face ! 
 He saw, he sprang, — he iiear'd, he grasp'd the vest ! 
 And both the torrent grappled to its breast. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 Yet, in the immense and superhuman force. 
 Love and despair bestow upon the bold. 
 
 The strong man battled with the Titan's course, 
 
 Grip'd rock and layer, and ledge, with snatching hold, 
 
 Bruised, bleeding, broken, onwards, downwards driven, 
 
 No wave his treasure from his grasp had riven. 
 
BOOK y. 201 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 Saved, saved — at last before his reeling eyes 
 '(Into the pool, that check'd the Fury, hurl'd) 
 
 Shone, as he rose, through all the hurtling skies. 
 The dove's white winix ; and ere the maelstrom whirl'd 
 
 The breasted waters to the central shock, 
 
 Show'd the gnarl'd roots of the redeeming rock. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 Less sense than instinct caught the wing that shone, 
 The crags that sheltered ; — the wild billows gave 
 
 The desperate limbs the force that fail'd their own, 
 And as he turn'd and sunk, the swerving wave 
 
 Swooped round, dash'd on, and to the isthmus sped 
 
 The failing life whose arms still lock'd the dead. 
 
 xcv. 
 Long vain were Lancelot's cares and knightly skill. 
 
 Ere, thro' slow veins congeal'd, pulsed back the blood ; 
 The very wounds, the valour of the will. 
 
 The peaks that broke the fury of the flood 
 Had help'd to save ; alas the strong to save ! 
 For Strength to toil, till Love re-opes the grave. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Twice down the dismal path (the dove his guide) 
 The lake's charm'd knight bore twice his helpless load ; 
 
 A chamois hunter in the vale descried, 
 Aided the convoy to the house of God. 
 
 Dark — wroth — convulsed, the soul earth holdeth, lay; 
 
 Calm from the bier beside it, smiled the clay ! 
 
202 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Song — for Lydian elegy too stern, 
 
 Song, cradled in the Celt's rough battle-shield ; 
 
 Rather from thee should man, the soldier, learn 
 To hide the wounds — heroic while conceal'd ; 
 
 From foes without, the mean the palm may win, 
 
 What tries the noble is the war within ! 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 Let the King's woe its muse in Silence claim, 
 When sense return'd, and solitary life 
 
 Sate in the ShadoAv ! — shade or sun the same. 
 Toil hath brief respite : man is made for strife. 
 
 Woman for rest! — rest, bright with dreams is given. 
 
 Child of the heathen, in the Christian heaven ! 
 
 xcix. 
 And to the Christian prince's plighted bride, 
 
 The simple monks, the Christian's grave accord, 
 With lifted cross and swinging censer glide 
 
 To 23assing bells — the hermits of the Lord ; 
 And at that hour, in her own native vale. 
 Her own soft race their mj'Stic loss bewail. 
 
 c. 
 
 Methinks I see the Tuscan Genius yet. 
 
 Lured, lingering by the clay it loved so well, 
 
 And listening to the two-fold dirge that met 
 In upper air ; — here Nazarene anthems swell 
 
 Triumphal j)a3ans ! — there, the Alps behind. 
 
 Etrurian Na3ni9e,''' load the lagging wind. 
 
 * NaDniae, the funeral hymns borrowed by the Romans from the Etrurians. 
 
BOOK V. 203 
 
 CI. 
 
 Pauses the startled Genius to compare 
 
 The notes that mourn the Hfe, at best so brief, 
 
 With those that welcome to empyreal air 
 The bright escaper from a Avorld of grief; 
 
 Marvelling what creed, beyond the happy vale, 
 
 Can teach the soul the loathed Styx to liail ! 
 
 THE ETRURIAN N^NI^E. 
 
 Where art thou, pale and melancholy ghost ? 
 
 No funeral rites appease thy tomhless clay ; 
 Unburied, glidest thou by the dismal coast. 
 
 exile from the day ? 
 
 There, where the voice of love is heard no more, 
 AVhere the dull v^^ave moans back the eternal wail, 
 , Dost thou recall the summer suns of yore. 
 
 Thine own melodious vale ? 
 
 Thy Lares stand on thy deserted floors, 
 
 And miss their last sweet daughter's holy face, 
 What hand shall wreathe with flowers the threshold doors? 
 
 What child renew the race ? 
 
 Thine are the nuptials of the dreary shades, 
 
 Of all thy groves what rests ? — the cypress tree ! 
 As from the air a strain of music fades, 
 
 Dark silence buries thee ! 
 
 • Yet no, lost child of more than mortal sires, 
 
 Thy stranger bridegroom bears thee to his home, 
 Where the stars light the ^Esars' nuptial fires 
 
 In Tina's azure dome ; 
 
 From the fierce wave the god's celestial wing 
 
 Rapt thee aloft along the yielding air ; 
 W^ith amaranths fresh from heaven's eternal spring, 
 
 Bright Cupra* braids thy hair. 
 
 * Cupra, or Talna, corresponding with Juno, the nuptial goddess. 
 
204 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Ah, in those halls for us thou wilt not mourn, 
 Far are the /Esars' joys from human woe : 
 But not the less forsaken and forlorn 
 
 Those thou hast left below ! 
 
 Never, oh never more, shall we behold thee, 
 
 The last spark dies upon the sacred hearth : 
 Art thou less lost, though heavenly arms enfold thee — 
 
 Art thou less lost to earth ? 
 
 Slow swells the sorrowing N(«nioB's chaunted strain. 
 
 Time with slow flutes our leaden footsteps keep ; 
 Sad earth, whate'er the happier heaven may gain, 
 
 Ilath but a loss to weep. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN FUNERAL HYMN. 
 
 Sing we Halleluiah — singing 
 
 Halleluiah to the Three ; 
 Where, vain Death, oh, where thy stinging ? 
 
 Where, Grave, thy victory ? 
 
 As a sun a soul hath risen. 
 
 Rising from a stormy main ; 
 When the captive breaks the prison, 
 
 Who but slaves would mourn the chain ? 
 
 Fear for age subdued by trial, 
 
 Heavy with the years of sin : 
 When the sunlight leaves the dial. 
 
 And the solemn shades beo-in. 
 
 "o 
 
 Not for youth ! — alth(uigh the bosom 
 With a sharper grief be wrung ; 
 
 For the Maywind strews the blossom, 
 And the angel takes the young ! 
 
 Saved from sins, while yet forgiven ; 
 
 From the joys that lead astray, 
 From the earth at war with heaven, 
 
 Soar, happy soul, away ! 
 
BOOK y. 205 
 
 From the human love that fadeth, 
 In the falsehood or the tomi) ; 
 
 From the cloud that darkly shadeth ; 
 From the canker in the bloom ; 
 
 Thou hast pass'd to suns unsetting, 
 Whore the rainbow spans the flood, 
 
 Where no moth the garb is fretting, 
 Where no worm is in the bud. 
 
 Let the arrow leave the quiver, 
 It was fashion' d but to soar ; 
 
 Let the wave pass from the river, 
 Into ocean evermore ! 
 
 Mindful yet of mortal feeling 
 In thy fresh immortal birth ; 
 
 By the Virgin mother kneeling, 
 Plead for those beloved on earth. 
 
 W^hisper them thou hast forsaken, 
 
 "Woe but borders unbelief;" 
 Comfort smiles in faith unshaken. 
 
 Shall thy glory be their grief? 
 
 Let one ray on them descending. 
 From the prophet Future stream ; 
 
 Bliss is daylight never ending, 
 Sorrow but a passing dream. 
 
 O'er the grave in far communion, 
 
 AVith the choral Seraphim, 
 Chaunt in notes that hail reunion, 
 
 Chaunt the Christian's funeral hymn. 
 
 Singing Hallekiiah — singing 
 
 Ilallehiiah to the Three, 
 Where, vain Death, oh where thy stinging? 
 
 Where, Grave, thy victory ? 
 
206 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Cll. 
 
 So rests the child of creeds before the Greek's, 
 In our Lord's holy ground — between the walls 
 
 Of the gray convent and the verdant creeks 
 Of the sequestered mere ; afar the falls 
 
 Of the fierce torrent from her native vale. 
 
 Vex the calm wave, and groan upon the gale. 
 
 cm. 
 Survives that remnant of old races still, 
 
 In its strange haven from the surge of Time ? 
 There yet do Camsee's songs at sunset thrill, 
 
 At the same hour when here, the vesper chime 
 Hymns the sweet Mother ? Ah, can granite gate, 
 Cataract, and Alp, exclude the steps of Fate ? 
 
 CIV. 
 
 World-wearied man, thou knowest not on the earth 
 What regions lie beyond, yet near, thy ken ! 
 
 But couldst thou find them, where would be the worth ? 
 Life but repeats its triple tale to men. 
 
 Three truths unite the children of the sod — 
 
 All love — all suffer — and all feel a God ! 
 
 cv. 
 
 By -/Egle's grave, the royal mourner sate, 
 And from his bended eyes the veiling hand 
 
 Shut out the setting sun ; — thus, desolate, 
 He sate, with Memory in her spirit-land, 
 
 And took no heed of Lancelot's soothing words, 
 
 Vain to the oak, bolt-shattered, sing the birds ! 
 
BOOK V. 207 
 
 CVI. 
 
 Vain in their promise of returning spring ; 
 
 Spring may give leaves, can spring reclose the core ? 
 Comfort not sorrow — sorrow's self must bring 
 
 Its own stern cure ! — All wisdom's holiest lore, 
 " The know thyself," descends from heaven in tears ; 
 The cloud must break before the horizon clears. 
 
 cvn. 
 
 The dove forsook not : — now its poised wing. 
 Bathed in the sunset, rested o'er the lake ; 
 
 Now brooded o'er the grave beside the King, 
 Now with liush'd plumes, as if it feared to wake 
 
 Sleep, less serene than Death's, it sought his breast, 
 
 And o'er the heart of misery claimed its nest. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 Night falls — the moon is at her full ; — the mere 
 Shines with the sheen pellucid ; not a breeze ! 
 
 And through the liush'd and argent atmosphere 
 Sharp rise the summits of the breathless trees, 
 
 When Lancelot saw, all indistinct and pale, 
 
 Glide o'er the liquid glass a mistlike sail. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 Now, first from Arthur's dreams of fever gained. 
 And since (for grief unlocks the secret heart) 
 
 Briefly confess'd, the triple toil ordained 
 
 The knightly brother knew ; — so with a start 
 
 He strained the eyes, to which a fairy gave 
 
 Vision of fairy forms, along the wave. 
 
208 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 ex. 
 
 Then ill his own the King's cold hand he took, 
 And spoke — "Arise, thy mission calls thee now ! 
 
 Let the dead rest — still lives thy country ! — look, 
 And nerve thy knighthood to redeem its vow. 
 
 This is the lake whose Avaves the falchion hide, 
 
 And yon the bark that becks thee to the tide !" 
 
 CXI. 
 
 Listless arose the King, and looked abroad. 
 
 Nor saw the sail ; — though nearer, clearer gliding. 
 
 The Fairy nurseling by the vapoury shroud 
 And vapoury helm, beheld a phantom guiding, 
 
 " Not this," replied the King, " the lake decreed ; 
 
 Where points thy hand but floats a broken reed ! 
 
 CXII. 
 
 " Where are the dangers on that placid tide ? 
 
 Where are the fiends that guard the enchanted boon ? 
 Behold, where rests the pilgrim's plumed guide 
 
 On the cold grave — beneath the quiet moon ! 
 So night gives rest to grief — with labouring day 
 Let the dove lead, and life resume, the way !" 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 Then answered Lancelot — for he was wise 
 
 In each mysterious Druid parable : — 
 " Oft in the things most simple to our eyes, 
 
 The real genii of our doom may dwell — 
 The enchanter spoke of trials to befall ; 
 And the lone heart has trials worse than all ! 
 
BOOK V. 209 
 
 cxiv. 
 
 '' Weird triads tell us that our nature knows 
 In its own cells the demons it should brave ; 
 
 And oft the calm of after glory flows 
 
 Clear round the marge of early passion's grave ;" 
 
 And the dove came, ere Lancelot ceased to speak, 
 
 To its lord's hand — a leaflet in its beak. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 A leaflet from the grave ! — Then Arthur's heart 
 Awoke within him, and the prophet word 
 
 Of bitter charms which could alone impart 
 The vision of the lake's dark Lady — stirr'd 
 
 The kindled memories — to his tips he placed 
 
 The grave's true moly ; — bitter was the taste ! 
 
 ex VI. 
 
 And straight the film fell from his heavy eyes ; 
 
 And, moored beside the marge, he saw the bark. 
 Its fair sails swelling, though in windless skies, 
 
 And the fair Lady in the robes of dark. 
 O'er moonlit tracks she stretched the shadowy hand, 
 And lo, beneath the waters bloomed the land! 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 Forests of emerald verdure spread below. 
 With palaced-pillars gleaming far and wide. 
 
 On to the bark the mourner's footsteps go ; 
 
 The pale King stands by the pale phantom's side ; 
 
 And Lancelot sprang — but sudden from his reach 
 
 Glanced the wan skiff, and left him on the beach. 
 
 14 
 
210 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 Chain'd to the earth by spells, more strong than love, 
 He saw the pinnace steal its noiseless way, 
 
 And on the mast there sate the steadfast dove, 
 With white plume shining in the steadfast ray — 
 
 Slow from the sight the waves the Vision bear, 
 
 And not a speck is in the purple air. 
 
KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK VI. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Description of the Cymrian fire-beacons ; Dialogue between Gawaine and 
 Caradoc ; The raven ; Merlin announces to Gawaine that the bird selects 
 him for the aid of the King ; The knight's pious scruples ; He yields 
 reluctantly, and receives the raven as his guide ; His pathetic farewell 
 to Caradoc ; He confers with Henricus on the propriety of exorcising 
 the raven ; Character of Henricus ; The knight sets out on his ad- 
 ventures ; The company he meets and the obligation he incurs ; The 
 bride and the sword ; The bride's choice and the hound's fidelit}^ ; Sir 
 Gawaine lies down to sleep under the fairy's oak; What there befalls" 
 him ; The fairy banquet ; The temptation of Sir Gawaine ; The rebuke 
 of the fairies ; Sir Gawaine, much displeased with the raven, resumes 
 his journey ; His adventure with the Vikings, and how he comforts 
 himself in his captivity. 
 
BOOK VI. 
 
 I. 
 
 On the bare summit of the loftiest peak — 
 
 Crowning the hills round Cymri's Iscan home, 
 
 Rose the gray temple of the Faith Antique, 
 
 Before whose priests had paused the march of Rome, 
 
 When the dark isle revealed its drear abodes, 
 
 And the last Hades of Cimmerian gods ; 
 
 II. 
 While dauntless Druids by their shrines profaned, 
 
 Stretch'd o'er the steelclad hush their swordless hands,* 
 And dire Religion, horror-breathing, chain'd 
 
 The frozen eagles, — till the shuddering bands 
 Shamed into slaughter, broke the ghastly spell. 
 And, lost in reeks of carnage, sunk the hell. 
 
 III. 
 
 Quivered on column-shafts the poised rock. 
 As if a breeze could shake the ruin dow n ; 
 
 But storm on storm had sent its thunder-shock, 
 Nor reft the temple of its charmed crown — 
 
 So awe of power Divine on human breasts 
 
 Vibrates for ever, and for ever rests. 
 
 • See Tacitus, 1. xiv. cap. 30, for the celebrated description of the attack on the 
 Druids, in their refuge in Mona, under Publius Suetonius. 
 
214 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Within the fane awaits a giant pyre, 
 
 Around the pyre assembled warriors stand; 
 
 A pause of prayer ; — and suddenly the fire 
 
 Flings its broad banner reddening o'er the land. 
 
 Shoot the fierce sparks and groan the crackling pines, 
 
 Toss'd on the Wave of Shields the glory shines. 
 
 V. 
 
 Lo, from dark night flash Carduel's domes of gold, 
 Glow the jagg'd rampires like a belt of light. 
 
 And to the stars springs up the dragon-hold, 
 With one lone image on the lonely height — 
 
 O'er those who saw a thrilling silence fell ; 
 
 There the still Prophet watch'd o'er Carduel ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Forth on their mission rush'd the wings of flame ; 
 
 Hill after hill the land's gray warders rose ; 
 First to the Mount of Bards* the splendour came, 
 
 Wreath'd with large halo Trigarn's f stern repose ; 
 On, post by post, the fiery courier rode. 
 Blood red Edeirnion'sJ dells of verdure glow'd ; 
 
 ' Twm Barlwm, in Monmouthshire, on vvijich the bards are Ripposed to have 
 assembled. 
 
 t Moel Trigarn in Pembrokeshire ; it has on its summit the remains of an old 
 encampment enclosing three immense cairns. 
 
 4 The beautiful valley of Edeirnion watered by the Dee. 
 
BOOK VI. 215 
 
 VII. 
 
 Uprose the hardy men of Merioneth, 
 
 When o'er the dismal strata parch'd and bleak, 
 
 Like some revived volcano's lurid breath 
 
 Sprang the fierce fire-jet from the herbless peak ; 
 
 Flash'd down on meeting streams the basalt walls,* 
 
 In molten flame Ehaiadyr's thunder falls. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Thy Faban Mount,*}* Caernarvon, seized the sign. 
 And pass'd the watchword to the Fairies' Hill ; J 
 
 All Mona blazed — as if the isle divine 
 To Bel the sun-god drest her altars still ; 
 
 Menai reflects the prophet hues, and far 
 
 To twofold ocean knells the coming war. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then wheeling round, the lurid herald swept 
 
 To quench the stars yet struggling with the glare, 
 
 Blithe to his task, resplendent Golcun§ leapt — 
 The bearded giant rose on Moel-y-Gaer — 
 
 Rose his six giant brothers, — Eifle rose. 
 
 And great Eryri|| lit his chasms of snows. 
 
 * The confluence of the Machno with the Conwy ; in that neighbourhood i? a 
 range of basalt rocks, bending over the water. Near where the streams meet are 
 the celebrated falls of Rhaiadyr-y-Craig Llwyd. 
 
 f Moel-Faban, Caernarvonshire. ^ Moelwnnion. 
 
 § Cop-yr-Golcuni, or Mount of Lighc — probably the signal mount of the great 
 chain of beacons on that side of Wales, Moel y-Gaer (the Hill of the Camp), 
 Moel-Arihur, Moel Fenlli, &c., in all six principal beacon hills. The classical 
 reader wdl perceive how much in this description has been borrowed from the cele- 
 brated passage in the Clytemnestra of ^'Eschylus. 
 
 \ Eryri, Snowdon. 
 
216 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 X. 
 
 So one vast altar was that father-land ! 
 
 But nobler altars fiash'd in souls of men, 
 Sublinier than the mountahi-tops the brand 
 
 Found pyres in every lowUest hamlet glen : 
 Soon on the rocks shall die the grosser fire — 
 Souls lit to freedom burn till suns expire. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Slowly the chiefs desert the blazing fane, 
 
 (Sure of steel-harvests from the dragon seed) 
 
 Descend the mountain and the walls regain ; 
 As suns to S3^stems, there to each decreed 
 
 His glorious task, — to marshal star on star, 
 
 And weave with fate the harmonious pomp of war. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Last of the noble conclave, lingered two ; 
 
 Gawaine the mirthful, Caradoc the mild. 
 And, as the watchfires thicken'd on their view. 
 
 War's fearless playmate raised his hand and smiled, 
 Pointing each splendour, linking rock to rock ; — 
 And while he smiled — sighed earnest Caradoc. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Now by my head — (an empty oath, and light !) 
 
 No taller tapers ever lit to rest 
 Rome's stately Caesar ; — sigh'st thou, at the sight, 
 
 For cost o'er-lavish, when so mean the guest ?" 
 " Was it for this the gentle Saviour died ? 
 Is Cain so glorious ?" Caradoc replied. 
 
BOOK VI. 217 
 
 XIV. 
 
 ^^ Permit, Sir Bard, an argament on that," 
 
 True to his fame, said golden-tongued Gawaine, 
 
 *' The hawk may save his tiedgehngs from the cat, 
 Nor yet deserve comparisons with Cain ; 
 
 And Abel's fate, to hand's unskilled, proclaims 
 
 The use of practice in gymnastic games. ^ 
 
 XV. 
 
 *' Woes that have been are man's best lesson-book — 
 From Abel's death, his nimbler sons should learn 
 
 To add an inch of iron to the crook 
 
 And strike, when struck a little in return — 
 
 Had Abel known his qu-arterstaff, I Avot, 
 
 Those Saxon Ap-Cains ne'er had been begot." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 More had he said, but a strange, grating note, 
 
 Half laugh — half croak, was here discordant heard ; 
 
 An ave rose — but died within his throat, 
 
 As close before him perch'd the enchanter's bird, 
 
 With head aslant, and glittering eye askew. 
 
 It near'd the knidit — the knight in haste w^ithdrew. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " All saints defend me, and excuse a jest !" 
 
 Muttered Sir Gawaine — " bird or fiend avaunt : 
 
 Oh, holy Abel, let this matter rest, 
 I do repent me of my foolish taunt !" 
 
 With that the cross upon his sword he kist, 
 
 And stared a«:hast — the bird was on his wrist. 
 
218 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 *^ Hem — vade Satanas ! — discede I 7-e^ro," 
 
 The raven croak'd, and fixed himself afresh ; 
 
 '^ Aves damnata — -juheo et iwpetro^' 
 
 Ten pointed claws here fasten'd on his flesh ; 
 
 The knight, sore smarting, shook his arm — the bird 
 
 Peck'd in reproach, and kept its perch nnstirr'd. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Quoth Caradoc — whose time had come to smile, 
 And smile he did in grave and placid wise — 
 
 ** Let not thine evil thoughts, my friend, defile 
 The harmless wing descended from the skies." 
 
 ** Skies!!!" said the knight — "black imps from skies 
 descend 
 
 With claws like these ! — the world is at an end !" 
 
 XX. 
 
 *' Now shame, Gawaine; knight of little heart, 
 
 How if a small and inoffensive raven 
 Dismay thee thus, couldst thou have track'd the chart 
 
 By which ^neas won his Alban-haven ? 
 On Harpies, Scylla, Cerberus, reflect — 
 And undevour'd — rejoice to be but peckt." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 *' True," said a voice behind them, — " gentle bard. 
 
 In life as verse, the art is to compare." 
 Gawaine turn'd short, gazed keenly, and breathed hard 
 
 As on the dark robed magi an streamed the glare 
 Of the huge watchfire — " Prophet," quoth Gawaine, 
 *■* My friend scorns pecking — let him try the pain. 
 
BOOK YI. 219 
 
 XXII. 
 
 '^ Please to call back this — offspring of the skies ! 
 
 Unworthy I to be his earthly rest !" 
 " Methought," said Merlin, " that thy King's emprize 
 
 Had found in thee a less reluctant breast ; 
 Again is friendship granted to his side — 
 Thee the bird summons^ be the bird thy guide." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Dumb stared the knight — stared first upon the seer. 
 Then on the raven, — who demure and sly, 
 
 Turn'd on his master a respectful ear, 
 And on Gawaine a magisterial eye. 
 
 '' What hath a king with ravens, seer, to do ?" 
 
 " Woden the king of half the world had two. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Peace — if thy friendship answer to its boast. 
 Arm, take thy steed and with the dawn depart — 
 
 The bird will lead thee to the ocean coast ; 
 Strange are thy trials, stalwart be thy heart." 
 
 " Seer," quoth Gawaine, " my heart I hope is tough 
 
 Nor needs a prop from this portentous chough. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " You know the proverb — ' birds of the same feather,' 
 A proverb much enforced in penal laws,'^' 
 
 In certain quarters were we seen together 
 It might, I fear suffice to damn my cause : 
 
 You cite examples apt and edifying — 
 
 Woden kept ravens ! — well, and Woden's frying !" 
 
 • In Welch laws it was sufficient to condemn a person to be found with noto- 
 rious offenders. 
 
220 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The enchanter smiled, in pity or in scorn ; 
 
 The smile was sad, but loftj^, calm, and cold — 
 " The straws," he said, " on passing wdnds upborne 
 
 Dismay the courser — is the man more bold ? 
 Dismiss thy terrors, go thy w ays, my son, 
 To do thy duty is the fiend to shun. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " Not for thy sake the bird is given to thee. 
 
 But for thy King's." — " Enough," replied the knight, 
 
 And bow'd his head. The bird rose jocundly. 
 Spread its dark wing and rested in the light — 
 
 " Sir Bard," to Carodoc the chosen said 
 
 In the close whisjoer of a knight well bred : 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " Vow'd to my King — come man, come fiend, I go, 
 But ne'er expect to see thy friend again. 
 
 That bird carnivorous hath designs I know 
 Most Anthropophagous on doom'd Gawaine ; 
 
 I leave you all the goods that most I j^rize — 
 
 Three steeds, six hawks, four gre-hounds, two blue eyes. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " Beat back the Saxons — beat them well, my friend. 
 And when they 're beaten, and your hand 's at leisure, 
 
 Set to your harp a ditty on my end — 
 
 The most appropriate were the shortest measure : 
 
 Forewarn'd by me all light discourses shun. 
 
 And mostly — jests on Adam's second son." 
 
BOOK VI. 221 
 
 XXX. 
 
 He said, and wended down the glowing hill. 
 
 Long watch'd the minstrel with a wistful gaze, 
 Then join'd the musing seer — and both were still, 
 
 Still mid the ruins — girded with the rays ; 
 Twin heirs of light and lords of time, gray Truth 
 That ne'er is young — and Song the only youth. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 At dawn Sir Gawaine through the postern stole, 
 But first he sought one reverend friend — a bishop, 
 
 By him assoil'd and shrived, he felt his soul 
 
 Too clean for cooks that fry for fiends to dish up ; 
 
 And then suggested, lighter and elater. 
 
 To cross the raven with some holy water. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Henricus — so the prelate sign'd his name- 
 
 Was lord high chancellor in things religious ; 
 With him church militant in truth became 
 
 [Nam cedant anna togce) church litigious ; 
 He kept his deacons notably in awe 
 By flowers epistolar perfumed with law. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 No man more stern, more fortiter in re. 
 
 No man more mild, more siiaviter in modo; 
 
 When knots grew tough, it was sublime to see 
 Such polished sheers go clippingly in nodo: 
 
 A hand so supple, pliant, glib, and quick, 
 
 Ne'er smooth'd a band, or burn'd a heretic. 
 
222 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 He seem'd to turn to you his willing clieek, 
 And beg you not to smite too hard the other ; 
 
 He seized his victim with a smile so meek, 
 And wept so fondly o'er his erring brother, 
 
 No wolf more righteous on a lamb could sup, 
 
 You vex'd his stream — he grieved — and eat you up. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " Son," said Henricus, " what you now propose 
 Is wise and pious — fit for a beginning ; 
 
 But sinful things, I fear me, but disclose, 
 In sin, perverted appetite for sinning ; 
 
 Hoj)eless to cure — we only can detect it. 
 
 First cross the bird and then (he groaned) dissect itT 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Till now, the raven perch'd on Gawaine's chair, 
 Had seem'd indulging in a placid doze, 
 
 And if he heard, he seem'd no jot to care 
 
 For threats of sprinkling his demoniac clothes, 
 
 But when the priest the closing words let drop 
 
 He hopp'd away as fast as he could hop. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Gain'd a safe corner, on a pile of tomes, 
 
 Tracts against Arius — bulls against Pelagius, 
 
 The church of Cymri's controverse with Rome's — 
 Those fierce materials seem'd to be contagious, 
 
 For there, with open beak and glowering eye, 
 
 The bird seem'd croaking forth, '^ Dissect me ! try !" 
 
BOOK yi. 223 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 This sight, perchance, the prelate's pious plan 
 Relax'd ; he gazed, recoifd, and faltering said, 
 
 " 'T is clear the monster is the foe of man. 
 His beak how pointed ! and his eyes how red ! 
 
 Demons are spirits ; — spirits, on reflexion. 
 
 Are forms phantasmal, that defy dissection." 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 ^^ Truly," sigh'd Gawaine, " but the holy water !" 
 " No," cried the Prelate, '' ineffective here. 
 
 Try, but not now, a simple noster-pater, 
 Or chaunt a hymn. I dare not yiterfere ; 
 
 Act for yourself — and say your catechism ; 
 
 Were I to meddle, it would cause a schism." 
 
 XL. 
 
 *^ A schism !" — "The church, though always in the right, 
 Holds two opinions, both extremely able ; 
 
 This makes the Rubric rest on gowns of white. 
 That makes the church itself depend on sable ; 
 
 Were I to exorcise that raven-back, 
 
 'T would favour white, and raise the deuce in black.* 
 
 • If the celebrated controversy between Black and White which divided the 
 Cymrian church in King Arthur's days, should seem to suggest a parallel in- 
 stance in our own, — the Author begs sincerely to say that he is more inclined to 
 grieve than to jest at a schism which threatens to separate from so large a body 
 of the lay upholders of the English church, the abilities and learning of no despicable 
 portion of the English clergy. There is a divsion more dangerous than that between 
 theologian and theologian — wj, a division between the Pastors and their flocks — 
 between the teaciiing of the pulpit and the sympathy of the audience. Far from 
 the Author be the rash presumption to hazard any opinion as to matters of doctrine 
 on which — such as Regeneration by Baptism — it cannot be expected that, for the 
 sake of expediency or even concord, the remarkable thinkers who have emerged 
 from the schools of Oxford should admit of compromise ; — but he asks, with the 
 respect due to zeal and erudition, whether it be worth while to inflame, dispute, and 
 risk congregations — for the colour of a gown 1 
 
224 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 ^' Depart, my son — at once, depart, I praj^ 
 
 Pay up your dues, and keep your mind at ease. 
 
 And call that creature — no, the other way — 
 When fairl}' out, a credo, if you please; 
 
 (jo, — pax vohiscum ; — shut the door I beg. 
 
 And stay; on Friday, flogging, — with an egg!" 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Out went the knight, more puzzled than before; 
 
 And out, unsprinkled, flew the Stygian bird; 
 The bishop rose, and doubly locked the door; 
 
 His pen he mended, and his fire he stirr'd; 
 Then solved that problem — '' Pons Diaconorum," 
 White equals black, plus x y botherorum. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 So through the postern stole the troubled knight; 
 
 Still as he rode, from forest, mount, and vale, 
 Kung lively horns, and in the morning light 
 
 Flash'd the sheen banderoll, and the pomp of mail, 
 The welcome guests of War's blithe festival. 
 Keen for the feast, and summoned to the hall. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Curt answer gave the knight to greeting gay. 
 And none to taunt from scurril churl unkind. 
 
 Oft asking, ' if he did mistake the way ?' — 
 Or hinting, 'war was what he left behind;' 
 
 As noon came on, such sights and connnents cease, 
 
 Lone through the pasture rides the knight in peace. 
 
BOOK VI. 225 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Grave as a funeral mourner rode Gawaine — 
 The bird went first in most indecent glee, 
 
 Now lost to sight, now gambling back again — 
 Now munch'd a beetle, and now chased a bee- 
 
 Now pluck'd the wool from meditative lamb, 
 
 Now pick'd a quarrel with a lusty ram. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Sharp through his vizor Gawaine watch'd the thing, 
 With dire misgivings at that impish mirth : 
 
 Day wax'd — day waned — and still the dusky wing 
 Seem'd not to find one resting place on earth. 
 
 " Saints," groaned Gawaine, " have mercy on a sinner, 
 
 And move that devil — just to stop for dinner!" 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 The bird turn'd round, as if it understood, 
 
 Halted the wing, and seem'd awhile to muse ; — 
 
 Then dives at once into a dismal wood, 
 
 And grumbling much, the hungry knight pursues, 
 
 To hear (and hearing, hope once more revives,) 
 
 Sweet-clinking horns, and gently-clashing knives. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 An opening glade a pleasant group displays ; 
 
 Ladies and knights amidst the woodland feast ; 
 Around them, reinless, steed and palfrey graze ; 
 
 To earth leaps Gawaine — " I shall dine at least." 
 His casque he doffs — " Good knights and ladies fair, 
 Vouchsafe a famish'd man your feast to share." 
 
 15 
 
226 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Loud laugli'd a big, broad-shouldered, burly host ; 
 
 " On two conditions, eat thy fill," quoth he ; 
 " Before one dines, 't is well to know the cost — 
 
 Tliou'lt Aved my daughter, and thou'lt fight with me." 
 '' Sir Host," said Gawaine, as he stretched his platter, 
 '^I '11 first the pie discuss, and then the matter." 
 
 L. 
 
 The ladies looked upon the comely knight. 
 
 His arch bright eye provoked the smile it found ; 
 
 The men admired that vasty appetite, 
 Meet to do honour to the Table Kound ; 
 
 The host, reseated, sent the guest his horn, 
 
 Brimm'd with pure drinks distill'd from barley corn. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Drinks rare in Cymri, true to milder mead, 
 
 But long familiar to Milesian lays. 
 So huge that draught, it had dispatch'd with speed 
 
 Ten Irish chiefs in these degenerate days : 
 Sir Gawaine drained it, and Sir Gawaine laugh'd, 
 '' Cool is your drink, though scanty is the draught ; 
 
 LII. 
 
 ^' But, pray you pardon, (sir, a slice of boar,) 
 
 Judged by your accent, mantles, beards, and wine, 
 
 (If wine this be) ye come from Huerdan's* shore, 
 To aid no doubt our kindred Celtic line ; 
 
 Ye saw the watch-fires on our hills at night. 
 
 And march to Carduel ? read I, sirs, aright ?" 
 
 * lIuEiiDAN, /*. €. Ireland, pronounced, in the Poem, as a dissyllable. 
 
BOOK yi. 227 
 
 LIII. 
 
 " Stranger," replied the host, " your guess is wrong, 
 And shows your lack of history and reflection ; 
 
 Huerdan with Cymri is allied too long, 
 
 We come, my friend, to sever the connexion : 
 
 But first, (your bees are wonderful for honey,) 
 
 Yield us your hives — in plainer words, your money." 
 
 LIV. 
 
 "Friend," said the golden-tongued Gawaine, "methought 
 Your mines were rich in wealthier ore than ours." 
 
 "True," said the host, superbly, "were they wrought! 
 But shall Milesians waste in work their powers ? 
 
 Base was that thought, the heartless insult masking." 
 
 " Faith," said Gawaine, " gold's easier got by asking." 
 
 LV. 
 
 Upsprung the host, upsprung the guests in ire — 
 Upsprung the gentle dames, and fled affrighted ; 
 
 High rose the din, than all the din rose higher 
 The croak of that cursed raven quite delighted ; 
 
 Sir Gawaine finished his last slice of boar. 
 
 And said " Good friends, more business and less roar. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 " If you want peace — shake hands, and peace, I say. 
 If you want fighting, gramercy ! we '11 fight." 
 
 " Ho," cried the host, "your dinner you must pay — 
 The two conditions." — " Host, you're in the right, 
 
 To fight I 'm willing, but to wed I 'm loth ; 
 
 I choose the first." — " Your word is bound to hotli : 
 
228 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 " Me first engaged, if conquered you are — dead, 
 And then alone your honour is acquitted ; 
 
 But conquer me, and then you must be wed ; 
 You ate ! — the contract in that act admitted." 
 
 " Host," cried the knight, half stunned by all the clatter, 
 
 " 1 only said I would discuss the matter. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 " But if your faith upon my word reposed, 
 
 That thought alone King Arthur's knight shall bind." 
 
 Few moments more, and host and guest had closed — 
 For blows come quick when folks are so inclined : 
 
 They foined, they fenced, changed play, and hack'd 
 and hewed — 
 
 Paused, panted, eyed each other, and renew'd -, 
 
 LIX. 
 
 At length a dexterous and back-handed blow. 
 
 Clove the host's casque and bow'd him to his knee. 
 
 " Host," said the Cymrian to his fallen foe ; 
 
 " But for thy dinner, wolves should dine on thee ; 
 
 Yield — thou bleed'st badly — yield and ask thy life." 
 
 " Content," the host replied — " embrace thy wife." 
 
 LX. 
 
 " cursed bird," cried Gawaine, with a groan, 
 
 " To what fell trap my wretched feet were carried ; 
 
 My darkest dreams had ne'er this fate foreshown — 
 I sate to dine, 1 rise and I am married ! 
 
 worse than Esau, miserable elf. 
 
 He sold his birthright — but he kept himself." 
 
BOOK VI. 229 
 
 LXI. 
 
 While thus in doleful and heart-rending strain 
 
 Mourned the lost knight, the host his daughter led, 
 
 Placed her soft hand in that of sad Gawaine — 
 
 " Joy be with both !" — the bridegroom shook his head ! 
 
 " I have a castle which I won by force — 
 
 Mount, happy man^ for thither wends our course : 
 
 Lxir. 
 
 " Page, bind my scalp — to broken scalps we're used. 
 
 Your bride, brave son, is worthy of your merit ; 
 No man alive has Erin's maids accused, 
 
 And least that maiden, of a want of spirit ; 
 She plies a sword as well as you, fair sir, 
 When out of hand, just try your hand on her." 
 
 LXIIT. 
 
 Not once Sir Gawaine lifts his leaden eyes. 
 To mark the bride by partial father praised, 
 
 But mounts his steed — the gleesome raven flies 
 Before ; beside him rides the maid amazed : 
 
 " Sir Knight," said she at last, with clear loud voice, 
 
 " I hope your musings do not blame your choice ?" 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 "' Damsel," replied the knight of golden tongue, 
 
 As with some effort he replied at all, 
 " Sith our two skeins in one the Fates have strumr, 
 
 My thoughts were guessing when the shears would fall ; 
 Much irks it me, lest vowed to toil and strife, 
 I doom a widow where I make a wife. 
 
230 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 " And sooth to say, despite those matchless charms 
 Which well might fire our last new saint, Dubricius, 
 
 To-morrow's morn must snatch me from thine arms ; 
 Led to far lands by auguries, not auspicious — 
 
 Wise to postpone a bond, how dear soever, 
 
 Till my return." — " Return ! that may be never ; 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 " What if you fall ? (since thus you tempt the fates) 
 The yew will flourish where the lily fades 5 
 
 The laidliest widows find consoling mates 
 
 With far less trouble than the comeliest maids ; 
 
 Wherefore, Sir Husband, have a cheerful mind, 
 
 Wliate'er may chance your wife will be resign'd." 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 That loving comfort, arguing sense discreet. 
 But coldly pleased the knight's ungrateful ear, 
 
 But while devising still some vile retreat. 
 
 The trumpets flourish and the walls frown near ; 
 
 Just as the witching night begins to fall 
 
 They pass the gates and enter in the hall. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Soon in those times prima3val came the hour 
 When balmy sleep did wasted strength repair, 
 
 They led Sir Gawaine to the lady's bower, 
 Unbraced his mail and left him with the fair j 
 
 Then first demurely seated side by side, 
 
 The dolorous bridegroom gazed upon the bride. 
 
BOOK yi. 231 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 No iron heart had he of golden tongue, 
 To beauty none by nature were 23oliter ; 
 
 The bride was tall and buxom, fresh and young, 
 
 And while he gazed, his tearful eyes grew brighter — 
 
 " ' For good, for better,' runs the sacred verse, 
 
 Sith now no better — let me brave the worse." 
 
 LXX. 
 
 With that he took and kiss'd the lady's hand, 
 
 The lady smiled and GaAvaine's heart grew bolder, 
 
 When from the roof by some unseen command 
 
 Flash'd down a sword and smote him on the shoulder ; 
 
 The knight leapt up, sore-bleeding from the stroke, 
 
 While from the lattice cawed the merriest croak ! 
 
 LXXI, 
 
 Aghast he gazed — the sword within the roof 
 Again had vanished ; nought was to be seen — 
 
 He felt his shoulder, and remain'd aloof. [mean." 
 
 " Fair dame," quoth he, " explain what this may 
 
 The bride replied not, hid her face and wept; 
 
 Moved, to her side, with caution, Gawaine crept. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 " Nay, weep not, sweetheart, but a scratch — no more," 
 He bent to kiss the dew-drops from his rose, 
 
 When presto down the glaive enchanted shore — 
 Gawaine leapt back in time to save his nose. 
 
 " Ah, cruel father," groaned the lady then, 
 
 " I hoped at least thou wert content with ten !" 
 
232 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 '' Ten what ?" said Gawaine. — "Gallant knights like thee, 
 Who fonght and conquer d my deceitful sire ; 
 
 Married, as thou, to miserable me. 
 
 And doom'd as thou, beneath the sword to expire — 
 
 By this device he gains their arms and steeds, 
 
 So where force fails him, there the fraud succeeds." 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 " Foul felon host," the wrathful knight exclaims, 
 " Foul w^izard bird, no doubt in league with him ! 
 
 Have they no dread lest all good knights and dames 
 Save fiends their task, and rend them limb from limb ? 
 
 But thou for Gawaine ne'er shalt be a mourner. 
 
 Thou keep the couch, and I — yon farthest corner !" 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 This said, the prudent knight on tiptoe stealing 
 Went from his bride as far as he could go, 
 
 Then laid him down, intent upon the ceiling ; 
 Noses, once lost, no second crop will grow — 
 
 So watch'd Sir Gawaine, so the lady wept, 
 
 Perch'd on the lattice-sill the raven slept. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Uprose the sun and uprose blithe Gawaine — 
 Steps climb the stair, a hand unbars the door — 
 
 " Saints," cries the host, and stares upon the tw^ain, 
 Amazed to see that living guest once more — 
 
 " Did you sleep well ?" — " Why, yes," replied the knight, 
 
 " One gnat, indeed ; — but gnats were made to bite. 
 
BOOK yi. 233 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 " Man must leave insects to their insect law ; — 
 
 Now thanks, kind host, for board and bed and all — 
 
 Depart I must," — the raven gave a caw. 
 
 " And I with thee," chimed in that damsel tall. 
 
 " Nay," said Gawaine, " I wend on ways of strife," 
 
 '' Sir, hold your tongue — I choose it ) I'm your wife." 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 With that the lady took him by the hand. 
 And led him, fall'n of crest, adown the stair ; 
 
 Buckled his mail, and girded on his brand, 
 
 Brimm'd full the goblet nor disdained to share — 
 
 The host saith nothing, or to knight or bride ; 
 
 Forth comes the steed — a palfrey by its side. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Then Gawaine flung from the untasted board 
 His manchet to a hound with hungry face ; 
 
 Sprung to his selle, and wish'd, too late, that sword 
 Had closed his miseries with a coup de grace. 
 
 They clear the walls, the open road they gain ; 
 
 The bride rode dauntless — daunted much Gawaine. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Gaily the fair discoursed on many things. 
 
 But most on those ten lords — his time before, 
 
 Unhappy wights, who, as old Homer sings, 
 Had gone, ' Proiapsoi,' to the Stygian shore ; 
 
 Then, each described and praised, — she smiled and said, 
 
 " But one live dog is worth ten lions dead." 
 
234 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 The kniglit prepared that proverb to refute, 
 When the bird beckoned down a delving lane, 
 
 And there the bride provoked a new dispute : 
 
 That path was frightful — she preferred the plain. 
 
 " Dame," said the knight, " not I your steps compel- 
 
 Take thou the 2:)lain ! — adieu ! I take the dell." 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 ^5 Ah, cruel lord," with gentle voice and mien 
 The lady murmur'd, and regained his side ; 
 
 " Little thou know'st of woman's faith, I ween. 
 All paths alike save those that would divide ; 
 
 Ungrateful knight — too dearly loved." — " But then," 
 
 Falter'd Gawaine, "you said the same to tenT 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 " Ah no ; their deaths alone their lives endeared. 
 
 Slain for my sake, as I could die for thine ;" 
 And while she spoke so lovely she apjDcared 
 
 The knight did, blissful, towards her cheek incline- 
 But, ere a tender kiss his thanks could say, 
 A strong hand jerked the palfrey's neck away. 
 
 LXXXI V. 
 
 Unseen till then, from out the bosky dell 
 
 Had leapt a huge, black-brow'd, gigantic wight ; 
 
 Suddenly he swung the lady from her selle. 
 
 And seized that kiss defrauded from the kniglit, 
 
 While, with loud voice and gest uncouth, he swore 
 
 So fair a cheek he ne'er had kiss'd before ! 
 
BOOK YI. 235 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 With mickle wrath Sir Gawaine sprang from steed, 
 And, quite forgetful of his wonted j^arle, 
 
 He did at once without a word proceed 
 To make a ghost of that presuming carle. 
 
 The carle, nor ghost nor flesh inclined to yield. 
 
 Took to his club, and made the bride his shield. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 " Hold, stay thine hand !" the hapless lady cried. 
 As high in air the knight his falchion rears ; 
 
 The carle his laidly jaws distended wide. 
 
 And — " Ho," he laughed, " for me the sweet one fears, 
 
 Strike, if thou durst, and pierce two hearts in one, 
 
 Or yield the prize — by love already won." 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 In high disdain, the knight of golden tongue 
 
 Looked this way, that, revolving where to smite ; 
 
 Still as he looked, and turned, the giant swung 
 The unknightly buckler round from left to right. 
 
 Then said the carle — " What need of steel and strife ? 
 
 A word in time may often save a life. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 " This lady me prefers, or I mistake. 
 
 Most ladies like an honest hearty wooer ; 
 
 Abide the issue, she her choice shall make ; 
 Dare you, sir rival, leave the question to her ? 
 
 If so, resheathe your sword, remount your steed, 
 
 I loose the lady and retire." — "Agreed," 
 
236 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Sir Gawaine answered — sure of the result, 
 And charmed the fair so cheaply to deliver; 
 
 But ladies' hearts are hidden and occult, 
 Deep as the sea, and changeful as the river. 
 
 The carle released the fair, and left her free — 
 
 '^ Caw," said the raven, from the willow tree. 
 
 xc. 
 A winsome knight all know was fair Gawaine 
 
 (No knight more winsome shone in Arthur s court -) 
 The carle's rough features were of homeliest grain. 
 
 As shaped by Nature in burlesque and sj^ort ; 
 The lady looked and mused, and scanned the two. 
 Then made her choice — the carle had spoken true. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 The knight forsaken rubbed astounded eyes. 
 Then touch'd his steed and slowly rode away — 
 
 '* Bird," quoth Gawaine, as on the raven flies, 
 " Be peace between us, from this blessed day ; 
 
 One single act has made me thine for life, 
 
 Thou hast shown the path by which I lost a wife !" 
 
 XCII. 
 
 While thus his grateful thought Sir Gawaine vents, 
 He hears, behind, the carle's Stentorian cries ; 
 
 He turns, he pales, he groans — " The carle repents ! 
 No, by the saints, he keeps her or he dies !" 
 
 Here at his stirrups stands the panting wight — 
 
 ^' The lady's hound, restore the hound, sir knight." 
 
BOOK yi. 237 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 " The hound," said Gawaine, much relieved, '- what 
 hound ?" 
 And then perceived he that the dog he fed, 
 With grateful steps the kindly guest had found, 
 
 And there stood faithful. — " Friend," Sir Gawaine said 
 " What's just is just ! the dog must have his due, 
 The dame had hers, to choose between the two." 
 
 xciv. 
 
 The carle demurred; but justice was so clear, 
 
 He'd nought to urge against the equal law; 
 He calls the hound, the hound disdains to hear, 
 
 He nears the hound, the hound expands his jaw ; 
 The fangs were strong and sharp, that jaw within. 
 The carle drew back — " Sir knight, I fear you win." 
 
 xcv. 
 " My friend," replies Gawaine, the ever bland, 
 
 " I took thy lesson, in return take mine ; 
 All human ties, alas, are ropes of sand. 
 
 My lot to-day to-morrow may be thine; 
 But never yet the dog our bounty fed, 
 Betrayed the kindness or forgot the bread."* 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 With that the courteous hand he gravely w^aived, 
 Nor deemed it prudent longer to delay; 
 
 Tempt not the retlow, from the ebb just saved! 
 He spurred his steed, and vanished from the way. 
 
 Sure of rebuke and troubled in his mind. 
 
 An altered man, the carle his fair rejoined. 
 
 * The whole of that part of Sir Gavvaine's adventures which includes the inci- 
 dents of the sword and the hound, is borrowed (with alterations) from one of Lb 
 Gkanu's Fabliaux. 
 
238 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 That day the raven led the knight to dine 
 
 Where merry monks spread no abstemious board; 
 
 Dainty the meat, and deHcate the wine, 
 
 Sir Gawaine felt his sprightlier self restored ; 
 
 When towards the eve the raven croaked anew. 
 
 And spread the wing for Gawaine to pursue. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 With clouded brow the pliant knight obeyed, 
 And took his leave, and quaffed the stirrup cup; 
 
 And briskly rode he thorough glen and glade, 
 Till the fair moon, to speak in prose, was up; 
 
 Then to the raven, now familiar grown. 
 
 He said-" Friend bird, night's made for sleeep, you'll own, 
 
 xcix. 
 
 " This oak presents a choice of boughs for you, 
 For me a curtain and a grassy mound." 
 
 Straight to the oak the obedient raven flew, 
 And croak'd with merry, yet malignant sound. 
 
 The luckless knight thought nothing of the croak, 
 
 And laid him down beneath the Fairy's Oak. 
 
 c. 
 
 Of evil fame was Nannau's antique tree. 
 
 Yet styled " the hollow oak of demon race ;"* 
 
 But blithe Gwyn ab Nudd's eljihin family 
 
 Were the gay demons of the slandered place; 
 
 And ne'er in scene more elphin, near and far. 
 
 On dancing fairies glanced the smiling star. 
 
 • In the domain of Nannau (which now belongs to the Vaiighans) was standing 
 to within a period comparati%'ely recent, the legendary oak called Dcrwen Ccubren 
 yr Ellyll — the hollow oak, the haunt of demons. 
 
BOOK yi. 239 
 
 CI. 
 
 Whether thy chafing torrent, rock-born Caine, 
 Flash through the deUcate birch and glossy elm, 
 
 Or prison'd Mawddach'^' clangs his triple chain 
 Of waters, fleeing to the happier realm. 
 
 Where his course broad'ning smiles along the land ; 
 
 So souls grow tranquil as their thoughts expand. 
 
 cii. 
 
 High over subject vales the brow serene 
 
 Of the lone mountain look'd on moonlit skies ; 
 
 Wide glades far opening into swards of green, 
 With shimmering foliage of a thousand dies, 
 
 And tedded tufts of heath, and ivied boles 
 
 Of trees, and wild flowers, scenting bosky knolls. 
 
 cm. 
 
 And herds of deer as slight as Jura's roe,f 
 Or Iran's shy gazelle, on sheenest places. 
 
 Grouped still, or flitted the far allies thro' ; 
 The fairy quarry for the fairy chases; 
 
 Or wheel'd the bat, brushing o'er break and scaur, 
 
 Lured by the moth, as lures the moth the star. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 Sir Gawaine slept — Sir Gawaine slept not long, 
 His ears were tickled, and his nose was tweaked ; 
 
 Light feet ran quick his stalwart limbs along. 
 
 Light fingers pinched him, and light voices squeak'd ; 
 
 He oped his eyes, the left and then the right. 
 
 Fair was the scene, and hideous was his fright ! 
 
 * Mawddach, with its three waterfalls. 
 
 f The deer in the park of Nannau are singularly small. 
 
240 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 t 
 
 cv. 
 The tiny people swarm around, and o'er him, 
 
 Here on his breast they lead the morris dance, 
 There, in each ray diagonal before him. 
 
 They wheel, leap, pirouette, caper, shoot askance. 
 Climb row on row each other's pea-green shoulder, 
 And mow and point upon the shocked beholder. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 And some had faces lovelier than Cupido's, 
 
 With rose-bud lips, all dimpling o'er with glee ; 
 
 And some had brows as ominous as Dido's, 
 When Ilion's pious traitor put to sea ; 
 
 Some had bull heads, some lion's, but in small. 
 
 And some (the finer drest) no heads at all. 
 
 CVII. 
 
 By mortal dangers scared, the wise resort 
 
 To means fugacious, licet et licehit; 
 But he who settles in a fairy's court, 
 
 Loses that option, sedet et sedehit; 
 Thrice Gawain strove to stir, nor stirred a jot. 
 Charms, cramps, and torments nailed him to the spot. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 Thus of his limbs deprived, the ingenious knight 
 Straightway betook him to his golden tongue — 
 
 " Angels," quoth he, " or fairies, with delight 
 I see the race my friends the bards have sung ; 
 
 Much honoured that, in any way expedient. 
 
 You make a ball-room of your most obedient." 
 
BOOK yi. 241 
 
 CIX. 
 
 Floated a sound of laughter, musical — 
 As when in summer noon, melodious bees 
 
 Cluster o'er jasmine roofs, or as the fall 
 Of silver bells, on the Arabian breeze ; 
 
 What time with chiming feet in palmy shades 
 
 Move, round the softened Moor, his Georgian maids. 
 
 ex. 
 
 Forth from the rest there stepped a princely fay — 
 '' And well, sir mortal, dost thou speak," quoth he, 
 
 " We elves are seldom froward to the gay, 
 Rise up, and welcome to our company." 
 
 Sir Gawaine won his footing with a spring, 
 
 Low bowed the knight, as low the fairy king. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 " By the bright diadem of dews congeafd, 
 And purple robe of prank some butterfly. 
 
 Your royal rank," said Gawaine, " is reveal'd, 
 Yet more, methinks, by yoar majestic eye ; 
 
 Of kings with mien august I know but two. 
 
 Men have their Arthur, — happier fairies, you." 
 
 CXII. 
 
 '^ Methought," replied the elf, " thy first accost 
 Proclaimed thee one of Arthur's peerless train ; 
 
 Elsewhere alas ! — ou^ later age hath lost 
 
 The blithe good-breeding of King Saturn's reign, 
 
 When, some four thousand years ago, with Fauns, 
 
 We Fays made merry on Arcadian lawns. 
 
 16 
 
242 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 cxiir. 
 
 " Time flees so fast it seems but yesterday ! 
 
 And life is brief for fairies as for men." 
 '' Ha," said Gawaine, " can fairies pass away ?" 
 
 ^' Pass like the mist on Arran's wave, what then ? 
 At least we 're young as long as we survive ; 
 Our vears six thousand — I have numbered ^ve. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 *^ But we have stumbled on a dismal theme, 
 As always happens when one meets a man — 
 
 Ho ! stop that zephyr ! — Robin, catch that beam ! 
 And now my friend, we '11 feast it while we can." 
 
 The moonbeam halts, the zephyr bows his wing. 
 
 Light through the leaves the laughing people spring. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 Then Gawaine felt as if he skirr'd the air. 
 
 His brain grew dizzy, and his breath was gone; 
 
 He stopped at last, and such inviting fare 
 Never plump monk set lustful eyes upon. 
 
 Wild sweet-briars girt the banquet, but the brake 
 
 Oped where in moonlight rippled Bala's lake. 
 
 cxvr. 
 
 Such dainty cheer — such rush of revelry — 
 Such silver laughter — -such arch happy faces — 
 
 Such sportive quarrels from excess of glee — 
 Hush'd up with such sly innocent embraces. 
 
 Might well make twice six thousand years appear 
 
 To elfin minds a sadly nipped career ! 
 
BOOK yi. 243 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 The banquet o'er, tlie royal Fay intent 
 To do all honour to King Arthur's knight, 
 
 Smote with his rod the banks on which they leant, 
 And Fairy-land flash'd glorious on the sight; 
 
 Flash'd, through a silvery, soft, translucent mist. 
 
 The opal shafts and domes of amethyst; 
 
 cxix. 
 Flash'd founts in shells of pearl, which crystal walls 
 
 And phosphor lights of myriad hues redouble ; 
 There, in the blissful subterranean halls. 
 
 When morning wakes the world of human trouble, 
 Glide the gay race; each sound our discord knows. 
 Faint-heard above, but lulls them to repose. 
 
 cxx. 
 
 Gawaine, blush ! Alas ! that gorgeous sight. 
 But woke the latent mammon in the man. 
 
 While fairy treasures shone u|)on the knight. 
 His greedy thoughts on lands and castles ran ; 
 
 He stretch'd his hands, he felt the fingers itch, 
 
 "Sir Fay," quoth he "you must be monstrous rich !" 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 Scarce fall the words from those unlucky lips. 
 
 Than down rush'd darkness, flooding all the place; 
 
 His feet a fairy in a twinkle trips ; 
 
 A swarm of wasps seem settling on his face ; 
 
 Pounce on their prey the tiny torturers flew. 
 
 And sang this moral while they pinch'd him blue ; 
 
244 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CHORUS OF PREACHING FAIRIEb. 
 
 Joy to him who fhiry treasures 
 With a fairy's eye can see ; 
 
 AVoe to him who counts and measures 
 What the worth in coin may be. 
 
 Gems from withered leaves we fashion 
 For the spirit pure from stain ; 
 
 Grasp them with a sordid passion, 
 And they turn to leaves again. 
 
 CHORUS OF nXCHING FAIRIES. 
 
 Here and there and every where, 
 
 Tramp and cramp him inch by inch ; 
 
 Fair is fair, — to each his share, 
 
 You shall preach and we will pinch. 
 
 CHORUS OF PREACHING FAIRIES. 
 
 Fairy treasures are not rated 
 By their value in the mart; 
 
 In thy bosom, earth, created 
 For the coffers of the heart. 
 
 Dost thou covet fairy money ? 
 
 Rifle but the blossom bells — 
 Like the wild bee, shape the honey 
 
 Into golden cloister-cells. 
 
 CHORUS OF PINCHING FAIRIES. 
 
 Spirit hear it, flesh revere it! 
 
 Stamp the lesson inch by inch ! 
 Rightly merit, flesh and spirit. 
 
 This the preaching, that the pinch ! 
 
 CHORUS OF PREACHING FAIRIES. 
 
 Wretched mortal, once invited, 
 Fairy land was thine at will ; 
 
 Every little star had lighted 
 
 Revels when the world was still. 
 
 Every bank a gate had granted 
 
 To the topas-paven halL« — 
 Every M^ave had roll'd enchanted 
 
 From our crystal music-falls. 
 
BOOK YI. 245 
 
 CHORUS OF PINCHING FAIRIES. 
 
 Round him winging, sharp and stinging, 
 
 Clip him, nip him, inch by inch, 
 Sermons singing, Avisdom bringing, 
 
 Point the moral with a pinch. 
 
 CHORUS OF PREACHING FAIRIES. 
 
 Now the spell is lost forever, 
 
 And the common earth is thine ; 
 Count the traffic on the river. 
 
 Weigh the ingots in the mine ; 
 
 Look around, aloft and under, 
 
 With an eye upon the cost; 
 Gone the happy world of wonder ! 
 
 WoQ, thy fairy land is lost! 
 
 CHORUS OF PINCHING FAIRIES. 
 
 Nature bare is, where thine air is, 
 
 Custom cramps thee inch by inch; 
 And when care is, human fairies 
 
 Preach and — vanish at a pinch ! 
 
 CIX. 
 
 Sudden they cease — for shrill crow'd chanticleer ; 
 
 Gray on the darkness broke the glimmering light ; 
 Slowly assured he was not dead with fear 
 
 And pinches, cautious peer'd around the knight ; 
 He found himself replaced beneath the oak, 
 And heard with rising wrath the chuckling croak. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 " Oh bird of birds, most monstrous and malific, 
 Were these the inns to which thou wert to lead ! 
 
 Now gash'd with swords, now clawed by imps horrific ; 
 Wives — wounds — cramps — pinches ! Precious guide 
 indeed ! 
 
 Ossa on Pelion piling, crime on crime ; 
 
 Wretch save thy throttle, and repent in time !" 
 
246 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 cxxiii. .^1^ 
 
 Thus spoke the knight — the raven gave a grunt, ^^ 
 (That raven Uked not threats to hfe or limh !) 
 
 Then with due sense of the unjust affront, 
 
 Hopp'd supercilious forth, and summoned him — 
 
 His mail once more the aching knight endued, 
 
 Limp'd to his steed, and ruefully pursued. 
 
 CXXTV. 
 
 The sun was high when all the glorious sea 
 
 Flash'd through the boughs that overhung the way. 
 
 And down a path, as rough as path could be. 
 The bird flew sullen, delving towards the bay; 
 
 The moody knight dismounts, and leads with pain 
 
 The stumbling steed, oft backing from the rein. 
 
 cxxv. 
 One ray of hope alone illumed his soul, 
 
 "The bird will lead thee to the ocean coast," 
 The wizard's words had clearly mark'd the goal ; 
 
 The goal once won — of course the guide was lost : 
 While thus consoled, its croak the raven gave, 
 Folded its wings and hopp'd into a cave. 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 Sir Gawaine paused — Sir Gawaine drew his sword; 
 
 The bird vmseen screamed loud for him to follow— 
 His soul the knight committed to our Lord, 
 
 Stepped on — and fell ten yards into a hollow; 
 No time had he the ground thus gained to note. 
 Ere six strong hands laid gripe upon his throat. 
 
BOOK yi. 247 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 It was a creek, three sides with rocks enclosed, 
 The fourth stretch'd, opening on the golden sand; 
 
 Dull on the wave an anchor'd ship reposed; 
 A boat with peaks of brass lay on the strand ; 
 
 And in that creek caroused the grisliest crew 
 
 Thor ever nursed, or Rana* ever knew. 
 
 CXXVTII. 
 
 But little cared the knight for mortal foes. 
 
 From those strong hands he wrench'd himself away, 
 
 Sprang to his feet and dealt so dour his blows, 
 Cleft to the chin a grim Berserker lay, 
 
 A Fin fell next, and next a giant Dane — 
 
 ^^Ten thousand pardons!" said the bland Gawaine. 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 But e'en in that not democratic age 
 
 Too large majorities were stubborn things. 
 
 Nor long could one man strive against the rage 
 Of half a hundred thick-skull'd ocean kings — 
 
 Four felons crept between him and the rocks, 
 
 Lifted four clubs and fell'd him like an ox. 
 
 cxxx» 
 When next the knight unclosed his dizzy eyes, 
 
 His feet were fettered and his arms were bound — 
 Below the ocean, and above the skies ; 
 
 Sails flapp'd — cords crackled ; long he gazed around. 
 Still where he gazed, fierce eyes and naked swords 
 Peer'd through the flapping sails and crackling cords — 
 
 * Kan, or Rana, the malignant goddess of the sea, in Scandinavian mythology. 
 
248 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CXXXI. ~^ir ' 
 
 A chief before liim leant upon his club, 
 
 With hideous visage bush'd with tawny hair. 
 
 " Who plays at bowls must count upon a rub," 
 Said the bruised Gawaine with a smiling air ; 
 
 " Brave sir, permit me humbly to suggest 
 
 You make your gyves too tight across the breast." 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 Grinn'd the grim chief, vouchsafing no reply ; 
 
 The knight resumed — " Your pleasant looks bespeak 
 A mind as gracious ; — may I ask you why 
 
 You fish for Christians in King Arthur's creek?" 
 " The kings of creeks," replied that hideous man, 
 "Are we, the Vikings and the sons of Ran! 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 
 "Your beacon fires allured us to your strands 
 The dastard herdsman fled before our feet, 
 
 Thee, Odin's raven guided to our hands ; 
 Thrice happy man, Yalhalla's boar to eat ! 
 
 The raven's choice suggests it 's God's idea. 
 
 And marks thee out — a sacrifice to Freya !" 
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 As spoke the Viking, over Gawaine's head 
 Circled the raven with triumphal caw ; 
 
 Then o'er the cliffs, still hoarse with glee, it fled. 
 Thrice a deep breath the knight relieved did draw. 
 
 Fair seem'd the voyage — pleasant seem'd the haven ; 
 
 "Blest saints," he cried, "I have escaped the raven!" 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
>^•. 
 
 "»■ 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BY 
 
 SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, Bart. 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE NEW TIMON. 
 
 " When Arthur w^as King — 
 Hearken, now, a marvellous thing." 
 
 *' LavaiiiOii's Brut," by Sir F. RJadden, Vol. i. p 413. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL II. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 HOGAN & THOMPSON. 
 1851. 
 
^l 'ir 
 
 KING ARTHUR 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Arthur and the Lady of the Lake ; They land on the Meteor Isle ; Which 
 then sinks to the Halls below ; Arthur beholds the Forest springing 
 from a single stem ; He tells his errand to the Phantom, and rejects 
 the fruits that it proffers him in lieu of the sword ; He is conducted by 
 the Phantom to the entrance of the caves, through which he must pass 
 alone ; He reaches the Coral Hall of the Three Kings ; The Statue 
 crowned with thorns ; the Asps and the Vulture, and the Diamond 
 Sword ; The Choice of the Three Arches ; He turns from the first and 
 second arch, and beholds himself, in the third, a corpse ; The sleeping 
 King rises at Arthur's question — ' if his death shall be in vain V The 
 Vision of times to be ; Coeur de Lion and the age of Chivalry ; The 
 Tudors ; Henry VII. ; the restorer of the line of Arthur and the founder 
 of civil Freedom ; Henry VIII. and the Revolution of Thought ; Eliza- 
 beth and the Age of Poetry ; the Union of Cymrian and Saxon, under 
 the Sway of ' Crowned Liberty ;' Arthur makes his choice, and attempts, 
 but in vain, to draw the Sword from the Rock — the Statue with the 
 thorn-wreath addresses him ; Arthur called upon to sacrifice the Dove ; 
 His reply ; The glimpse of Heaven ; The trance which succeeds, and 
 in which the King is borne to the sea shores. 
 
KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 1. 
 
 As when In Autumn nights and Arctic skies, 
 An angel makes the cloud his noiseless car, 
 
 And, thro' cgerulean silence, silent flies 
 
 From antique Hesper to some dawning star, 
 
 So still, so sw^ift, along the windless tides 
 
 Her vapour-sail the Lake's mute Lady guides. 
 
 Along the sheen, along the glassy sheen. 
 Amid the lull of lucent night they go ; 
 
 Till, in the haven of an islet green. 
 
 Murmuring thro' reeds, the gentle waters flow : 
 
 Shoots the dim pinnace to the gradual strand. 
 
 And the pale Phantom, beck'ning, glides to land. 
 
 VOL. II. 1 
 
6 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 III. 
 
 Follow'd tlie King — yet scarcely toucli'd the shore. 
 When slowly, slowly sunk the meteor-isle, 
 
 Fathom on fiithom, to the sparry floor 
 Of alabaster shaft and porphyr-pile, 
 
 Built as by Nereus for his own retreat, 
 
 Or the Nymph-mother of the silver feet.* 
 
 IV. 
 
 Far, thro' the crystal lymph, the pillar'd halls 
 Went lengthening on in vista'd majesty; 
 
 The waters sapp'd not the enchanted walls, 
 Nor shut their roofless silence from the sky ; 
 
 But every beam that gilds this world of ours 
 
 Broke sparkling downward into diamond showers. 
 
 V. 
 
 And the strange magic of the Place bestow'd 
 Its own strange life upon the startled King, 
 
 Round him, like air, the subtle waters flow'd ; 
 As round the Naiad flows her native spring ; 
 
 Domelike collapsed the azure ; — moonlight clear 
 
 Fill'd the melodious silvery atmosphere — 
 
 VI. 
 
 Melodius with the chaunt of distant falls 
 
 Of sportive waves, within the waves at play. 
 
 And infant springs that bubble up the halls 
 Thro' sparry founts, (on which the broken ray 
 
 Weaves its slight iris) — hymning while they ris e 
 
 To that smooth calm their restless life supplies, 
 
 • < The silver-footed Thetis.' — Hoher. 
 
BOOK YII. 7 
 
 VII. 
 
 Like secret thoughts in some still poet's soul, 
 That swell the deep while yearning to the stars : 
 
 But overhead a trembling shadow stole, 
 
 A gloom that leaf-like quiver'd on the spars, 
 
 And that quick shadow, ever moving, fell 
 
 From a vast Tree with root immoveable ; 
 
 VIII. 
 
 In link'd arcades, and interwoven bowers 
 Swept the long forest from that single stem ! 
 
 And, flashing through the foliage, fruits or flowers 
 In jewell'd clusters glow'd with every gem 
 
 Golgonda liideth from the greed of kings ; 
 
 Or Lybian gryphons guard with drowsy wings. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Here blush'd the ruby, warm as Charity,* 
 
 There the mild topaz, wrath-assuaging, shone 
 
 Radiant as mercy; — like an angel's eye. 
 
 Or a stray splendour from the Father's throne, 
 
 The sapphire chaste a heavenlier lustre gave 
 
 To that blue heaven reflected on the wave. 
 
 X. 
 
 Never from India's cave, or Oman's sea 
 
 Swart Afrite wreathed for scornful Peri's brow. 
 
 Such gems as wasted on that Wonder-tree, 
 
 Paled Sheban treasures in each careless bough ; 
 
 And every bough the gilding wavelet heaves. 
 
 Quivers to music with the quivering leaves. 
 
 • In heraldic mysteries, the ruby is the emblem of charity — the topaz assuages 
 choler and frenzy — the sapphire preserves chastity, &c. See Stlvanus Morgan's 
 Sphere of Gentry. 
 
8 KIXG ARTHUR. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Then first the Sovereign Lady of tlie deep 
 
 Spoke ; and the waves and whispering leaves were still, 
 
 " Ever I rise before the eyes that w^eep 
 
 When, born from sorrow, Wisdom makes the will : 
 
 But few behold the shadow thro' the dark 
 
 And few will dare the venture of the bark. 
 
 XII. 
 
 '^ And now amid the Cuthites' temple halls 
 O'er which the waters undestroying flow, 
 
 Heark'ning the mysterious hymned from silver falls 
 Or from the sj^rings that, gushing up below, 
 
 Gleam to the surface, whence to heaven updrawn, 
 
 They form the clouds that harbinger of dawn, — 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Say what the treasures which my deeps enfold 
 That thou wouldst bear to the terrestrial day ?" 
 
 Then Arthur answered — and his quest he told, 
 The prophet mission which his steps obey — 
 
 " Here springs the forest from the single stem : 
 
 I seek the falchion welded from the gem !" 
 
 XIV. 
 
 '^ Pause," said the Phantom, " and survey the tree ! 
 
 More worth one fruit that weighs a branchlet down, 
 Than all which mortals in the sword can see. 
 
 Thou ask'st the falchion to defend a crown — 
 But seize the fruit, and to thy grasp decreed 
 More realms than Ormuzd lavish'd on the Mede ; 
 
BOOK VII. 9 
 
 XV. 
 
 '' Than great Darius left his doomed son, 
 From Scythian wastes to Abyssinian caves ; 
 
 From Nimrod's tomb in silenced Babylon 
 To Argive islands fretting Asian waves ; 
 
 Than chang'd to sceptres the rude Lictor-rods, 
 
 And placed the worm call'd Cassar with the gods ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Pause — take thy choice — each gem a host can buy, 
 Link race on race to Conquest's rushing car; 
 
 No ghastly Genius here thou need'st defy, 
 The fruits un2:uarded, and the fiends afar — 
 
 But dark the perils that surround the Sword, 
 
 And slight its worth — ambitious if its Lord ; 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Powerless to win, though potent to defend, 
 Its blade will shiver in a conqueror's clasp ; 
 
 A weapon meeter for the herdsman's end, 
 
 When ploughshares turn to falchions in his grasp, 
 
 Some churl w^ho seeks to guard his humble hearth — 
 
 A Hero's soul should hunger for the Earth !" 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Spirit or Sorceress," — said the frowning King, 
 " Fame like the Sun illumes an Universe ; 
 
 But life and joy both Fame and Sun should bring ; 
 And God ordains no glory for a curse. 
 
 What need of falchions save to guard a land ? 
 
 'T is the Churl's cause that nerves the Hero's hand. 
 
10 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 ^- 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Not mine the crowns the Persian lost or won, 
 Tiaras glittering over kneeling slaves ; 
 
 Mine be the sword that freed at Marathon, 
 The unborn races by the Father-graves — 
 
 Or stay'd the Orient in the Spartan pass, 
 
 And carved on Time, thy name, Leonidas 1" 
 
 XX. 
 
 The Sybil of the Sources of the Deep 
 
 Heard nor replied, but indistinct and w^an 
 
 Went as a Dream that thro' the w^orlds of Sleep 
 Leads the charm'd soul of labour-wearied man ; 
 
 And even as man and dream, so, side by side, 
 
 Glideth the mortal with the gliding guide. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Glade after glade, beneath that forest tree 
 
 They pass, — till sudden, looms amid the Avaves, 
 
 A dismal rock, hugely and heavily, 
 
 With crags distorted vaulting horrent caves ; 
 
 A single moonbeam thro' tlie hollow creeps : 
 
 Glides with the beam the Lady of the deeps. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Then Arthur felt the dove that at his breast 
 Lay nestling warm — stir up and quivering, 
 
 Ilis soothing hand the cris23ed plumes carest ; 
 Slow wxnt they on, the Lady and the King : 
 
 And, ever as they went, before their way 
 
 O'er prison'd waters lengthening stretched the ray. 
 
BOOK YII. 11 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Now the black jaws as of a hell they gain ; 
 
 Pauses the Lake's pale Hecate. " Lo," she said, 
 " Within, the Genii thou invadest reign. '^ 
 
 Alone thy feet the threshold floors must tread — 
 No aid from Powers not human canst thou win 
 Lonely the man must dare the Shapes within." 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 She spoke to vanish — but the single ray 
 
 Shot from the unseen moon, still palely breaketh 
 The awe that rests with midnight on the way ; 
 
 Faithful as Hope when Wisdom's self forsaketh — 
 The buoyant beam the lonely man pursued — 
 And, feeling God, he felt not Solitude. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 No fiend obscene, no giant spectre grim, 
 
 (Born or of Runic or Arabian Song,) 
 Affronts the progress — thro' the gallery dim, 
 
 Into the sudden light which flames along 
 The waves, and dyes the stillness of their flood 
 To one red horror like a lake of blood. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And now, he enters, with that lurid tide, 
 
 Where time-long corals shape a mighty hall ; 
 
 Three curtain'd arches on the dexter side. 
 And on the floors a ruby pedestal. 
 
 On which with marble lips, that life-like smiled, 
 
 Stood the fair Statue of a crowned Child : 
 
12 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 It smiled, and yet its crown was wreathed of thorns^ 
 And round its limbs coil'd foul the viper's brood ; 
 
 Near to that Child a rough crag, deluge-torn, 
 
 Jagg'd, with sharp shadow abrupt, the luminous flood ; 
 
 And a huge Vulture from the summit, there, 
 
 "VVatch'd, with dull hunger in its glassy stare. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Below the Vulture, in the rock ensheathed, 
 
 Shone out the hilt-beam of the diamond glaive ; 
 
 And all the hall one hue of crimson wreathed, 
 And all the galleries vista'd thro' the wave ; 
 
 As flush'd the coral fathom-deep below, 
 
 Lit into glory from the ruby's glow, 
 
 XXIX* 
 
 And on three thrones there sate three giant forms, 
 Rigid the first, as Death ; — with lightless eyes. 
 
 And brows as hush'd as deserts, w hen the storms 
 Lock the tornado in the Nubian skies ; — 
 
 Dead on dead knees the large hands nerveless rest, 
 
 And dead the front droops heavy on the breast. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The second shape, with bright and kindling eye, 
 And aspect haughty with triumphant life. 
 
 Like a young Titan reared its crest on high, 
 
 Crown'd as for sway and harness'd as for strife ; 
 
 But o'er one half his image there was cast, 
 
 A shadow from the throne where sate the last. 
 
BOOK YII. 13 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And this, the third and Last, seem'd in that sleep 
 Which neighbours waking in a summer s dawn, 
 
 When dreams, reLaxing, scarce their captive keep : 
 Half o'er his face a veil transparent drawn, 
 
 Stirr'd with quick sighs unquiet and disturb'd. 
 
 Which told the impatient soul the slumber curb'd. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Thrill'd, but undaunted, on the Adventurer strode, 
 Then spoke the youthful Genius with the crown 
 
 And armour : " Hail to our august abode ! 
 Guardless we greet the seeker of Renown. 
 
 In our least terror cravens Death behold. 
 
 But vainly frown our direst for the bold." 
 
 xxxiri. 
 '^ And who are ye ?" the wondering King replied, 
 
 " On whose large aspects reigns the awe sublime 
 Of fabled judges, that o'er souls preside 
 
 In Rhadamanthian Halls ?" The Lords of Time, 
 Answered the Giant, " And our realms are three. 
 The What has been", what is, and what shall be ! 
 
 XX XIV. 
 
 ^^ But while we speak my brother's shadow creeps 
 
 Over the life blood that it freezes fast ; 
 Haste, while the king that shall discrown me sleeps. 
 
 Nor lose the Present — lo, how dead the Past ! 
 Accept the trials, Prince beloved by Heaven, 
 To the deep heart — -(that nobler reason), given. 
 
 VOL. II. 2 
 
14 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " Thou hast rejected m the Cuthites' halls 
 
 The fruits that flush Ambition's dazzling tree, 
 
 The Conqueror's lust of blood-stained coronals ; — 
 Again thine ordeal in thy judgment be ! 
 
 Nor here shall empire need the arm of crime — 
 
 But Fate achieve the lot^ thou ask'st from Time. 
 
 XXXVT. 
 
 '' Behold the three-fold Future at thy choice, 
 
 Choose right, and win from Fame the master spell." 
 
 Then the concealing veils, as ceased the voice. 
 From the three arches with a clangor fell, 
 
 And clear as scenes with Thespian wonders rife 
 
 Gave to his view the Lemur-shapes of life. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Lo the fair stream amidst that pleasant vale. 
 Wherein his youth held careless holiday ; 
 
 The stream is blithe with many a silken sail, 
 The vale with many a proud pavilion gay. 
 
 And in the centre of the rosy ring, 
 
 Propp'd on his arm, reclines himself, the King. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 AII5 all the same as when his golden prime 
 
 Lay in the lap of life's soft Arcady ; 
 When the light love beheld no foe but Time, 
 
 When but from Pleasure heaved the prophet sigh. 
 And Luxury's prayer was as 'a Summer day, 
 Mid blooms a.nd sweets to wear the hours away.' 
 
BOOK yii. 15 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " Behold," the Genius said, " is that thy choice 
 As once it was ?" " Nay, I have wept since then," 
 
 Answered the mortal with a mournful voice, 
 " When the dews fall, the stars arise for men !" 
 
 So turn'd he to the second arch to see 
 
 The imperial peace of tranquil majesty ; — 
 
 XL. 
 
 The kingly throne, himself the dazzling king ; 
 
 Bright arms, and jewelled vests, and purple stoles ; 
 While silver winds, from many a music-string, 
 
 Rippled the wave of glittering banderolls : 
 From mitred priests and ermined barons, clear 
 Came the loud praise which monarchs love to hear ! ?' 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " Doth this content thee ?" " Ay," the Prince replied, 
 And towered erect, with empire on his brow ; 
 
 "Ay, here at once a Monarch may decide, 
 Be but the substance worthy of the show ! 
 
 Courts are not states — let me see men ! — behind 
 
 Where stands the People ? — Genius, lift the blind !" 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Slow fades the pageant, and the Phantom stage 
 As slowly fiird with squallid, ghastly forms ; 
 
 Here, over fireless hea^rths cowered shivering Age, 
 And blew with feeble breath dead embers ; — storms 
 
 Hung in the icy welkin ; and the bare 
 
 Earth lay forlorn in Winter's charnel air. 
 
16 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 And Youth all labour-bow'd, with withering look, 
 Knelt by a rushing stream whose waves were gold, 
 
 And sought with lean strong hands to grasp the brook, 
 And clutch the glitter lapsing from the hold, 
 
 Till with mad laugh it ceased, and, tott'ring down 
 
 Fell, and on frowning skies, scowl'd back the frown. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 No careless Childhood laughed disportingly, 
 
 But dwarf 'd, pale mandrakes with a century's gloom 
 
 On infant brows, beneath a Poison-tree 
 
 With skeleton fingers plied a ghastly loom, 
 
 Mocking in cynic jests life's gravest things. 
 
 They wove gay King-robes, muttering "What are Kings?" 
 
 XLV. 
 
 And thro' that dreary Hades to and fro, 
 Stalk'd all unheeded the Tartarean Guests ; 
 
 Grim discontent that loathes the Gods, and Woe 
 Clasping dead infants to her milkless breasts ; 
 
 And madding Hate, and Force with iron heel. 
 
 And voiceless Vengeance sharp'ning secret steel. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 And, hand in hand, a Gorgon-visaged Pair, 
 Envy and Famine, halt with livid smile, 
 
 Listening the Demon-Orator Despair, 
 
 That, with a giozing and malignant guile, 
 
 Seems sent the gates of Paradise to ope, 
 
 And lures to Hell by simulating Ho]3e. 
 
BOOK YII. 17 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 "Can such things be below and God above ? 
 
 Faltered the King; — Replied the Genius — "'Nay, 
 This is the state that Sages most approve ; 
 
 This is Man civilized ! — the perfect sway 
 Of Merchant Kings ; — the ripeness of the Art 
 Which cheajDens men — the Elysium of the Mart. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 " But what to thee if Pomp hath its extremes ? 
 
 Not thine the shadow — Go, enjoy the light ! 
 Begirt by guards, shut danger from thy dreams ; 
 
 That serves thy grandeur which appals thy sight ; 
 From its own entrails if the worm supply 
 The silken purple — let it weave and die !" 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 "Demon — rather," cried the Poet-king, 
 " Let me all lonely on the heav'n-kist hill. 
 
 Rove with the hunter — be my drink the spring, 
 The root my banquet, and the night-wind shrill 
 
 Howl o'er my couch with the wild fox — than know 
 
 One pomp that mocks that Lazar-house of woe. 
 
 L. 
 
 " Thou saidst, ' Give dues to Csesar,'— Lord ! secure 
 The mightier tribute Csesars owe to men ! 
 
 Thou who" hast oped God's kingdom to the Poor, 
 Reveal Humanity to Kings ! — again 
 
 Descend, Messiah ! — and to earth make kno^\T.i 
 
 How Christ had rei^n'd if on the Caesar's throne !" 
 
18 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LI. 
 
 So, with indignant tears in manly eyes 
 Turned the great Archetype of Chiyahy; 
 
 Lo the third arch ai d last ! — In moonlight rise 
 The Cjmrian rocks dark-shining from the sea, 
 
 And all those rocks, some patriot war, forgone, 
 
 Hallows with grassy mound and starlit stone. 
 
 LIT. 
 
 And wdiere the softest falls the loying light. 
 He sees himself stretch'd lifeless on the sward, 
 
 And by the corpse, with sacred robes of white 
 Leans on his iyory harp a lonely Bard ; 
 
 Yea, to the Dead the sole still ¥*^atchers giyen 
 
 Are the Fame-Singer and the Hosts of Heayen. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 But on the kingly front the kingly crown 
 
 Rests; — the pale right hand grasps the diamond glaiye; 
 
 The brow, on which ey'n strife hath left no frown, 
 Calm in the halo Glory giyes the Braye. 
 
 " Mortal, is this thy choice ?" the Genius cried. 
 
 "Here Death; there Pleasure; and there Pomp! — decide!" 
 
 LIV. 
 
 " Death," answer'd Arthur, " is nor good nor ill 
 Save in the ends for which men die — and Death 
 
 Can oft achieye what Life may not fulfil, 
 
 And kindle earth with Valour's dying breath ; 
 
 But oh, one answer to one terror deign. 
 
 My land — my people ! — is that death in yain ?" 
 
BOOK VII. 19 
 
 LV. 
 
 Mute droop'd the Genius, but the unquiet form 
 Dreaming beside its brother king, arose, 
 
 Tho' dreaming still ;''' As leaps the sudden storm 
 On sands Arabian, as with spasms and throes 
 
 Bursts the Fire-mount by soft Parthenope, 
 
 Rose the veil'd Genius of the Thino:s to be 1 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Shook all the hollow caves : — wit]i tortur'd groan, 
 Shook to their roots in the far core of hell ; 
 
 Deep howFd to deep the monumental throne 
 Of the dead giant rock'd; — each coral cell 
 
 Flash'd quivering billowlike. Unshaken smiled. 
 
 From the calm ruby base the thorn-crown'd Child. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 The Genius rose ; and thro' the phantom arch 
 Glided the Shadows of His own pale dreams ; 
 
 The mortal saw the long procession march 
 Beside that ima2:e which his lemur seems : 
 
 An armed King — three lions on his shiekhj- — 
 
 First by the bard-watch'd Shadow paused and kneel' d. 
 
 * The Present shows that which appears submitted to our choice ; the Future 
 that which positively shall be! 
 
 ■\ Richard Cocur de Lion ; — poetically speaking, the mythic Arthur was the fa- 
 ther of the age of adventure and knighthood — and the legends respecting him reigned 
 with full influence, in the period which Richard Coeur de Lion, here (generally and 
 without strict prosaic regard to chronology) represents; from the lay of the Trouba- 
 dour and the song of the Saracen — to the final concentration of chivalric romance in 
 the muse of Ariosto. 
 
20 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LVIIT. 
 
 Kneel'd, there, his tram — upon each mailed breast 
 A red coss stamp'd ; and deep as from a sea 
 
 With all its waves — full voices murmur d. — " Rest 
 Ever unhuried, Sire of chivalry ! 
 
 Ever by Minstrel watch'd, and Knight ador'd. 
 
 King of the halo-brow, and diamond sword !" 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Then, as from all the courts of all the earth. 
 
 The reverent pilgrims, countless, clustering came ; 
 
 They whom the seas of fabled Sirens girth, 
 Or Baltic freezing in the Boreal flame ; 
 
 Or they, who watch the Star of Bethlem quiver 
 
 By Carmel's Olive mount, and Judah's river. 
 
 LX. 
 
 From violet Provence comes the Troubadour ; 
 
 Ferrara sends her clarion-sounding son ; 
 Comes from Iberian halls the turban'd Moor 
 
 With cymbals chiming to the clarion ; 
 And, with large stride, amid the gaudier throng, 
 Stalks the vast Scald of Scandinavian song. 
 
 Lxr. 
 Pass'd he who bore the lions and the cross, 
 
 And all that gorgeous pageant left the space 
 Void as a heart that mourns the golden loss 
 
 Of young illusions beautiful. A Race 
 Sedate, supplants upon the changeful stage, 
 Light's early Sires, — the Song- World's hero-age. 
 
BOOK yiL 21 
 
 Lxrr. 
 
 Slow come the Shapes from out the dim Obscure. 
 
 A noon-like quiet circles swarming bays, 
 Seas gleam with sails, and wall-less towns secure, 
 
 Rise from the donjon sites of antique days ; 
 Lo, the calm Sovereign of that sober reign ! 
 Unarm'd — with burghers in his pompless train. 
 
 Lxiir. 
 
 And by the corpse of Arthur kneels that king, 
 And murmurs, " Father of the Tudor,* hail ! 
 
 To thee nor bays, nor myrtle wreath I bring ; 
 But in thy Son, the Dragon-born prevail. 
 
 And in my rule Right first deposes Wrong ; 
 
 And first the Weak undaunted face the Strong." 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 He pass'd — Another, with a Nero's frown 
 Shading the quick light of impatient eyes ; 
 
 Strides on — and casts his sceptre, clattering, down. 
 And from the sceptre rushingly arise 
 
 Fierce sparks ; along the heath they hissing run. 
 
 And the dull earth glows lurid as the sun. 
 
 * It is needless to say that in Henry VII. the direct line of the British kings, 
 through their most renowned heroes, is restored to the throne of England. It is 
 here symbolically intimated, that the date in which the Fathtr-race of the Land 
 thus regains the Sovereign rights, is also (whatever the mere personal faults of the 
 Tudor kings) the date destined for the first recognition of rights more important ; — 
 tlie dawn of a new era for the liberties of men. 
 
22 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 And there is heard afar the hollow crash 
 
 Of ruin ; — wind-borne, on the flames are driven : 
 
 But where, round tailing shrines, the}^ coil and Hash, 
 A seraph's hand extends a scroll from heaven, 
 
 And the rude shape cries loud, " Behold, ye blind, 
 
 I who have trampled Men^ have freed the Mind !" 
 
 Lxvr. 
 
 So laughing grim, pass'd the Destroyer on ; 
 
 And, after two pale shadows, to the sound 
 Of lutes more musical than Helicon, 
 
 A manlike woman march'd : — The graves around 
 Yawn'd, and the ghosts of Knighthood, more serene 
 In death, — arose^ and smiled upon the Queen.''" 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 With her, (at either hand) two starry forms 
 Glide — th:ai herself more royal — and the glow 
 
 Of their own lustre, each pale phantom warms 
 Into the lovely life the angels know. 
 
 And as they pass, each Fairy leaves its cell, 
 
 And Gloriana calls on Ariel ! 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Yet she, unconscious as the crescent queen 
 
 Of orbs whose brightness makes her image bright, 
 
 Ilaught and imperious, thro' the borrowed sheen, 
 Claims to herself the sovereignty of light ; 
 
 And is herself so stately to survey. 
 
 That orbs which lend, but seem to steal the ray. 
 
 • The reader will be at no loss to recognise the eflects of the Heroagc, and that 
 
BOOK YII. ' 23 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Elf-land divine, and Chivalry sublime, 
 
 Seem there to hold their last high jubilee — 
 
 One glorious Sahhat of enchanted Time, 
 
 Ere the dull spell seals the sweet glamourj. 
 
 And all those wonder-shapes in subject ring 
 
 Kneel where the Bard still sits beside the King. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Slow falls a mist, far booms a labouring wind, 
 As into night reluctant fades the Dream ; 
 
 And lo, the smouldering embers left behind 
 
 From the old sceptre-flame, wdth blood-red beam, 
 
 Kindle afresh, and the thick smoke-reeks go 
 
 Heavily up from marching fires below. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Hark ! thro' sulphureous cloud the jarring bray 
 Of trumpet-clangours — the strong shock of steel ; 
 
 And fitful flashes light the fierce array 
 Of faces gloomy with the calm of zeal. 
 
 Or knightlier forms, on wheeling chargers borne ) 
 
 Gay in despair, and meeting zeal with scorn. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Forth from the throng came a majestic Woe, 
 
 That wore the shape of man — "And I" — It said, 
 
 " I am thy Son ; and if the Fates bestow 
 Blood on my soul and ashes on my head ; 
 
 Time's is the guilt, tho' mine the misery — 
 
 This teach me. Father — to forgive and die !" 
 
 spirit of Romance embodied by the legendary Arthur, upon whatever was most 
 gallant and most poetic in the reign of Elizabeth. 
 
24 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 But here stern voices clrown'd the mournful word, 
 Crying — " Men's freedom is the heritage 
 
 Left by the Hero of the Diamond Sword," 
 
 And others answered — " Nay, the knightly age 
 
 Leaves as its heirloom, knighthood, and that high 
 
 Life in sublimer life calFd loyalty."* 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Then, thro' the hurtling clamour came a fair 
 Shape like a s worded seraph — sweet and grave ; 
 
 And when the war heaved distant down the air 
 And died as dies a whirlwind on the wave, 
 
 By the two forms upon the storry hill, 
 
 Stood the Arch Beautiful, auaust and still. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 And thus it spoke — " I too will hail thee, ^ Sire,' 
 Type of the Hero-age ! — thy sons are not 
 
 On the earth's thrones. They who, with stately lyre. 
 Make kingly thoughts immortal, and the lot 
 
 Of the hard life divine with visitings 
 
 Of the far angels — are thy race of Kings. 
 
 • The Stuarts, like the Tudors, were descended from the Welch kings; but the 
 latent meaning of the text is, that whatever most redeemed the faults on either side 
 in the great Civil Wars, and animated, on the one, such souls as Digby and Falk- 
 land, on the other, such as Hampden and Vane, may be traced to those ennobling 
 sentiments which are engendered by the early romance and poetry of a nation. It 
 is only from the traditions of a Hero-age that true heroism enters into the struggles 
 for even practical ends, and gives the sentiment of grandeur, whether to freedom or 
 loyalty. The hardest man who never read a poem, nor listened to a legend, can- 
 not say what he would have been if the poet had never coloured, and the legend 
 never exalted, that Prose of Life to which his scope is confined. This is designed 
 to be conveyed in words ascribed below to Milton, who himself united all the ro- 
 mance of the Cavalier with all the zeal of the Kepublican. 
 
BOOK VII. 25 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 "All that ennobles strife in either cause, 
 
 And, rendering service stately, freedom wise. 
 
 Knits to the throne of God our human laws — 
 Doth heir earth's humblest son with royalties 
 
 Born from the Hero of the Diamond Sword, 
 
 "VYatcli'd by the Bard, and by the Brave adored." 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Then the Bard, seated by the hallo'd dead. 
 
 Lifts his sad eyes — and mumurs, " Sing of Him !" 
 
 Doubtful the stranger bows his lofty head. 
 When down descend his kindred Seraphim ; 
 
 Borne on their wings he soars from human sight, 
 
 And Heaven regains the Habitant of Light. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Again, and once again — from many a pale 
 
 And swift succeeding, dim-distinguished, crowd, 
 
 Swells slow the pausing pageant. Mount and vale 
 Mingle in gentle daylight, wdth one cloud 
 
 On the far welkin, which the iris hues 
 
 Steals from its gloom with rays that interfuse. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Mild, like all strength, sits Crowned Liberty, 
 Wearing the aspect of a youthful Queen : 
 
 And far outstretch'd along the unmeasured sea 
 Rests the vast shadow of her throne ; serene 
 
 From the dumb icebergs to the fiery zone. 
 
 Rests the vast shadow of that guardian throne. 
 
26 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 And round lier group the Cjmrian's changeless race 
 Blent with the Saxon, brother-like; and both 
 
 Saxon and Cymrian from that sovereign trace 
 
 Their hero line ; — sweet flower of age-long growth ; 
 
 The single blossom on the twofold stem ; — 
 
 Arthur's ^vhite plume crests Cerdic's diadem. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Yet the same harp that Taliessin strung 
 
 Delights the sons whose sires the chords delighted ; 
 
 Still the old music of the mountain tongue 
 Tells of a race not conquered but united ; 
 
 That, losing nought, wins all the Saxon won, 
 
 And shares the realm ^ where never sets the sun.' 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Afar is heard the Ml of headlong thrones, 
 
 But from that throne as calm the shadow falls ; 
 
 And where Oppression threats and Sorrow groans 
 Justice sits listening in her gateless halls, 
 
 And ev'n, if powerless, still intent, to cure. 
 
 Whispers to Truth, " Truths conquer that endure." 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Yet still on that horizon hangs the cloud. 
 
 And the cloud chains the Cymrian's anxious eye ; 
 
 " Alas," he murmured, " that one mist should shroud !" 
 Perchance from sorrow, that benignant sky !" 
 
 But while lie sigh'd the Vision vanished, 
 
 And left once more the lone Bard hy the dead. 
 
BOOK VII. 27 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 "Beliold tlie close of thirteen hundred years; 
 
 Lo ! Cymri's Daughter on the Saxon's throne ! 
 Free as their air thy Gj^mrian mountaineers, 
 
 And in the heavens one rainbow cloud alone, 
 Which shall not pass, until, the cycle o'er, 
 The soul of Arthur comes to earth once more. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 " Dost thou choose Death ?" the giant Dreamer said. 
 
 " Ay, for in death I seize the life of fame. 
 And link the eternal millions with the dead," 
 
 Replied the King — and to the sw^ord he came 
 Large-striding ; — grasp'd the hilt ; — f he charmed brand 
 Clove to the rock, and stirr'd not to his hand. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 The Dreaming Genius has his throne resum'd ; 
 
 Sit the Great Three with Silence for their reign, 
 Awful as earliest Theban kings entomb'd. 
 
 Or idols granite-hewn in Indian fane ; 
 When lo, the dove flew forth, and circling round, 
 Dropp'd on the thorn-wreath which the Statue crown'd. 
 
 Lxxxvir. 
 Rose then the Vulture with its carnage-shriek. 
 
 Up coil'd the darting Asps ; the bird above ; 
 Below the reptiles ; — poison-fang and beak. 
 
 Nearer and nearer gathered round the dove ; 
 When with strange life the marble Image stirr'd. 
 And sudden pause the Asps — and rests the Bird. 
 
28 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 " Mortal," the Ima,ge murmured, " I am Pie, 
 
 Whose voice alone the 'enchanted sword unsheathes, 
 
 Mightier than yonder Shapes — eternally 
 
 Throned upon light, tho' crown'd with thorny wreaths ; 
 
 Changeless amid the Halls of Time ; — my name 
 
 In heaven is Youth, and on the earth is Fame. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 " All altars need their sacrifice ; and mine 
 
 Asks every bloom in which thy heart delighted. 
 
 Thorns are my garlands — wouldst thou serve the shrine, 
 Drear is the faith to which thy vows are plighted. 
 
 The Asp shall twine, — the Vulture watch the prey, 
 
 And Horror rend thee, let but Hope give way. 
 
 xc. 
 
 '^ Wilt thou the falchion with the thorns it brino's ?" 
 " Yea — for the thorn- wreath hath not dimm'd thy 
 smile." 
 
 " Lo, thy first offering to the Vulture's wings. 
 
 And the Asp's fangs !" — the cold lips answered, while 
 
 Nearer, and nearer the devourers came, 
 
 Where the dove resting hid the thorns of Fame. 
 
 xci. 
 And all the memories of that faithful guide, 
 
 The sweet companion of unfriended ways, 
 When danger threatened, ever at his side, 
 
 And ever in the grief of later days. 
 Soothing his heart with its mj^sterious love, 
 Till Ogle's soul seem'd hovering in the dove,- 
 
 <) 
 
BOOK yii. 29 
 
 XCII. 
 
 All cried aloud in Arthur, and he sjDrang 
 
 And sudden from the slaughter snatch'd the prey, 
 
 " What !" said the Image, " can a moment's pang 
 To the poor worthless favourite of a day 
 
 Appal the soul that yearns for ends sublime. 
 
 And sighs for empire o'er the worlds of Time ? 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 " Wilt thou resign the guerdon of the sword ? 
 
 Wilt thou forego the freedom of thy land ? 
 Not one slight offering will thy heart accord ? 
 
 The hero's prize is for the martyr's hand." 
 Safe on his breast the King replaced the guide, 
 Raised his majestic front, and thus replied : 
 
 xciv. 
 
 '• For Fame and Cymri, what is mine I give. 
 
 Life ! — and brave death prefer to ease and power -, 
 
 But not for Fame or Cymri would I live 
 
 Soil'd by the stain of one dishonoured hour; 
 
 x\nd man's great cause was ne'er triumphant made, 
 
 By man's worst meanness — Trust for gain betray'd. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 " Let then the rock the sword for ever sheathe, 
 All blades are charmed in the Patriot's grasp !" 
 
 Lie spoke, and lo ! the Statue's thorny wreath 
 Bloomed into roses — and each baffled asp 
 
 Fell down and died of its own poison sting 
 
 Back to the crag dull-sail'd the death-bird's wing. 
 
 VOL. II. 3 
 
30 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 And from the Statue's smile, as when the morn 
 Unlocks the Eastern gates of Paradise, 
 
 Ineffable joy in light and beauty borne, 
 
 Flowed ; and the azure of the distant skies 
 
 Stole thro' the crimson hues the ruby gave, 
 
 And slept, like Plappiness, on Glory's wave. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 " Go," said the Image, " thou hast won the Sword ; 
 
 He who thus values Honour more than Fame 
 Makes Fame itself his Servant, not his lord ; 
 
 And the man's heart achieves the hero's claim. 
 But by Ambition is Ambition tried. 
 None gain the guerdon who betray the guide !" 
 
 - XCVTII. 
 
 Wondering the Monarch heard, and hearing, laid 
 On the bright hilt-gem, the obedient hand ; 
 
 Swift at the touch, leapt forth the diamond blade. 
 And each long vista lightened with the brand ; 
 
 The speaking marble bowed its reverent head. 
 
 Rose the three Kings — the Dreamer and the Dead ; 
 
 xcix. 
 Voices far off, as in the heart of heaven, 
 
 Hymn'd '^Hail, Fame-Conqueror in the Halls of Time;" 
 Deep as to hell the flaming vaults were riven ; 
 
 High as to angels, space on space sublime 
 Opened, and flash'd upon the mortal's eye 
 The Morning Land of Immortality. 
 
BOOK VII. 31 
 
 c. 
 
 Bow'd down before the intolerable light, 
 
 Sank on his knees the King ; and humbly veil'd 
 
 The home of Seraphs from the human sight ; 
 Then the freed Soul forsook him, as it hail'd 
 
 Thro' Flesh, its prison-house, — the spirit-choir ; 
 
 And fled as flies the music from the lyre. 
 
 CI. 
 
 And all was blank, and meaningless, and void ; 
 
 For the dull form, abandoned thus below. 
 Scarcely it felt the closing waves that buoy'd 
 
 Its limbs, light-drifting down the gentle flow — 
 And when the conscious life returned again, 
 Lo, noon lay tranquil on the ocean main. 
 
 CII. 
 
 As from a dream he woke, and looked around. 
 For the lost Lake and Ogle's distant grave ; 
 
 But dark, behind, the silent headlands frown'd ; 
 
 And bright, before him, smiled the murmuring wave ; 
 
 His right hand rested on the falchion won ; 
 
 And the dove plumed her pinions in the sun. 
 
KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK viir. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Lancelot continues to watch for Arthur till the eve of the following day, 
 when a damsel approaches the Lake ; Lancelot's discreet behaviour there- 
 on, and how the Knight and the Damsel converse ; The Damsel tells her 
 tale ; Upon her leaving Lancelot, the fairy ring commands the Knight to 
 desert his watch, and follow the Maiden ; The story returns to Arthur, 
 who, wandering by the sea-shore, perceives a Bark with the Raven flag 
 of the sea kings ; The Dove enjoins him to enter it; The Ship is deserted, 
 and he waits the return of the Crew ; Sleep falls upon him ; The con- 
 soling A'^ision of ^gle; What befalls Arthur on waking; Meanwhile 
 Sir Gawaine pursues his voyage to the Shrine of Freya, at which he is 
 to be sacrificed; How the Hound came to bear him company; Sir Ga- 
 waine argues with the Viking on the inutility of roasting him ; The 
 Viking defends that measure upon philosophical and liberal principles, 
 and silences Gawaine; The Ship arrives at its destination; Gawaine is 
 conducted to the Shrine of Freya ; The Statue o^ the Goddess described ; 
 Gawaine's remarks thereon, and how he is refuted and enlightened by 
 the Chief Priest; Sir Gawaine is bound, and in reply to his natural 
 curiosity, The Priest explains how he and the Dog are to be roasted and 
 devoured; The sagacious proceedings of the Dog; Sir Gawaine fails in 
 teaching the Dog the duty of Fraternization; The Priest re-enters, and 
 Sir Gawaine, with much satisfaction, gets the best of the Argument; 
 Concluding Stanzas to Nature, 
 
BOOK VIII. 
 
 N 
 
 I. 
 
 Lone by the lake reclined young Lancelot — 
 
 Night passed, the noonday slept on wave and plain ; 
 
 Lone by the lake watch'd patient Lancelot ; 
 Like Faith assured that Love returns again. 
 
 Noon glided on to eve ; when from the brake - 
 
 Brush'd a light step and paused beside the lake. 
 
 II. 
 
 How lovely to the margin of the wave 
 
 The shy-eyed Virgin came ! and all unwitting 
 
 The unseen Knight, to the frank sunbeam gave 
 Her sunny hair — its snooded braids unknitting ; 
 
 And, fearless, as by her own well the nymph, 
 
 Sleek'd the loose tresses, mirror'd in the lymph. 
 
 III. 
 And, playful now, the sandal silks unbound. 
 
 Oft from the cool fresh wave with coy retreat 
 Shrinking, — and glancing with arch looks around, 
 
 The crystal gleameth with her ivory feet. 
 Like floating swan-plumes, or the leaves that quiver 
 From water-lilies, under Himera's river. 
 
36 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ah happy Knight, unscathed, such charms espying, 
 As brought but death to the profane of yore, 
 
 When Dian's maids to angry quivers flying 
 Pierced the bold heart presuming to adore ! 
 
 Ah happy Knight, unguest in thy retreat. 
 
 Envying the waves that kiss those starry feet ! 
 
 V. 
 
 But worthy of his bUss, the loyal Knight 
 
 Pure from all felon thoughts as Knights should be. 
 
 Revering, angered at his own delight. 
 
 The lone, unconscious, guardless modesty, 
 
 Rose, yet unseen, and to the copse hard by, 
 
 Stole with quick footstep, and averted eye. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But as one tremor of the summer boughs 
 
 Scares the shy fawn, so with that hiintest sound 
 
 The Virgin starts, and back from rosy brows 
 Flings wide the showering gold ; and all around 
 
 Casts the swift trouble of her looks, to see 
 
 The white plume glisten through the rustling tree. 
 
 VII. 
 
 As by some conscious instinct of the fear 
 
 He caused, the Knight turns back his reverent gaze; 
 
 And in soft accents, tuned to Lady's ear 
 
 In gentle courts, her purposed flight delays ; 
 
 So nobly timid in his look and tone 
 
 As if the power to harm were all her own. 
 
BOOK VIII. 37 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Lady, and liege, fly not thus thy slave ; 
 
 If he offend, unwillmg the oflence, 
 For safer not upon the unsullying wave 
 
 Doth thy pure image rest, than Innocence 
 On the clear thoughts of noble men !" He said ; 
 And low with downcast lids, replied the maid. 
 
 IX. 
 
 [Oh from those lips how strangely musical 
 
 Sounds the loath'd language of the Saxon foe !] 
 
 " Though on mine ear the Cymrian accents fall. 
 And in my speech, Cymrian, thou wilt know 
 
 The Daughter of the Saxon ; marvel not, 
 
 That less I fear thee in this lonely spot, 
 
 X. 
 
 " Than hadst thou spoken in my mother-tongue. 
 Or worn the aspect of my father-race." 
 
 Here to her eyes some tearful memory sprung. 
 
 And youth's glad sunshine vanished from her face; 
 
 Like the changed sky the gleams of April leave, 
 
 Or the quick coming of an Indian eve. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Moved, yet emboldened by that mild distress. 
 Near the fair shape the gentle Cymrian drew, 
 
 Bent o'er the hand his pity dared to press. 
 
 And sooth'd the sorrow ere the cause he knew. 
 
 Frank were those times of trustful Chevisaunce,* 
 
 And Hearts when guileless open to a glance. 
 
 • Chevisaunce. — Spenser. 
 
38 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XII. 
 
 So see tliem seated by the haunted lake, 
 She on the grassy bank, her sylvan throne^ 
 
 He at her feet — and out from every brake 
 The Forest- An 2:els* sindncr ■ — All alone 
 
 <— ' t_x t_; 
 
 With Nature and the Beautiful — and Youth 
 Pure in each soul as, in her fountain, Truth ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And thus her tale the Teuton maid began : 
 " Daughter of Harold, Mercia's Earl, am I. 
 
 Small need to tell to Knighthood's Christian son 
 What creed of wrath the Saxons sanctify. 
 
 With songs first chaunted in some thunder-field, 
 
 Stern nurses rock'd me in my father's shield. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Motherless both, — my playmate, sole and sweet. 
 Years — sex, the same, was Crida's youngest child, 
 
 (Crida, the Mercian Ealder-King) our feet [smil'd ; 
 Roved the same pastures when the Mead-month*(* 
 
 By the same hearth we paled to Saga runes. 
 
 When wolves descending howl'd to icy moons. J 
 
 XV. 
 
 " As side by side, two osiers o'er a stream. 
 When air is still, with separate foliage bend. 
 
 But let a breezelet blow, and straight they seem 
 With trembling branches into one to blend, 
 
 So grew our natures, — when in calm, apart. 
 
 But, in each care, commingling, heart to heart. 
 
 * The Angels of the Grove (Le, the birds) is a pciphrasis used ni'^re than once 
 by our earlier Poets. 
 
 ■j- 'I'he Mkadhionth, June. ^ i, e., in the Wolf-month, January. 
 
BOOK YIII. 39 
 
 XVI. 
 
 '^ Her soul was bright and tranquil as a bird 
 That hangs in golden noon with silent wing, 
 
 And mine, more earthly, gay, and quickly stirr'd 
 Did like the gossamer float light, to cling 
 
 To each frail blossom, — weaving idle dreams 
 
 Where'er on dew-drops play'd the morning beams. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Thus into youth we grew, when Crida ,bore 
 Home from fierce wars a British Woman-slave, 
 
 A lofty captive, wdio her sorrow wore 
 
 As Queens a mantle; yet not proud, tho' grave, 
 
 And grave as if with pity for the foe, 
 
 Too high for anger^ too resigned for woe. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Much moved our young hearts that majestic face. 
 And much we seemed to soothe the sense of thrall. 
 
 She learned to love us, — let our love replace 
 
 That she had lost, — and thank'd her God for all, 
 
 Even for chains and bondage : — awed we heard, 
 
 And found the secret in the Gospel Word. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Thus, Cymrian, we were Christians. First, the slave 
 Taught that bright soul whose shadow fell on mine ; 
 
 Thus we were Christians ; — but as thro' the cave 
 Flow hidden river-springs, the Faith Divine 
 
 We dared not, give to-day — in stealth we sung 
 
 Hymns to the Cymrian's God^ in Cymri's tongue. 
 
40 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XX. 
 
 "And for our earlier names of heathen sound, 
 
 We did such names as saints have borne, receive ; 
 
 One name in truth, tho' with a varying sound ; 
 Genevra I — and she sweet Genevieve, — 
 
 Words that escaped from other ears, unknown. 
 
 But spoke as if from Angels to our own. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Soon with thy creed w^e learned thy race to love. 
 Listening high tales of Arthur's peerless fame. 
 
 But most such themes did my sweet playmate move ; 
 To her the creed endeared the champion's name. 
 
 With angel thoughts surrounded Christ's young chief, 
 
 And gave to glory haloes from Belief. 
 
 XXII, 
 
 " Not long our teacher did survive, to guide 
 Our feet, delighted in the new-found ways ; 
 
 Smiling on us — and on the cross — she died. 
 And vanish' d in her grave our infant days ; 
 
 We grew to woman when we learned to grieve, 
 
 And Childhood left the eyes of Genevieve. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Oft ev'n from me, musing she stole away, 
 Where thick the woodland girt the ruin'd hall 
 
 Of Cymrian kings, forgotten ; — thro' the day 
 Still as the lonely nightingale midst all 
 
 The joyous choir that drown her murmuj* : — So 
 
 Mused Crida's daughter on the Saxon's foe. 
 
BOOK VIII. 41 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 "Alas ! alas (sad moons have waned since then !) 
 One fatal morn her forest haunt she sought 
 
 Nor thence returned ; whether by lawless men 
 Captured, or flying, of her own free thought, 
 
 From heathen shrines abhorr'd ; — all search was vain, 
 
 Ne'er to our eyes that smile brought light again." 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Here paused the maid, and tears gush'd forth anew, 
 Ere faltering words re wove the tale once more ; 
 
 " Roused from his woe, the wrathful Crida flew 
 To Thor's dark priests, and Woden's wizard lore. 
 
 Task'd was each rune that sways the demon hosts, 
 
 And the strong seid"^' compell'd revealing ghosts. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " And answered priest and rune, and the pale Dead, 
 ' That in the fate of her, the Thor-descended, 
 
 The Gods of Cymri wove a mystic thread. 
 
 With Arthur's life and Cymri's glory blended, 
 
 And Dragon-Kings ordained in clouded years. 
 
 To seize the birthright of the Saxon spears. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " ' By Arthur's death, and Carduel's towers o'erthrown, 
 Could Thor and Crida yet the web unweave, 
 
 Protect the Saxon's threaten'd gods ; — alone 
 Regain the lost one, and exulting leave 
 
 To Hengist's race the ocean-girt abodes ; 
 
 Till the Last Twilightf darken round the Gods.' 
 
 • Magic. 
 
 t At Kagnarok, or the Twilight of the Gods, the Aser and the Giants are to" 
 destroy each other and the whole earth is to be consumed. 
 
42 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " This heard and this believed, the direful Kins; 
 
 Convenes his Eorl-born and prepares his powers, 
 Unfolds the omens, and the tasks they bring, 
 
 And 23oints the Valkyrs to the Cymrian towers. 
 Dreadest in war — and wisest in the hall. 
 Stands my great Sire — the Saxon's Ilerman-Saul.* 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " He to secure allies beyond the sea 
 
 Departs — but first, (for well he loved his child,) 
 He drew me to his breast, and tenderly 
 
 Chiding my tears, he spoke, and speaking smiled, 
 ' What'er betides thy father or thy land. 
 Far from our dangers Astrildf woos thy hand. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " ' Beorn, the bold son of Sweyn, the Gotland king, 
 Whose ocean war-steeds on the BalticJ deeps 
 
 Range their blue pasture — for thy love shall bring 
 As morgen-gifts,§ to Cymri's mountain keeps 
 
 Arm'd men and thunder. Happy is the maid, 
 
 Whose charms lure armies to her Country's aid.' 
 
 * Herman-Saul (or Saulc) often corrupt'y written Irminsula, Armensula, «&:c,, the 
 name of the celebrated Teuton Idol representing an armed warrior on a column, 
 destroyed by Charlemagne, a. d. 772. According to some it means literally the 
 column of Herman, i. e-, the leader — the War-God. Others, however, have sup- 
 posed the name to be rather Jormum-Saul, the great or Universal Column, and so 
 the name is rendered in the Latin translation, " Universalis Columiia." 
 
 •j- Astrild, the Cupid of the Northern Mythology. 
 
 i The more proper word for the Baltic, viz., the Eastern S?ea, would probably 
 convey to the English ear, a notion contrary to that which is intended, and there- 
 fore the familiar word in the text is selected, though, strictly speaking, the name of the 
 Baltic does not appear to have been given to that ocean before the twelfth century, 
 
 § MonoKN-GiFTs maybe rendered marriage-gifts; according to Saxon usage 
 bestowed by the bridegroom on the bride's family or guardian. 
 
BOOK VIII. 43 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " What, while I heard, the terror and the woe, 
 Of one who, vow'd to the meek Christian God, 
 
 Found the Earth's partner in the Heaven's worst foe ! 
 For ne'er o'er blazing altars Slaughter trod. 
 
 Redder with blood of saints remorseless slain. 
 
 Than Beorn, the Incarnate Fenris* of the main. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 ^* Yet than such nuptials more I feared the frown 
 Of my dread father ; — motionless I stood, 
 
 Rigid in horror, mutely bending down 
 
 The eyes that dared not weep. — So Solitude 
 
 Found me, a thing made soulless by despair. 
 
 Till tears gave way, and with the tears fiow'd prayer." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Again Genevra paused : and beautiful. 
 
 As Art hath imaged Faith — look'd up to heaven. 
 
 With eyes that glistening smiled. Along the lull 
 Of air, waves sigh'd — the winds of stealing Even ' 
 
 Murmured, birds sung, the leaflet rustling stirr'd ; 
 
 His own loud heart was all the list'ner heard. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 The maid resumed — " Scarce did my Sire return. 
 To loose the War-fiends on the Cymrian foe. 
 
 Than came the raven oescaf sent by Beorn, 
 For the pale partner of his realms of snow ; 
 
 Shuddering, recoiling, forth I stole at night. 
 
 To the wide forest with wild thoudits of flight. 
 
 * Fenrts, the Demon Wolf, Son of Asa Lok. f CEsca, Scandinavian Ship. 
 
44 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " I reached the ruined halls wherein so oft 
 Lost Genevieve had mused lone hours away, 
 
 When halting wistful there, a strange and soft 
 Slumber fell o'er me, or, more sooth to say, 
 
 A slumber not, but rather on my soul 
 
 A life-dream clear as hermit visions stole. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 '' I saw an aged and majestic form. 
 
 Robed in the spotless weeds thy Druids wear, 
 
 I heard a voice deep as when coming iltorm 
 
 Sends its first murmur through the heaving air. 
 
 ^ Return,' — it said — ' return, and dare the sea, 
 
 The Eye that sleeps not looks from heaven on thee. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " The form was gone, the Voice was hush'd, and grief 
 Fled from my heart ; I trusted and obey'd ; 
 
 Weak still, my weakness leant on my belief; 
 I saw the sails unfurl, the headlands fade ; 
 
 I saw my father, last upon the strand, 
 
 Veiling proud sorrow with his iron hand. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 " Swift through the ocean clove the flashing prows, 
 And half the dreaded course was glided o'er, 
 
 When, as the wolves, which night and winter rouse 
 In cavernous lairs, from seas without a shore 
 
 Clouds swept the skies ; and the swift hurricane 
 
 Rush'd from the Nortli along the maddening main. 
 
BOOK y I II. 45 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " Startled from sleep upon the verge of doom, 
 With wild cry, shrilling thro' the wilder blast, 
 
 Uprose the seamen, ghostlike thro' the gloom, 
 Hurrying and helpless ; while the sail-less mast 
 
 Now lightning-wreath'd, now indistinct and pale, 
 
 Bow'd, or, rebounding, groaned against the gale, 
 
 XL. 
 
 •• And crash'd at last ; — its sullen thunder drown'd 
 In the great storm that snapp'd it. Over all 
 
 Swept the long surges, and a gurgling sound 
 
 Told where some wretch, that strove in vain to call 
 
 For aid, where all were aidless, thro' the spray 
 
 Emerging, gasp'd, and then was whirl'd away. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 '' But I, who ever wore upon my heart 
 
 The sjanbol cross of Him who had walked the seas, 
 Bow'd o'er that sign my head ; and pray'd apart : 
 
 When through the darkness, on his crawling knees, 
 Crept to my side the chief, and crouch'd him there. 
 Mild as an infant, listening to ray prayer. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 ^'' And clinging to my robes, ^ Thee have I seen,' 
 Faltering he said, ^when round thee coil'd the blue 
 
 Lightning, and rush'd the billow-swoop, serene 
 And scatheless smiling ; surely then I knew 
 
 That, strong in charms or runes that guard and save. 
 
 Thou mock'st the whirlwind and the roaring grave ! 
 
 VOL. II. 4 
 
46 KIXG ARTHUR. 
 
 XLTir. 
 
 " ' Shield us, 3''oung Vala, from the wrath of Ean, 
 And calm the raging Helhenn of the deep.' 
 
 As from a voice within, I answ^ered, ' Man, 
 Nor rune nor charm locks into mortal sleep 
 
 The Present God ; by Faith all ills are braved ; 
 
 Trust in that God ; adore Ilim, and be saved.' 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 " Then, pliant to my will, the ghastly crew 
 
 Crept round the cross, amid the howling dark — 
 
 Dark, save wdien swift and sharp, and griding* thro' 
 The cloud-mass clove the lightning, and the bark 
 
 FLash'd like a iloating hell ; Low by that sign 
 
 All knelt, and voices hollow-chimed to mine. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " Thus as we prayed, lo, opened all the Heaven, 
 With one long steadfast splendour — calmly o'er 
 
 The God-Cross resting : then the clouds were riven 
 And the rains fell ; the whirlwind hush'd its roar, 
 
 And the smooth'd billows on, the ocean's breast, 
 
 As on a mother's, sighing, sunk to rest. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 " So came the dawn : o'er the new Christian fold. 
 Glad as the Heavenly Shepherd, smiled the sun ; 
 
 Then to those grateful hearts my tale I told. 
 
 Then heathen bonds the Christian maid should shun. 
 
 And praj^'d in turn their aid my soul to save 
 
 From doom more dismal than a sinless grave. 
 
 • Griding. — Milton. '* The grtJing sword with discontinuous wound,'* &c. 
 
BOOK VIII. 47 
 
 XLvn. 
 
 " Tliey, with one shout, proclaim their laiv my ^\'il], 
 And veer the prow from northern snows afar, 
 
 Soon gentler winds the murmuring canvas fill, 
 
 Fair floats the bark where guides the western star, 
 
 From coast to coast we pass'd, and peaceful sail'd 
 
 Into lone creeks, by yon blue mountains veil'd. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 " Here all wide-scattered up the inward land 
 
 For stores and water, range the blithesome crew ; 
 
 Lured by the smiling shores, one gentler band 
 I join'd awhile, then left them, to pursue 
 
 Mine o^vn glad fancies, where the brooklet clear 
 
 Shot singing onward to the sunlit mere. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 "And so we chanced to meet !" She ceased and bent 
 Down the fresh rose-hues of her eloquent cheek ; 
 
 Ere Lancelot spoke, the startled echo sent 
 
 Loud shouts reverberate, lengthening plain to peak ; 
 
 The sounds proclaim the savage followers near. 
 
 And straight the rose-hues pale, — but not from fear. 
 
 L. 
 
 Slowly Genevra rose, and her sweet eyes 
 
 Raised to the Knight's, frankly and mournfully ; 
 
 " Farewell," she said, " the winged moment flies. 
 Who shall say whither ? — if this meeting be 
 
 Our last as first^ Christian warrior, take 
 
 The Saxon's greeting for the Christian's sake. 
 
48 KIXG ARTHUR. 
 
 LI. 
 
 "And if, returning to thy perill'd land, 
 
 In the hot fray thy sword confront my Sire, 
 
 Strike not — remember me 1" On her fair hand 
 The Cymrian seals his lips ; wild thoughts inspire 
 
 Words which the lips may speak not : — but what truth 
 
 Lies hid when youth reflects its soul in youth ? 
 
 LII. 
 
 Keluctant turns Genevra, lingering turns, 
 And up the hill, oft pausing, languid wends. 
 
 As infant flame thro' humid fuel burns. 
 
 In Lancelot's heart with honour, love contends ; 
 
 Longs to pursue, regain, and cry, " Where'er 
 
 Thou wanderest, lead me 3 Paradise is there !" 
 
 LITI. 
 
 But the lost Arthur ! — at that thought, the strength 
 
 Of duty nerved the loyal sentinel : 
 So by the lake w^atch'd Lancelot ; at length 
 
 Upon the ring his looks, in drooping, fell, 
 And see, the hand, no more in dull repose. 
 Points to the path in which Genevra goes ! 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Amazed, and wrathful at his own delight. 
 
 He doubts, he hopes, he moves, and still the ring 
 
 Repeats the sweet command, and bids the Knight 
 Pursue the Maid as if to find the Kino*. 
 
 Yielding, at last, though half remorseful still. 
 
 The Cymrian follows up the twilight hill. 
 
BOOK VIII. 49 
 
 LV. 
 
 Meanwhile along the beach of the wide sea, 
 Wandered the dove-led Arthur, — needful food, 
 
 The Maenad's fruits from many a purple tree 
 
 Flush'd for the vintage, gave ; with musing mood, 
 
 Lonely he strays till ^thra'^ sees again 
 
 Her starry children smiling on the main. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Around him then, curved gray the hollow creek ; 
 
 Before, a ship lay still with lagging sail ; 
 A gilded serpent glittered from the beak. 
 
 Along the keel encoil'd with lengthening trail ; 
 Black from a brazen flag, with outstretched wings 
 Grimm'df the dread Raven of the Runic kings. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Here paused the Wanderer, for here flew the dove 
 To the tall mast, and murmuring, hovered o'er ; 
 
 But on the deck, no watch, no pilot move, 
 Life- void the vessel as the lonely shore. 
 
 Far on the sand-beach drawn, a boat he spied. 
 
 And with strong hand he launch'd it on the tide. 
 
 Lviir. 
 
 Gaining the bark, still not a human eye 
 
 Peers through the noiseless solitary shrouds ; 
 
 So, for the crew's return, all patiently 
 
 He sate him down, and watch'd the phantom clouds 
 
 Flit to and fro, where o'er the slopes afar 
 
 Reign storm-girt Arcas,J and the Mother Star. 
 
 * Both the Pleiades and the Hyades are said to be the daughters of ^Ethra, one of 
 
 the Oceanides by Atlas, 
 
 t Grimni'd from the verb grirnmen, whence the adjective grim that we sfill retain, 
 ^ Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, near the North Pole, supposed by the Poets to 
 
 be Areas and his Mother. 
 
50 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Thus sleep stole o'er him, mercy-hallow'd sleep, 
 His OAvn lov'd jEgle, lovelier tiian of old, 
 
 lovelier far — shone from the azure deep — 
 And like the angel dying saints behold, 
 
 Bent o'er his brow, and with ambrosial kiss 
 
 Breathed on his soul her own pure spirit-bliss. 
 
 LX. 
 
 " Never more grieve for me," the Vision said, 
 " Behold how beautiful thy bride is now ! 
 
 Who to yon Heaven from heathen Hades led 
 Me, thine Immortal ? Mourner, it was thou ! 
 
 Why shouldst thou mourn ? In the empyreal clime 
 
 We know no severance, for we own no time, 
 
 LXI. 
 
 " Both in the Past and Future circumfused. 
 We live in each ; — all life's more happy hours 
 
 Bloom back for us ; — all prophet Fancy mused 
 Fairest in days to come, alike are ours : 
 
 With me not vet — I ever am with thee, 
 
 Thy presence flows through my eternity, 
 
 Lxir. 
 
 " Think thou hast bless'd the earth, and 023ed the heaven 
 To her baptized, reborn, through thy dear love, — 
 
 In the new buds that Ijloom for thee, be given 
 The fragrance of the primal flower above ! 
 
 In Heaven we are not jealous ! — But in aught 
 
 That heals remembrance and revives the thought, 
 
BOOK Y III. 51 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 " That makes the life more beautiful, we hind 
 Those who survive us in a closer chain : 
 
 In all that glacis we feel ourselves enshrined ; 
 In all that loves, our love but lives again." 
 
 Anew she kiss'd his brow, and at her smile 
 
 Night and Creation brighten'd ! He, the while, 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Stretch'd his vain arms, and clasp'd the mocking air, 
 And from the raptu^^e woke !* — All fiercely round 
 
 Groupe savage forms, amidst the lurid glare 
 Of lifted torches, red ; fierce tongues resound, 
 
 Discordant clamoring hoarse- — as birds of prey 
 
 Scared by man's footstep in some desolate bay. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Mild thro' the throng a bright-hair'd Virgin came, 
 And the roar hushed; — while to the Virgin's breast 
 
 Soft-cooing fled the Dove. His own great name 
 Rang thro' the ranks behind ; quick footsteps prest 
 
 (As thro' arm'd lines a warrior) to the spot. 
 
 And to the King knelt radiant Lancelot. 
 
 LXVT. 
 
 Here for a while the wild and fickle song 
 
 Leaves the crown'd Seeker of the Silver Shield ; 
 
 Thy fates, Gawaine, done to grievous wrong 
 By the black guide perfidious, be reveal'd, 
 
 Nearing, poor Knight, the Cannibalian shrine. 
 
 Where Freya scents thee, and prepares to dine. 
 
 • The reader will perhaps perceive, th it the abjve passage, containing Arthur's 
 Vision of ^Egle, is partially borrowed from tiie apparition of Clorinda, in Tasso. — 
 Cant. xii. 
 
52 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Left by a bride and outraged by a raven, 
 
 One friend still shared the injured captive's lot; 
 
 For, as the vessel left the Cvmrian haven, 
 
 The faithful hound, Avhom he had half forgot, 
 
 Swam to the ship, clombe, up the sides, on board^ 
 
 Snarl'd at the Danes, and nestled by his lord. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 The hirsute Captain not displeased to see a 
 New honne hoiicJie added to the destined roast 
 
 His floating larder had prepared for Freya, 
 Welcomed the dog, as Charon might a ghost ; 
 
 Allowed the beast to share his master's platter, 
 
 And daily eyed them both, — and thought them fatter ! 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Even in such straights, the Knight of golden tongue 
 ' Confronts his foe with arguings just and sage, 
 Whether in pearls from deeps Druidic strung, 
 
 Or link'd synthetic from the Stagirite's page, 
 Labouring to show him how absurd the notion. 
 That roasting Gawaine would affect the Ocean. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 But that enlightened tho' unlearned man. 
 
 Posed all the lore Druidical or Attic ; 
 " One truth," quoth he, '' instructs the Sons of Ban, 
 
 (A seaman race are always democratic,) 
 That truth once known, all else is worthless lumber; 
 ' The greatest pleasure of the greatest number.' 
 
BOOK YIII. 53 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 '' No pleasure like a Christian roasted slowly, 
 To Odin's greatest number can be given ; 
 
 The will of freemen to the gods is holy ; 
 
 The People's voice must be the voice of Heaven. 
 
 On selfish principles you chafe at capture, 
 
 But what are private pangs to public rapture ? 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 " You doubt that giving you as food for Freya 
 Will have much marked effect upon the seas ; 
 
 Let's grant you right : — all pleasure's in idea ; 
 If thousands think it, you the thousands please. 
 
 Your private interest must not be the guide, 
 
 When interest clash majorities decide." 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 These doctrines, wise, and worthy of the race 
 From whose free notions modern freedom flows, 
 
 Bore with such force of reasoning on the case. 
 They left the knight dumbfounded at the close ; 
 
 Foiled in the w^eapons which he most had boasted, 
 
 He felt sound logic proved he should be roasted. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Discreetly waiving farther conversations. 
 He, henceforth, silent lived his little hour ; 
 
 Indulo'ed at times such soothins: meditations, 
 
 As, " Flesh is grass," — and " Life is but a flower." 
 
 For men, like swans, have strains most edifying. 
 
 They never think of till the time for dying. 
 
54 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 And now at last, the fatal voyage o'er, 
 
 Sir Gawaine hears the joyous shout of " Land !" 
 
 Two Vikings lead him courteously on shore : 
 A crowd as courteous wait him on the strand. 
 
 Fifes, viols, trumpets braying, screaming, strumming, 
 
 Flatter his ears, and compliment his coming. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Eight on the shore the gracious temple stands, 
 Form'd like a ship, and jjuilded but of log ; 
 
 Thither at once the hospitable bands 
 
 Lead the grave Knight and unsuspicious dog. 
 
 Which, greatly pleased to walk on land once more, 
 
 Swells with unprescient bark the tuneful roar. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Six Priests and one tall Priestess clothed in white, 
 Advance — and meet them at the porch divine; 
 
 With seven loud shrieks they pounce upon the Knight,- 
 Whisked by the Priests behind the inmost shrine, 
 
 While the tall Priestess asks the congregation 
 
 To come at dawn to witness the oblation. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Tho' somewhat vex'd at this so brief delay — 
 Yet as the rites, in truth, required preparing. 
 
 The Hock obedient took themselves aw^ay ; — 
 Meanwhile the Knight was on the Idol staring, 
 
 Not without wonder at the tastes terrestrial 
 
 Which in that image, hail'd a shape celestial. 
 
BOOK YIII. 55 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Full thirty ells in height — the goddess stood 
 Based on a column of the bones of men, 
 
 Daub'd was her face with clots of human blood, 
 Her jaws as wide, as is a tiger's den ; 
 
 With giant fangs as strong and huge as those 
 
 That cranch the reeds, thro' which the sea-horse goes. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 " Right reverend Sir," quoth he of golden tongue, 
 
 "A most majestic gentlewoman this ! 
 Is it the Freya* whom your scalds have sung 
 
 Goddess of love and sweet connubial bliss ? — 
 If so — despite her very noble carriage, 
 Her charms are scarce what youth desires in marriage." 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 " Stranger," said one who seemed the hierarch-priest — 
 
 " In that sublime, symbolical creation, 
 The outward image but conveys the least 
 
 Of Freya's claims on human veneration — 
 But, (thine own heart if Love hath ever glowed in,) 
 Thou' It own that Love is quite as fierce as Odin 1 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 ^^ Hence, as the cause of full one half our quarrels, 
 Freya with Odin shares the rites of blood ; — 
 
 In this — thou see'st a hidden depth of morals, 
 But by the vulgar little understood ; — 
 
 We do not roast thee in an idle frolic ;" 
 
 But as a type mysterious and symbolic." 
 
 * Freya is the Goddess of love, beauty, and Hymen; the Scandinavian Venus. 
 
56 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Lxxxiir. 
 
 The liierarch motions to the priests around, 
 They bind the victim to the Statue's base, 
 
 Then, to the Knight they link the wondering hound, 
 Some three yards distant — looking face to face. 
 
 " One word," said Gawaine — " ere your worships quit us, 
 
 " How is it meant that Freya is to eat us ?" 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 " Stranger," replied the priest — " albeit we hold 
 Such questions idle, and perhaps profane ; 
 
 Yet much the wise will pardon to the bold — 
 When what they ask 't is easy to explain — 
 
 Still typing Truth, and shaped with sacred art, 
 
 We place a furnace in the statue's heart. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 " That furnace heated by mechanic laws 
 
 Which gods to priests for godlike ends permit, 
 
 We lay the victim bound across the jaws. 
 And let him slowly turn upon a spit ; 
 
 The jaws — (when done to what we think their liking) 
 
 Close ; — all is over : — The effect is striking." 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 At that recital made in tone complacent 
 
 The frozen Knight stared speechless and aghast, 
 
 Stared on those jaws to which he was subjacent, 
 And felt the grinders cranch on their repast. 
 
 Meanwhile the priest said — " Keep your spirits up. 
 
 And ere I go, say when you'd like to sup?" 
 
BOOK VIII. 57 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 '' Sup !" faltered out the melancholy Knight, 
 " Sup ! pious Sir — no trouble there, I pray ! 
 
 Good tho' I grant my natural appetite, 
 The thought of Freya's takes it all away : 
 
 As for the dog — poor, unenlightened glutton. 
 
 Blind to the future, — let him have his mutton." 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 'T is night : behold the dog and man alone ! 
 
 The man hath said his thirtieth noster jyater^ 
 The dog has supped, and having picked his bone, 
 
 (The meat was salted) feels a wish for water \ 
 Puts out in vain a reconnoitering paw. 
 Feels the cord, smells it, and begins to gnaw. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Abash'd Philosophy, that dog survey ! 
 
 Thou call'st on freemen — bah ! expand thy scope ! 
 ' Aide4oi toi meme^ et Dieu faideraP 
 
 Doth thraldom bind thee? — gnaw thyself the rope. — 
 Whatever Laws, and Kings, and States may be ; 
 Wise men in earnest, can be always free. 
 
 xc. 
 
 By a dim lamp upon the altar stone 
 
 Sir Gawaine marked the inventive work canine ; 
 " Cords bind us both — the dog has gnawed his own ; 
 
 Dog skoinophagous'^" — a tooth for mine ! — 
 And both may scape that too-refining Goddess 
 Who roasts to types what Nature meant for bodies." 
 
 * Id est "rope-eating" — a compound adjective borrowed from such Greek as Sir 
 Gawaine might have learned at the then flourishing c»l!ege of Caerleon. The les- 
 sons of education naturally recur to us in our troubles. 
 
58 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Sir GaAvaine calls the emancipated lioiiiid, 
 And strives to show his own illegal ties ; 
 
 Explaining how free dogs, themselves unbound. 
 With all who would be free should fraternise — 
 
 The dog looked puzzled, licked the fettered hand, 
 
 Pricked up his ears — but would not understand. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 The unhappy Knight perceived the hope was o'er, 
 
 And did again to fate his soul resign ; 
 When hark ! a footstep, and an opening door, 
 
 And lo once more the Hierarch of the shrine ; 
 The dog his growl at Gawa^ine's whisper ceast, 
 And dog and Knight, both silent watched the priest. 
 
 xciir. 
 
 The subtle captive, saw with much content 
 No sacred comrade had that reverend man ; 
 
 Beneath a load of sacred charcoal bent. 
 
 The Priest approach'd ; when Gawaine thus began 
 
 " It shames me much to see you thus bent double, 
 
 And feel myself the cause of so much trouble. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 " Doth Freya's kitchen, ventrical and holy, 
 
 Afford no meaner scullion to prepare 
 The festive rites ? — on you depends it wholly 
 
 To heat the oven and to dress the fare ?" 
 '' To hands less j)ure are given the outward things, 
 To Ilierarchs only, the interior springs," 
 
BOOK YIII. 59 
 
 xcv. 
 
 Eeplied the Priest — " and till my task is o'er, 
 AH else intruding, wrath divine incur." 
 
 Sir Gawaine heard and not a sentence more 
 
 Sir Gawaine said, than — " Up and seize him, Sir," 
 
 Sprung at the word, the dog ; and in a trice 
 
 Grip'd the Priest's throat and lock'd it like a vice. 
 
 xcvi. 
 " Pardon, my sacred friend," then quoth the Knight, 
 
 " You are not strangled from an idle frolic, 
 When bit the biter, you'll confess the bite 
 
 Is full of sense, mordacious but symbolic; 
 In roasting men, culinary brother, 
 Learn this grand truth — ' one turn deserves another 1' " 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Extremely pleased the oratorio Knight 
 Regained the vantage he had lost so long, 
 
 For sore, till then, had been his just despite 
 
 That Northern wit should foil his golden tongue. 
 
 Now, in debate how proud was his condition. 
 
 The opponent posed and by his own position ! 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 Therefore, with more than his habitual breeding. 
 Resumed benign an tly the bland Gawaine, 
 
 While much the Priest against the dog's proceeding 
 With stifling gasps protested, but in vain — 
 
 " Friend — (softly, dog ; so — ho !) Thou must confess 
 
 Our selfish interests bid us coalesce. — 
 
60 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 '^ Uiiknit tliese cords ; and, once unloosed the knot, 
 I pledge my troth to call the hound away, 
 
 If thou accede — a show of hands ! if not 
 TJiat dog at least I fear must have his day." 
 
 High in the air, both hands at once appear ! 
 
 '^ Carried, nem. con., — Dog? fetch him, — gently, here !" 
 
 c. 
 Not without much persuasion yields the hound ! 
 
 Loosens the throat, to gripe the sacred vest. 
 '' Priest," quoth Gawaine, " remember, but a sound. 
 
 And straight the dog — let fanc}^ sketch the rest !" 
 The Priest^ by fancy too dismay'd already, 
 Fumbles the knot with lingers far from steady. 
 
 CI. 
 
 Hoarse, while he fumbles, growls the dog suspicious. 
 Not liking such close contact to his Lord ; 
 
 (The best of friends are sometimes too officious, 
 And grudge all help save that themselves afford.) 
 
 His hands set free, the Knight assists the Priest, 
 
 And, finis, funis, stands at last releast. 
 
 en. 
 True to his word — and party coalitions, 
 
 The Knight then kicks aside the dog, of course ; 
 Salutes the foe and states the new conditions 
 
 The facts connected with the times enforce ; 
 All coalitions naturally denote. 
 That State-Metempsychosis — change of coat ! 
 
BOOK VIII. 61 
 
 CUT. 
 
 " Ergo," quoth Gawaine, — " first, the sacred cloak ; 
 
 Next, when two parties, but concur pro. temp. 
 Their joint opinions only should be spoke 
 
 By that which has most cause to fear the hemp. 
 Wherefore, my friend, this scarf supplies the gag 
 To keep the cat symbolic — in the bag ! — " 
 
 CIV. 
 
 So said, so done, before the Priest was able 
 To prove his counter interest in the case. 
 
 The Knight had bound him with the victim's cable, 
 Closed up his mouth and covered up his face. 
 
 His sacred robe with hands profane had taken. 
 
 And left him that which Gawaine had forsaken. 
 
 cv. 
 
 Then boldly out into the blissful air. 
 
 Sir Gawaine stept ! Sweet Halidom of Night ; 
 
 With Ocean's heart of music heaving there. 
 Under its starry robe ! — and all the might 
 
 Of rock and shore, and islet deluge-riven, 
 
 Distinctly dark against the lustrous heaven ! 
 
 cva/ 
 
 Calm lay the large rude Nature of the North, 
 Glad as when first the stars rejoicing sang, 
 
 And fresh as when from kindling Chaos forth 
 (A thought of God) the young Creation sprang ; 
 
 When man in all the present Father found. 
 
 And for the Temple, paused and look'd around ! 
 
 VOL. II. 5 
 
62 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CVTI. 
 
 Nature, thou earliest Gospel of the Wise, 
 Thou never-silent Hymner unto God ! 
 
 Thou Angel-Ladder lost amid the skies, 
 Tho' at the foot we dream upon the sod ! 
 
 To thee the Priesthood of the Lyre belong — 
 
 They hear Religion and reply in Song ! 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 If he hath held thy worship undefiled 
 
 Through all the sins and sorrows of his youth. 
 
 Let the man echo what he heard as Child 
 From the far hill-tops of melodious Truth, 
 
 Leaving on troubled hearts some lingering tone 
 
 Sweet with the solace thou hast given his own ! 
 
KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Invocation to the North ; Winter, Labour, and Necessity, as Agents of 
 Civilization — The Polar Seas described ; the lonely Ship ; its Leader 
 and Crew; Honour due from Song to the Discoverer! The battle with 
 the Walruses ; the crash of The floating Icebergs ; The ship ice-locked ; 
 Arthur's address to the Norwegian Crew; They abandon the vessel and 
 reach land ; the Dove finds the healing herb ; returns to the ship, which 
 is broken up for log huts ; The winter deepens ; The sufferings and 
 torpor of the crew ; The effect of Will upon life ; Will preserves us from 
 ills our own, not from sympathy Avith the ills of others ; Man in his 
 higher development has a two-fold nature — in his imagination and his 
 feelings ; Imagination is lonely. Feeling social ; The strange aifection 
 between the King and the Dove ; The King sets forth to explore the 
 desert ; his joy at recognizing the print of human feet ; The attack of 
 the Esquimaux ; The meeting between Arthur and his friend ; The 
 crew are removed to the ice-huts of the Esquimaux ; The adventures 
 of Sir Gawaine continued ; His imposture in passing himself off as a 
 priest of Freya ; He exorcises the winds which the Norwegian hags 
 had tied up in bags ; And accompanies the Whalers to the North Seas ; 
 The storm ; How Gawaine and his hound are saved ; He delivers the 
 Pigmies from the Boars, and finally establishes himself in the Settle- 
 ment of the Esquimaux ; Philosophical controversy between Arthur 
 and Gawaine relative to the Raven — Arthur briefly explains how he 
 came into the Polar Seas in search of the Shield of Thor ; Lancelot 
 and Genevra having sailed for Carduel ; Gawaine informs Arthur that 
 the Esquimaux have a legend of a Shield guarded by a Dwarf ; The 
 first appearance of the Polar Sun above the horizon. 
 
BOOK IX. 
 
 I. 
 
 Throned on the dazzling and untrodden height, 
 Formed of the frost-gems ages* labour forth 
 
 From the blanch'd air — crown'd with the pomp of light 
 I' the midst of dark, — stern Father of the North, 
 
 Thee I invoke, as, awed, my steps profane 
 
 The dumb gates opening on thy deathlike reign ! 
 
 II. 
 Thee, sure the Ithacanf — thee, sure, dread lord. 
 
 When in the dusky, Avan, Cimmerian waste 
 By the last bounds of Ocean, he explored 
 
 Ghast Erebus, beheld ; — and here embraced 
 In vain the phantom Mother ! lo, the gloom 
 Pierced by no sun, — the Hades of the tomb ! — 
 
 III. 
 
 Magnificent horror ! — How like royal Death 
 Broods thy great hush above the seeds of Life ! 
 
 Under the snow-mass cleaves thine icy breath. 
 And Avith the birth of fairy forests rife. 
 
 Blushes the world of white ; J — the green that glads 
 
 The wave, is but the march of myriads; 
 
 * The mountains of hard and perfect ice are the gradual production perhaps of 
 many centuries. — Leslie's Polar Stas and Regions. 
 ■\ Ulysses, Odys. 1. xi. 
 \ The phenomenon of the red snow on the Arctic mountains is formed by innumer- 
 
66 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 IV. 
 
 There, immense, moves uncouth leviathan ; 
 
 There from the hollows of phantasmal isles, 
 The morse* emerging rears the face of man, 
 
 There the huge bear scents, miles on desolate miles, 
 The basking seal ; — and ocean shallower grows, 
 Where, thro' its world a world, the krakenf goes. 
 
 V. 
 
 Father of races who have led back Time 
 Into the age of Demigods ; — whose art 
 
 Excells all Egypt's magic — Wizards sublime 
 
 To whom the Elements are slaves; whose chart 
 
 Belts worlds by boldest seraph yet untrod, 
 
 The embryo orbs flash'd from the smile of God, — 
 
 VI. 
 
 Imperial Winter, hail ! — All hail with thee 
 Man's Demiurgus, Labour, side by side 
 
 With thy stern grandeur seated kinglily, 
 And ever shaping out the fates that guide 
 
 The onward cycles to the farthest goal 
 
 I' the fields of light, — the loadstone of the soul ! 
 
 able vegetable bodies ; and the olive green of the Greenland Sea by Medusan animal- 
 ( ules, the number of which Mr. Scoresby illustrates by supposing that 80,000 
 l)ersons would have been employed since the creation in counting it. — See Lkslik. 
 
 * The Morse, or Walrus, supposed to be the original of the Merman ; from iha 
 likeness its face presents at a little distance to that of a human being. 
 
 •j- The kraken is probably not wholly fabulous, but has its prototype in the enor- 
 mous polypus of the Arctic Seas. 
 
BOOK IX. 67 
 
 VII. 
 
 Winter, and Labour, and Necessity, 
 Behold the Three that make us what we are, 
 
 The eternal pilots of a shoreless sea, 
 The ever-conquering armies of the Far ! 
 
 By these we scheme, invent, ascend, aspire. 
 
 And, pardon'd Titans, steal from Jove the fire ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Dumb Universe of Winter — there it lies 
 Dim thro' the mist, a spectral skeleton ! 
 
 Far in the wan verge of the solid skies 
 
 Hangs day and night the phantom of a moon ; 
 
 And slowly moving on the horizon's brink 
 
 Floats the vast ice-field with its glassy blink.* 
 
 IX. 
 
 But huge adown the liquid Infinite 
 
 Drift the sea Andes — by the patient wrath 
 
 Of the strong waves uprooted from their site 
 In bays forlorn — and on their winter path, 
 
 (Themselves a winter,) glide, or heavily, where 
 
 They freeze the wind, halt in the inert air. 
 
 Nor bird nor beast lessens with visible 
 
 Life, the large awe of space without a sun ; 
 
 Tho' in each atom life unseen doth dwell 
 
 And glad with gladness God the Living One. 
 
 He breathes — but breathless hangs the airs that freeze ! 
 
 He speaks — but noiseless list the silences ! 
 
 • The ice-blink seen on the horizon. 
 
68 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XI. 
 
 A lonely ship — lone in the me.;sureless sea, 
 Lone in tlie channel thro' the frozen steeps, 
 
 Like some bold thought launched on infinity 
 By early sage — comes glimmering up the deeps ! 
 
 The dull wave, dirge-like, moans beneath the oar ; 
 
 The dull air heaves with wings that glide before. 
 
 XII. 
 
 From earth's warm precincts, thro' the sunless gates 
 That guard the central NifFelheim* of Dark, 
 
 Into the heart of the vast Desolate, 
 
 Lone flies the Dove before the lonely bark. 
 
 While the crown'd seeker of the glory-spell 
 
 Looks to the angel and disdains the hell. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Huddled on deck, one-half that hardy crew 
 Lie shrunk and withered in the biting sky. 
 
 With filmy stare and lips of livid hue. 
 And sapless limbs that stiffen as they lie ; 
 
 While the dire pest-scourge of the frozen zonef 
 
 Rots thro' the vein, and gnaws the knotted bone. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Yet still the hero-remnant, sires perchance 
 
 Of Hollo's Norman knighthood, dauntless steer 
 
 Along the deepening horror, and advance 
 Upon the invisible foe, loud chaunting clear 
 
 Some lusty song of Thor, the ILxmmer-God, 
 
 When o'er those iron seas the Thunderer trod, 
 
 * Vapour-horne, or Scandinavian hell. 
 
 t Though ihe fearful disease known by the name of the scurvy is not peculiar 
 to the northern latitudes; and Dr. Budd has ably disproved (in the Library of Prac- 
 
BOOK IX. 69 
 
 XV. 
 
 And pierced the halls of Lok ! Still while they sung, 
 The sick men lifted dim their languid eyes, 
 
 And palely smiled, and with convulsive tongue 
 Chimed to the choral chaunt in hollow sighs ; 
 
 Living or dying, those proud hearts the same 
 
 Swell to the danger and foretaste the fame 
 
 XVI. 
 
 On, ever on, labours the lonely bark. 
 
 Time in that world seems dead. Nor jocund sun 
 Nor rosy Hesperus dawns ; but visible Dark 
 
 Stands round the ghastly moon. For ever on 
 Labours the lonely bark, thro' lock'd defiles 
 That crisping coil around the drifting isles. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Honour, thrice honour unto ye, Brave ! 
 
 And ye, our England's sons, in the later day. 
 Whose valour to the shores of Hela gave 
 
 Names, — as the guides where suns deny the ray ! 
 And, borne by hope and vivid strength of soul, 
 Left Man's last landmark — Nature's farthest goal ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Whom, nor the unmoulded chaos, with its birth 
 Of uncouth monsters, nor the fierce disease, 
 
 Nor horrible f\imine, nor the Stygian dearth 
 Of Orcus, dead'ning adamantine seas, 
 
 Scared from the Spirit's grand desire, — to know ! 
 
 The Galileos of new worlds below ! 
 
 tical Medicine) the old theory that it originated in cold and moisture ; yet the disease 
 was known in the north of Europe from the remotest ages, while no mention is 
 made of its appearance in more genial climates before the year 1260. 
 
70 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Man the Discoverer — whosoe'er thou art, 
 Honour to thee from all the lyres of song ! 
 
 Honour to him who leads to Nature's heart 
 One footstep nearer ! To the Muse belong 
 
 All who enact what in the song we read ; 
 
 Man's noblest poem is Man's bravest deed. 
 
 XX. 
 
 On, ever on, — when veering to the West 
 Into a broader desert leads the Dove; 
 
 A larger ripple stirs the ocean's breast, 
 A hazier vapour undulates above ; 
 
 Along the ice-fields move the things that live, 
 
 Large in the life the misty glamours give. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 In flocks the lazy walrus lay around 
 
 Gazing and stolid ; while the dismal crane 
 
 Stalk'd curious near ; — and on the hinder ground 
 Paused indistinct the Fenris of the main, 
 
 The insatiate bear,— to sniff the stranger blood, — 
 
 For Man till then had vanished since the flood, 
 
 XXII. 
 
 And all of Man were fearless ! — On the sea 
 The vast leviathians came up to breathe, 
 
 With their young giants leaping forth in glee, 
 Or leaving whirlpools where they sank beneath. 
 
 And round and round the bark the narwal* sweeps, 
 
 With white horn ^listenin«: thro' the sluirirish deeps. 
 
 * The Sea Unicorn. 
 
BOOK IX. 71 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Uprose a bold Norwegian, hunger-stung. 
 
 As near the icy marge a walrus lay, 
 Hurl'd his strong spear, and smote the beast and sprung 
 
 Upon the frost-field on the wounded prey ;-^— 
 Sprung and recoiled — as, writhing with the pangs, 
 The bulk heaved towards him with its flashing fangs. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Roused to fell life — around their comrade throng. 
 Snorting wild wrath, the shapeless, grisly swarms — 
 
 Like moving mounts slow masses trail along ; 
 Aghast the man beholds the larva-forms — 
 
 Flies — climbs the bark — the deck is scaled — is won ; 
 
 And all the monstrous march rolls lengthening on. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Quick to your spears !" the kingly leader cries. 
 
 Spears flash on flashing tusks ; groan the strong planks 
 With the assault : front after front they rise 
 
 With their bright* stare ; steel thins in vain their ranks. 
 And dyes with blood their birth-place and their grave ; 
 Mass rolls on mass, as flows on wave a wave. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 These strike and rend the reeling sides below ; 
 
 Those grappling clamber up and load the decks, 
 With looks of wrath so human on the foe. 
 
 That half they seem the ante-Daedal wrecks 
 Of what were men in worlds before the Ark ! 
 Thus raged the immane and monster war — when, hark, 
 
 • The eye of the Walrus is singularly bright. 
 
72 KING Arthur. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Crash'cl thro' the dreary air a thunder peal ! 
 
 In their slow courses meet two ice-rock isles 
 Clanging ; the wide seas far-resounding reel ; 
 
 The toppling ruin rolls in the defiles ; 
 Tlie pent tides quicken with the headlong shock ; 
 Broad-billowing heave the long waves from the rock ; 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Far down the booming vales precipitous 
 Plunges the stricken galley, — as a steed 
 
 Smit by the shaft runs reinless, — o'er the prows 
 Howl the lash'd surges ; Man and monster freed 
 
 By power more awful from the savage fray, 
 
 Here roaring sink — there dumbly whirl away. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The w^ater runs in maelstroms ; — as a reed 
 Spins in an eddy and then skirs along, — 
 
 Round and around emerged and vanished 
 The mighty ship amidst the mightier throng 
 
 Of the revolving hell. With abrupt spring 
 
 Boundin«: at last — on it shot maddeninj 
 
 ^g- 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Behind it, thunderous swept the glacier masses, 
 Shivering and splintering, hurthng each on each : 
 
 Narrower and narrower press the frowning passes : — 
 Jamm'd in the farthest gorge the Ijarlv may reach, 
 
 Where the grim ScyUa locks the direful way, 
 
 The fierce Chary bdis flings her mangled prey. 
 
BOOK IX. 73 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 As if a living thing, in every part 
 
 The vessel groans — and with a dismal chime 
 
 Cracks to the cracking ice ; asunder start 
 
 The brazen ribs : — and, clogg'd and freezing, climb 
 
 Thro' cleft and chink, as thro' their native caves, 
 
 The gelid armies of the hardening waves. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 One sigh whose lofty pity did embrace 
 The vanish'd many, the surviving few, 
 
 The Cymrian gave — then with a cheering face 
 He spoke, and breathed his soul into the crew, 
 
 " Ye whom the hauglit desire of Fame, whose air 
 
 Is storm, — and tales of what your fathers were, 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " What time their valour wrought such deeds below 
 As made the vaUant lift them to the gods. 
 
 Impeird with me to spare all meaner foe. 
 
 And vanquish Nature in the fiend's abodes ; — 
 
 Droop not nor faint, ye who survive, to give 
 
 Themes to such song as bids your Odin live, 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " And to preserve from the oblivious sea 
 What it in vain engulfs ; — for all that life, 
 
 When noble, lives for is the memory ! 
 
 The wave hath pluck'd us from the monster strife, 
 
 Lo where the icebay frees us from the wave, 
 
 And yields a port in what we deemed a grave ! 
 
74 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " Up and at work all hands to lash the bark 
 With grappling hook, and cord, and iron band 
 
 To yon firm peak, the Ararat of our ark. 
 
 Then with good heart pierce to the vapour-land ; 
 
 For the crane's scream, and the bear's welcome roar 
 
 Tell where the wave joins solid to the shore." 
 
 XXXVT. 
 
 Swift as he spoke, the gallant Northmen sprang 
 On the sharp ice, — drew from the frozen blocks 
 
 The mangled wreck; — with many a barbed fang 
 And twisted cable to the horrent rocks 
 
 Moor'd : and then, shouting up the solitude, 
 
 Their guiding star, the Dove's pale wing, pursued. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Well had divined the King, — -as on they glide, 
 They see the silvery Arctic fox at play. 
 
 Sure sign of land, — and, scattering wild and wide, 
 Clamor the sea gulls, luring to his prey 
 
 The ravening glaucus* sudden shooting o'er 
 
 The din of wings from the gray gleaming shore. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 At length they reach the land, — if land that be 
 Which seems so like the frost piles of the deep, 
 
 That where commenced the soil and ceased the sea, 
 Shows dim as is the bound between the sleep 
 
 And waking of some wretch whose palsied brain 
 
 Dulls him to even the slow return of pain. 
 
 ♦ The Larus Glauciis, the great bird of proy in the Polar regions. 
 
BOOK IX. 75 
 
 XXXIX, 
 
 Advancing farther, burst upon the eye 
 
 Patches of green miraculously isled 
 In the white desert. Oh! the rapture cry 
 
 That greeted God and gladdened thro' the wild ! 
 The very sight suffices to restore, [more ! 
 
 Green Earth — green Earth — the Mother, smiles once 
 
 XL. 
 
 Blithe from the turf the Dove the blessed leaves* 
 That heal the slow plague of the sunless dearth 
 
 Bears to each sufferer whom the curse bereaves 
 Even of all hope, save graves in that dear earth. 
 
 Woo'd by the kindly King they taste, to know 
 
 How to each ill God plants a cure below. 
 
 XLI. m 
 
 Long mused the anxious hero, if to dare 
 
 Once more the fearful sea — or from the bark 
 
 Shape rugged huts, and wait, slow-lingering there, 
 Till Eos issuing from the gates of Dark 
 
 Unlock the main ? dread choice on either hand — 
 
 The liquid Acheron, or the Stygian land. 
 
 XLII. ^, 
 
 At length, resolved to seize the refuge given. 
 Once more he leads the sturdiest of the crew 
 
 Back to the wreck — the planks, asunder riven. 
 And such scant stores as yet the living few 
 
 May for new woes sustain, are shoreward borne ; 
 
 And hasty axes shape the homes forlorn. 
 
 * Herbs which act as the antidotes to the scurvy (the cochlearia, &c.) are found 
 under the snows, when all other vegetation seems to cease. 
 
76 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Now, every cliink closed on the deathful air, 
 In the dark cells the weary labourers sleep ; 
 
 Deaf to the fierce roar of the hungering bear, 
 And the dull thunders clanging on the deep — 
 
 Till on their waking sense the discords peel. 
 
 And to the numb hand cleaves unfelt the steel. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 What boots long told the tale of life one war 
 
 With the relentless iron Element ? 
 More, day by day, the mounting snows debar 
 
 Ev'n search for food, — yet oft the human scent 
 Lures the wild beast, which, mangling while it dies. 
 Bursts on the prey, to fall itself the prize ! 
 
 XLV. 
 
 But as the winter deepens, ev'n the beast 
 
 Shrinks from its breath, and with the loneliness 
 
 To Famine leaves the solitary feast. 
 
 Suffering halts patient in its last excess. 
 
 Closed in each fireless, lightless, foodless cave 
 
 Cowers a dumb ghost unconscious of its grave. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Nature hath stricken down in that waste world 
 All — save the Soul of Arthur ! That, sublime, 
 
 Hung on the wings of heavenward faith unfurl'd, 
 O'er the far light of the predicted Time ; 
 
 Believe thou hast a mission to fulfil. 
 
 And human valour grows a Godhead's will ! 
 
BOOK IX. 77 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Calm to that fate above the moment given 
 Shall thy strong soul divinely dreaming go, 
 
 Unconscious as an eagle, entering heaven, 
 
 Where its still shadow skims the rocks below. 
 
 High beyond this, its actual world is wrought, 
 
 And its true life is in iis sphere of thought. 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 Yet who can 'scape the infection of the heart ? 
 
 Who, tho' himself invulnerably steel'd, 
 Can boast a breast indiiferent to the dart 
 
 That threats the life his love in vain would shield ? 
 When some large nature, curious we behold 
 How twofold comes it from the glorious mould ! 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 How lone, and yet how living in the All ! 
 
 While it imagines how aloof from men ! 
 How like the ancestral Adam ere the fall. 
 
 In Eden bowers the painless denizen ! 
 But when it feels — the lonely heaven resign'd — 
 How social moves the man among mankind ! 
 
 L. 
 
 Forth from the tomblike hamlet strays the King, 
 Restless with ills from which himself is free ; 
 
 In that dun air the only living thing, 
 
 He skirts the margin of the soundless sea ; 
 
 No — not alone, the musing Wanderer strays; 
 
 For still the Dove smiles on the dismal ways. 
 
 VOL. II. 6 
 
78 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Nor can tongue tell, nor tliouglit conceive how far 
 Into that storm-beat heart, the gentle bird 
 
 Had built the halcyon's nest. How precious are 
 In desolate hours, the Affections ! — How (unheard 
 
 Mid Noon's melodious myriads of delight) 
 
 Thrills the lone note that steals the gloom from night ! 
 
 LII. 
 
 And, in return, a human love replying 
 
 To his caress, seem'd in those eyes to dwell, 
 
 That mellow murmur, like a human sighing, 
 
 Seemed from those founts that lie i' the heart to swell. 
 
 Love wants not speech ; from silence speech it builds, 
 
 Kindness like light speaks in the air it gilds. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 That angel guide ! His fate while leading on, 
 It followed each quick movement of his soul. 
 
 As the soft shadow from the setting sun 
 Precedes the splendour passing to its goal, 
 
 Before his path the gentle herald glides, 
 
 Its life reflected from the life it guides. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Was Arthur sad ? how sadden'd seemed the Dove ! 
 
 Did Arthur hope ? how gaily soared its wings ! 
 Like to that sister spirit left above. 
 
 The half of ours, which, torn asunder, springs 
 Ever thro' space, yearning to join once more 
 The earthlier half, its own and Heaven's before ;* 
 
 * In allusion to the Platonic fancy, that love is the yearning of the soul for the 
 twin soul with which it was united in a former existence, and which it instinctively 
 
BOOK IX. 79 
 
 LV. 
 
 Like an embodied living Sympathy 
 
 Wiiicli hath no voice and yet replies to all 
 
 That wakes the lightest smile, the faintest sigh, — 
 So did the instinct and the mystery thrall 
 
 To the earth's son the daughter of the air ; 
 
 And pierce his soul — to place the sister there. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 She was to him as to the bard his muse, 
 
 The solace of a sweet confessional.; 
 The hopes — the fears which manlj^ lips refuse 
 
 To speak to man, — those leaves of thought that fall 
 With every tremulous zephyr from the Tree 
 Of Life, whirl'd from us down the darksome sea ; — 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Those hourly springs and winters of the heart 
 
 Weak to reveal to Reason's sober eye, 
 The proudest yet will to the muse impart 
 
 And grave in song the record of a sigh. 
 And hath the muse no symbol in the Dove ? — 
 Both give what youth most miss'd in human love ! 
 
 Lviir. 
 
 Over the world of winter strays the King, 
 
 Seeking some track of hope — some savage prey 
 
 Which, famish'd, fronts and feeds the famishing; 
 Or some dim outlet in the darkling way 
 
 From the dumb grave of snows which form with snows 
 
 Wastes Avide as realms thro' which a spectre goes. 
 
 recognises below. Schiller, in one of his earlier poems, has enlarged on this iJca 
 with earnest feeling and vigorous fancy. 
 
80 K I N G A R T H U R. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Amazed he halts : — Lo, on the rimy layer 
 
 That clothes sharp peaks — the print of human feet! 
 
 An awe thrill'd thro' him, and thus spoke in prayer, 
 " Thee, God, in man once more then do I greet ? 
 
 Hast thou vouchsafed the brother to the brother, 
 
 Links which reweave thy children to each other ? 
 
 . LX. 
 
 " Be they the rudest of the clay divine, 
 
 Warmed with the breath of soul, how faint so ever, 
 Yea, tho' their race but threat new ills to mine, 
 
 All hail the bond thy sons cannot dissever ! 
 Bowed to thy will, of life or death dispose, 
 But if not human friends, grant human foes !" 
 
 Lxr. 
 
 Thus while he prayed, blithe from his bosom flew 
 The guidhig Dove, along the frozen plain 
 
 Of a mute river, winding vale-like thro' 
 
 Kocks lost in vapour from the voiceless main. 
 
 And as the man pursues, more thickly seen. 
 
 The foot-prints tell where man before has been. 
 
 Lxir. 
 
 Sudden a voice — a yell, a whistling dart ! 
 
 Dim thro' the fog, behold a dwarf-like band, 
 (As from the inner earth, its goblins,) start ; 
 
 Here threatening rush, there hoarsely gibbering stand! 
 Plaits the firm hero ; mild but undismay'd. 
 Grasps the charm'd hilt, but shuns to bare the blade. 
 
BOOK IX. 81 
 
 LXIIT. 
 
 And, with a kingly gesture eloquent. 
 
 Seems to command the peace, not shun the fray ; 
 Daunted they back recoil, yet not relent ; 
 
 As Indians round the forest lord at bay. 
 Beyond his reach they form the deathful ring, 
 And every shaft is fitted to the string. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 When in the circle a grand shape appears. 
 Day's lofty child amid those dwarfs of Night, 
 
 Ev'n thro' the hides of beasts, (its garb) it rears 
 The glorious aspect of a son of light. 
 
 Hush'd at that presence was the clamoring crowd ; 
 
 Dropp'd every hand and every knee was bow'd. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Forth then alone, the man approached the King ; 
 
 And his own language smote the Cymrian's ear, 
 ^' What fates, unhappy one, a stranger bring 
 
 To shores," — he started, stopp'd, — and bounded near; 
 Gazed on that front august, a moment's space, — 
 liush'd, — lock'd the wanderer in a long embrace ; 
 
 LXVT. 
 
 Weeping and laughing in a breath, the cheek. 
 
 The lip he kiss d — then kneeling, clasp'd the hand ; 
 
 And gasping, sobbing, sought in vain to speak — 
 
 Meanwhile the King the beard-grown visage scann'd : 
 
 Amazed — he knew his Cardeul's comely lord, 
 
 And the warm heart to heart as warm restored ! 
 
82 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Speech came at length : first iiiir:dful of the lives 
 Claiming his care and peril'd for his sake, 
 
 Not vet the account that love demands and srives 
 The generous leader paused to yield and take ; 
 
 Brief words his follower's w^ants and woes explain ; — 
 
 "Light, warmth, and food. — Satverhum" quoth Gawaine. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Quick to his wondering and Pigmgean troops — 
 
 Quick sped the Knight; — he spoke and was obey'd; 
 
 Vanish once more the goblin-visaged groups 
 And soon return caparisoned for aid ; 
 
 Laden with oil to w^arm and light the air, 
 
 Flesh from the seal, and mantles from the bear. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Back with impatient rapture bounds the King, 
 Smiling as he was wont to smile of yore ; 
 
 While Gawaine, blithesome as a bird of spring. 
 Sends his sweet laughter ringing to the shore ; 
 
 Pams thro' that maze of questions, " How and Why ?" 
 
 And lost in joy stops never for reply. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Before them roved wild clogs too numb to bark, 
 
 Led by one civilized majestic hound, 
 Wlio scarcely deign'd his followers to remark, 
 
 Save, wdien they touch'd him, by a snarl profound. 
 Teaching that plebs, as history may my readers, 
 How^ curs are look'd on by patrician leaders. 
 
BOOK IX. , 83 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Now gained the Iiuts^ silent with drowsy life, 
 That scarcely feels the quick restoring skill ; 
 
 Trained Avith stern elements to wage the strife, 
 The pigmy race are Nature's conquerors still. 
 
 With practised hands they chafe the frozen veins, 
 
 And gradual loose the chill heart from its chains ; 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Heap round the limbs the fur's thick warmth of fold, 
 And with the cheerful oil revive the air. 
 
 Slow wake the eyes of Famine to behold 
 The smiling faces and the proffered fare ; 
 
 Kank tho' the food, 't is that which best supplies 
 
 The powers exhausted by the withering skies. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 This done, they next the languid sufferers bear 
 
 (Wrapp'd from the cold) athwart the vapoury shade, 
 
 Regain the vale, and show the homes that there 
 Art's earliest god. Necessity, hath made ; 
 
 Abodes hewn out from winter, winter-proof, 
 
 Ice-blocks the walls, and hollow'd ice the roof!* 
 
 • The houses of the Esquimaux who received Captain Lyon were thus con- 
 structed : — the frozen snow being formed into slabs of about two feet long and half 
 a f'^ot thick ; the benches were made with snow, strewed with twigs, and covered 
 with skins ; and the lamp suspended from the roof, fed with seal or walrus oil, was 
 the sole substitute for the hearth, furnished light and tire for cooking. 
 
 The Esquimaux were known to the settlers and pirates of Norway by the con- 
 temptuous name of dwarfs or pigmies — {Skrallings.) 
 
84 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Without, the snowy lavas, hard'ning o'er, 
 
 Hide from the beasts the buried homes of men, 
 
 But in the dome is placed the artful door 
 
 Thro' which the inmate gains or leaves the den. 
 
 Down thro' the chasm each lowers the living load, 
 
 Then from the winter seals the pent abode. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 There ever burns, sole source of warmth and light. 
 The faithful lamp the whale or walrus gives, 
 
 Thus, Lord of Europe, in the heart of Night, 
 Unjoyous not, thy patient brother lives! 
 
 To thee desire, to him possession sent, 
 
 Thine worlds of wishes^ — his that incli^ Content ! 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 But Gawaine's home, more dainty than the rest, 
 Betray'd his tastes exotic and luxurious, 
 
 The walls of ice in furry hangings drest 
 Form'd an apartment elegant if curious ; 
 
 Like some gigantic son of Major Ursa 
 
 Turned inside out by barbarous vice versa. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Here then he lodged his royal guest and friend, 
 And, having placed a slice of seal before him, 
 
 Quoth he, " Thou ask'st me for my tale, attend ; 
 Then give me thine, lieus renovo doloremr 
 
 Therewith the usage villainous and rough, 
 
 Schemed in cold blood by that malignant chough; 
 
BOOK IX. 85. 
 
 LXXVIII. ■ ' i. 
 
 The fraudful dinner (its dessert a wife ;) 
 The bridal roof with nose-assaulting glaive ; 
 
 The oak whose leaves with pinching imps were rife ; 
 The atrocious trap into the Viking's cave ; 
 
 The chief obdurate in his damn'd idea, 
 
 Of proving Freedom by a roast to Freya ; 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 The graphic portrait of the Nuptial goddess; 
 
 And diabolic if symbolic spit ; 
 The hierarch's heresy on types and bodies ; 
 
 And how at last he jDosed and silenced it ; 
 All facts traced clearly to that corvus niger, 
 Were told with pathos that had touch'd a tiger. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 So far the gentle sympathizing Nine 
 
 In dulcet strains have sung Sir Gawaine's woes ; 
 What now remains they bid the historic line 
 
 With Dorian dryness unadorned disclose ; 
 So counsel all the powers of fancy stretch, 
 Then leave the judge to finish ofi' the wretch ! 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Along the beach Sir Gawaine and the hound 
 Roved all the night, and at the dawn of day 
 
 Came unawares upon a squadron bound 
 To fish for whales, arrested in a bay 
 
 For want of winds, which certain Norwav has-s 
 
 Had squeezed from heaven and bottled up in bags.* 
 
 * A well-known popular superstition, not perhaps quite extinct at this day, 
 amongst the Baltic mariners. 
 
86 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Straight wlien the seamen, fretting on the shore. 
 Behold a wanderer chad as Freya's priest, 
 
 They rush, and round him kneehng, they imj^lore ^ 
 The runes, by which the winds may be releast : 
 
 The spurious priest a gracious answer made, 
 
 And told them Freya sent him to their aid ; 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Bade them conduct himself and hound on board, 
 And broil two portions of their choicest meat. 
 
 " The spell," quoth he, " our sacred arts afford 
 To free the wdnd, is in the food we eat ; 
 
 We dine, and dining exorcise the witches. 
 
 And loose the bags from their infernal stitches. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 '^ Haste then, my children, and dispel the wind ; 
 
 Haste, for the bags are awfully inflating !" 
 The ship is gain'd. Both priest and dog have dined ; 
 
 The crews assembled on the decks are waiting. 
 A heavier man arose the audacious priest 
 And stately stepp'd he west and stately east ! 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Mutely invoked St. David and St. Bran 
 
 To charge a stout north-western with their blessing ; 
 Then cleared his throat and lustily began 
 
 A hoAvl of vowels huge from Taliessin. 
 Prone fell the crew^s before the thunderino: tunes. 
 In words like mountains roll'd the enormous runes ! 
 
BOOK IX. 87 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 The excited hound, symphonious with the song, 
 Yell'd as if heaven and earth were rent asunder ; 
 
 The rocks Orphean seemed to dance along ; 
 
 The affrighted whales plunged waves affrighted under ; 
 
 Polyphlosboian, onwards booming bore 
 
 The deaf 'ning, strident, rauque, Homeric roar ! 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 As lions lash themselves to louder ire, 
 
 By his own song the knight sublimely stung 
 
 Caught the full oestro of the poet's fire, 
 
 And grew more stunning every note he sung ! 
 
 In each dread blast a patriot's soul exhales, 
 
 And Norway quakes before the storm of Wales. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 Whether, as grateful Cymri should believe, 
 That blatant voice heroic burst the bags, 
 
 (For sure it might the caves of Boreas cleave 
 Much more the stitch work of such losel haa's ! 
 
 Or heaven, on any terms, resolved on peace ; 
 
 The wind sprung up before the Knight would cease. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Never again hath singer heard such praise 
 
 As Gawaine heard ; for never since hath song 
 
 Found out the secret how the wind to raise ! — 
 Around the charmer now the seamen throng. 
 
 And bribe his best attendance on their toil. 
 
 With bales of bear skin and with tuns of oil. 
 
88 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 xr. 
 
 Well pleased to leave the inhospitable shores, 
 The artful Knight yet slowly seemed to yield. — 
 
 Now thro' the ocean plunge the brazen prores ; 
 They pass the threshold of the world congeal'd; 
 
 Surprise the snorting mammoths of the main ; 
 
 And ]3ile the decks with Pelions of the slain. 
 
 xei. 
 When, in the midmost harvest of the spoil, 
 
 Pounce comes a storm unspeakably more hideous 
 Than that wliich drove upon the Lybian soil 
 
 Anchises' son, the pious and perfidious. 
 When whooping Notus, as the Nine assure us, 
 Rush'd out to play with Africus and Eurus. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 Torn each from each, or down the maelstrom whirl'd. 
 Or grasp'd and gulph'd by the devouring sea, 
 
 Or on the ribs of hurrying icebergs hurl'd, 
 The sundered vessels vanish momently. 
 
 Scarce thro' the blasts which swept his own, Gawaine 
 
 Heard the crew shrieking " Chaunt the runes again !" 
 
 xciir. 
 Far other thoughts engaged the prescient knight, 
 
 Fast to a plank he lash'd himself and hound ; 
 Scarce done, than, presto, shooting out of sight, 
 
 The enormous eddy spun him round and round, 
 Along the deck a monstrous wave had pour'd, 
 Caught up the plank and tossed it overboard. 
 
BOOK IX. 89 
 
 xciv. 
 
 What of the ship became, saith history not. 
 
 What of the man — the man himself shall show. 
 
 " Like stone from sling," quoth Gawaine, " I was shot 
 Into a ridge of what they call a ^oe,* 
 
 There much amazed, but rescued from the waters, 
 
 Myself and hound took up our frigid quarters. 
 
 xcv. 
 " Freed from the plank, drench'd, spluttering, stunn'd, 
 and bruised, 
 We peer'd about us on the sweltering deep. 
 And seeing nought, and being much confused, 
 
 Crept side by side and nestled into sleep. 
 The nearest kindred most avoid each other. 
 So to shun Death, we visited his brother. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 " Awaked at last, we found the weaves had stranded 
 A store of waifs portentous and nefarious ; 
 
 Here a dead whale was at my elbow landed, 
 There a sick polypus, that sea-Briareus, 
 
 Stretch'd out its claws to incorporate my corpus ; 
 
 While howl'd the hound half buried by a porpoise ! 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 " Nimbly I rose, disporpoising my friend ; — 
 Around me scattered lay more piteous wrecks. 
 
 With every wave the accursed Tritons send 
 Some sad memento of submergent decks. 
 
 Prows, rudders, casks, ropes, blubber, hides, and hooks. 
 
 Sailors, salt beef, tubs, cabin boys, and cooks. 
 
 * The smaller kind of ice field is called by the northern whale fishers, ' a floe,'— 
 the name is probably of very ancient date. 
 
90 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 ^^Graves on the dead, with pious care bestowed, 
 (Graves in the ice hewn out with mickle pain 
 
 By axe and bill, which with the waifs had tlowed 
 To that strange shore) I next collect the gain -, 
 
 Placed in a hollow cleft- — and covered o'er ; — 
 
 Then knight and hound proceeded to explore. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 ^' Far had we wandered, for the storm had joined 
 To a great isle of ice, our friend the floe^ 
 
 When as the day (three hours its length !) declined. 
 Out bray'd a roar; I stared around, and lo 
 
 A flight of dwarfs about the size of sea-moths. 
 
 Chased by two bears that might have eat behemoths ! 
 
 c. 
 
 '' Armed with the axe the Tritons had ejected, 
 I rush'd to succour the Pigmasan nation. 
 
 In strife our valour, I have oft suspected, 
 Proportions safety to intoxication. 
 
 As drunken men securely walk on walls 
 
 From which the wretch who keeps his senses falls; 
 
 CI. 
 
 " The blood mounts up, suffuses sight and brain ; 
 
 The Hercles vein herculeanates the form ; 
 The rill when swollen swallows up a plain. 
 
 The breeze runs mad before it blows a storm, 
 To do great deeds, first lose your wits, — then do them ! 
 In fine — I burst upon the bears, and slew them ! 
 
BOOK IX. 91 
 
 CII. 
 
 ^' The dwarfs, delivered, kneel, and pull their noses f- 
 In tugs which mean to say the ^ Pigmy Nation 
 
 A vote of thanks respectfully proposes 
 From all the noses of the corporation !' 
 
 Your Highness knows ' Magister Artis Vender /' 
 
 On signs for breakfast my replies concenter ! 
 
 cm. 
 " Quick they conceived, and quick obey ; the beasts 
 
 Are skinn'd, and drawn, and quartered in a trice, 
 But Vulcan leaves Diana to the feasts. 
 
 And not a wood-nymph consecrates the ice — 
 Bear is but so-so, when 't is cook'd the best. 
 But bear just skinn'd and perfectly undrest! 
 
 CIV. 
 
 " Then I bethink me of the planks and casks 
 Stowed in the cleft — for fuel quantum suff: 
 
 I draw the dwarfs — sore chattering, from their tasks, 
 Choose out the morsels least obdurely tough ; 
 
 With these I load the Pigmies — bid them follow — 
 
 Regain the haven, and review the hollow. 
 
 cv. 
 
 ^' But when those minnow-men beheld the whale 
 
 It really was a spectacle affecting ; 
 They shout, they sob, they leap — -embrace the tail, 
 
 Peep in the jaws; then, round me re-collecting. 
 Draw forth those noselings from their hiding places, 
 Which serve as public speakers to their faces ! 
 
 • A salutatioa still in vogue among certain tribes of the Esquimaux. 
 
92 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 cvi. 
 ^^ While I revolve wliat this Stalute may mean, 
 
 They rush once more upon the poor balsena, 
 Clutch — rend — gnaw — bolt the blubber ; but the lean 
 
 Reject as drying to the duodena ! 
 This done, — my broil they aid me to obtain, 
 And, while I eat — the noses go again ! 
 
 CVII. 
 
 ^' My tale is closed — the grateful pigmies lead 
 Myself and hound across the ice defiles ; 
 
 Regain their people and recite my deed. 
 
 Describe the monsters and display the spoils ; 
 
 With royal rank my feats the dwarfs repay, 
 
 And build the palace which you now survey ! 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 " The vanquish'd bears are troj^hied on the wall ; 
 
 The oil you scent once floated in the whale ; 
 I had a vision to illume the hall 
 
 With lights less fragrant, — human hopes are frail 1 
 With cares ingenious from the bruins' fat, 
 I made some candles, — which the ladies ate ! 
 
 cix. 
 
 " 'T is now your turn to tell the tale. Sir King, — 
 And by the way our Comrade, Lancelot ? 
 
 I hope he found a raven in the ring! 
 
 Monstrum liorrendiira I — Sire, I question not 
 
 That in your justice you have heard enough 
 
 When we get home — to crucify that chough !" 
 
BOOK IX. 93 
 
 ex. 
 
 " Gawaine," said Arthur, with his sunny smile, 
 " Methinks thy heart will soon absolve the raven, 
 
 Thy friend had perished in this icy isle 
 But for thy voyage to the Viking's haven, 
 
 In every ill which gives thee such offence, 
 
 Thou see'st the raven, I the Providence !" 
 
 CXI. 
 
 The knight reluctant shook his learned head ; 
 
 " So please you, Sire, you cannot find a thief 
 Who picks our pouch, but Providence hath led 
 
 His steps to pick it ; — yet to my belief. 
 There's not a judge who'd scruple to exhibit 
 That proof of Providence upon a gibbet ! 
 
 CXII. 
 
 '^ The chough was sent by Providence : — Agreed : 
 We send the chough to Providence, in turn ! 
 
 Yet in the hound and not the chough, indeed, 
 Your friendly sight should Providence discern ; 
 
 For had the hound been just a whit less nimble. 
 
 Thanks to the chough, your friend had been a symbol !" 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 '' Thy logic," answered Arthur, ^' is unsound. 
 
 But for the chou2;h thou never had'st been married ; 
 But for the wife thou ne'er hadst seen the hound ; — 
 
 The Ah initio to the chough is carried : 
 The hound is but the effect — the chough the cause," 
 The generous Gawaine murmured his applause. 
 
 VOL. II. 7 
 
94 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 cxiv. 
 
 "Do veniam Gorvo! Sire, the chough 's acquitted!" 
 " For Lancelot next," quoth Arthur, " be at ease, 
 
 The task fulfiU'cI to which he was permitted, 
 The ring veered home — I left him on the seas. 
 
 Ere this, he sure he hails the Cjmrian shore. 
 
 And gives to Carduel one great bulwark more." 
 
 cxv. 
 
 Then Arthur told of fair Genevra flying 
 
 From the scorn'd nuptials of the heathen fane ; 
 
 Her runic J^ark to his emprize supplying 
 
 The steed that bore him to the Northern main ; 
 
 While she with cheek that blush'd the prayer to tell, 
 
 Implored a Christian's home in Carduel. 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 The gentle King well versed in woman's heart, 
 And all the vestal thoughts that tend its shrine, 
 
 On Lancelot smiled — and answered, " Maid, depart ; 
 Though o'er our roofs the thunder clouds combine, 
 
 Yet love shall guard, whatever war betide, 
 
 The Saxon's daughter — or the Cymrian's bride." 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 A stately ship from glittering Spezia bore 
 To Cymrian ports the lovers from the King; 
 
 Then on, the Seeker of the Shield, once more, 
 With patient soul pursued the heavenly wing. 
 
 Wild tho' that crew, his heart enthralls their own ; 
 
 The great are kings wherever they are thrown. 
 
BOOK IX. - 95 
 
 CXVIIT. 
 
 Nought of that mystery which the Spirit's priest, 
 True love, draws round the aisles behind the veil, 
 
 Could Arthur bare to that light joyous breast, — 
 Life hath its inward as its outward tale. 
 
 Our lips reveal our deeds, — our sufferings shun ; 
 
 What wx have felt, how few can tell to one ! 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 The triple task — the sword not sought in vain, 
 The shield yet hidden in the caves of Lok, 
 
 Of these spoke Arthur, — " Certes," quoth Gawaine, 
 When the King ceased — " strange legends of a rock 
 
 Where a fierce Dwarf doth guard a shield of light. 
 
 Oft have I heard my pigmy friends recite ; 
 
 cxx. 
 
 " Permit me now your royal limbs to wrap. 
 In these warm relicts of departed bears ; 
 
 And while from Morpheus you decoy a nap. 
 My skill the grain shall gather from the tares. 
 
 The pigmy tongue my erudite pursuits 
 
 Have traced acZ unguem to the nasal roots !" 
 
 CXXT. 
 
 Slumbers the King — slumber his ghastly crew ; 
 
 How long they know not, guess not — night and dawn 
 Long since commingled in one livid hue ; 
 
 Like that long twilight o'er the portals drawn, 
 Behind wdiose threshold spreads eternity ! — 
 When the sleep burst, and sudden in the sky 
 
96 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 Stands the great Sun ! — As, on the desperate, — Hope, 
 As Glory o'er the dead, — as Freedom on 
 
 Men who snap chains ; or Ukest Truths that ope 
 Life, in God's word, on charnels, — stands the Sun ! 
 
 Ice still on earth — still vapour in the air. 
 
 But Light — the victor Lord — hut Light is there ! 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 On siege- worn cities, when their war is spent, 
 From the far hill as, gleam on gleam, arise 
 
 The spears of some great aiding armament — 
 
 Grow the dim splendours, broadening up the skies, 
 
 Till bright and brighter, the sublime array 
 
 Flings o'er the world the banners of the Day ! 
 
 cxxiv. 
 Behold them where they kneel ! the starry King, 
 
 The dwarfs of night, the giants of the sea ! 
 Each with the other link'd in solemn ring, 
 
 Too blest for words ! — Man's sever'd Family, 
 All made akin once more beneath those eyes 
 Which on their Father smiled in Paradise ! 
 
V. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK X. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 The Polar Spring ; The Boreal Lights ; and apparition of a double sun ; 
 The Rocky Isle ; The Bears ; The mysterious Shadow from the Crater 
 of the extinct Volcano ; The Bears scent the steps of Man : their move- 
 ments described ; Arthur's approach ; The Bears emerge from their 
 covert; The Shadow takes form and life; The Demon Dwarf described ; 
 His parley with Arthur ; The King follows the Dwarf into the interior 
 of the volcanic rock ; The Antediluvian Skeletons ; The Troll-Fiends, 
 and their tasks ; Arthur arrives at the Cave of Lok ; The Corpses of the 
 armed Giants ; The Yalkyrs at their loom ; The Wars that they weave ; 
 The Dwarf addresses Arthur ; The King's fear ; He approaches the 
 sleeping Fiend, and the curtains close around him; Meanwhile Gawaine 
 and the Norwegians have tracked Artliur's steps on the snow, and ar- 
 rive at the Isle ; Are attacked by the Bears; The noises and eruption 
 from the Volcano; The re-appearance of Arthur; TKe change in him ; 
 Freedom, and its characteristics ; Arthur and his band renew their way 
 along the coast; ships are seen; How Arthur obtains a bark from the 
 Rugen Chieftain ; and how Gawaine stores it ; The Dove now leads 
 homeward ; Arthur reaches England ; and, sailing up a river, enters 
 the Mercian territory ; He follows the Dove through a forest to the ruins 
 built by the earliest Cimmerians ; The wisdom and civilization of the 
 ancestral Druidical races, as compared with their idolatrous successors 
 at the time of the Roman Conquerors, whose remains alone are left to 
 our age ; Arthur lies doAvn to rest amidst the moonlit ruins ; The Dove 
 vanishes; The nameless horror that seizes the King. 
 
BOOK X. 
 
 I. 
 
 Spring on the Polar Seas ! — not violet-crown'd 
 
 By dewy Hours, nor to cerulean halls 
 Melodious hymn'd, yet Light itself around 
 
 Her stately path, sheds starry coronels. 
 Sublime she comes, as when, from Dis set free, 
 Came, through the flash of Jove, Persephone : 
 
 II. 
 
 She comes — that grand Aurora of the North ! 
 
 By steeds of fire her glorious chariot borne, 
 From Boreal courts the meteors flaming forth, 
 
 Ope heav'n on heav'n, before the mighty Morn. 
 And round the rebel giants of the Night 
 On Earth's last confines burst the storm of Light. 
 
 III. 
 Wonder and awe ! lo, where against the Sun 
 
 A second Sun* his lurid front uprears ! 
 As if the first-born lost Hyperion, 
 
 Hurl'd down of old, from his Uranian spheres, 
 Kose from the hell-rocks on his writhings pil'd, 
 And glared defiance on his Titan child. 
 
 • The apparition of two or more suns in the polar firmament is well known. 
 Mr. Ellis saw six — they are most brilliant at day-b'-eak — and though diminished in 
 splendour are still Visible even after the appearance of the real sua. 
 
100 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now life, the polar life, returns once more, 
 The reindeer roots his mosses from the snows ; 
 
 The whirring sea-gulls shriek along the shore ; 
 Thro' oozing rills the cygnet gleaming goes ; 
 
 And where the ice some happier verdure frees, 
 
 Laugh into light frank-eyed anemones. 
 
 V. 
 
 Out from the seas still solid, frown'd a lone 
 Chaos of chasm and precipice and rock. 
 
 There, wdiile the meteors on their revels shone. 
 Growling hoarse glee, in many a grauly* flock, 
 
 With their huge young the sea-bears sprawling play'd 
 
 Near the charr'd crater, some mute Hecla made^ 
 
 VI. 
 
 Sullen before that cavern's vast repose. 
 Like the lorn wrecks of a despairing race 
 
 Chased to their last hold by triumphant foes. 
 
 Darkness and Horror stood ! But from the space 
 
 Within the cave, and o'er the ice-ground wan, 
 
 Quivers a Shadow vaguely mocking man. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Like man's the Shadow falls, yet falling loses 
 The shape it took, each moment changefully ; 
 
 As when the wind on Runic waves confuses 
 
 The weird boughs toss'd from some prophetic tree. 
 
 Fantastic, goblin-like, and fitful thrown, 
 
 Comes the strange Shadow from the drear Unknown. 
 
 • Grauli/ atid graiisame, are both adjectives which belong to the Saxon clement 
 of the language, and are fairly reclaimed from the German. The Scotch indeed 
 have preserved the first. 
 
BOOK X. 101 
 
 \iil. 
 
 It is not man's — for they, man's savage foes, 
 
 Whose sense ne'er fails them when the scent is blood, 
 
 Sport in the shadow the Unseen One throws. 
 Nor hush their young to sniff the human food ; 
 
 But undisturbed as if their home was there, 
 
 Pass to and fro the light-defying lair. 
 
 IX. 
 
 So the bears gamboll'd, so the Shadow play'd. 
 
 When sudden halts the uncouth merriment. 
 Now man — in truth, draws near, man's steps invade 
 
 The men-devourers ! — Snorting to the scent, 
 Lo, where they stretch dread necks of shaggy snow, 
 Grin with w hite fangs, and greed the blood to flow ! 
 
 X. 
 
 Grotesquely undulating, moves the flock. 
 Low grumbling as the grisly ranks divide ; 
 
 Some heave their slow bulk peering up the rock, 
 Some stand erect and shift from side to side 
 
 The keen quick ear, the red dilating eye, 
 
 And steam the hard air wdth a hungry sigh. 
 
 XI. 
 
 At length unquiet and amazed — as rings 
 
 On to their haunt direct, the dauntless stride. 
 
 With the sharp instinct of all savage things 
 That doubt a prey by which they are defied, 
 
 They send from each to each a troubled stare, 
 
 And huddle close suspicious of the snare, 
 
102 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Then a huge leader with concerted wile, 
 
 Creeps lumbering on, and, to his guidance slow 
 
 The shagged armies move, in cautious file, 
 Till one by one, in ambush for the foe. 
 
 Drops into chasm and cleft, — and vanishing 
 
 With stealthy murther girds the coming King ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 He comes, — the Conqueror in the Halls of Time, 
 Known by his silver herald in the Dove, 
 
 By his imperial tread, and front sublime 
 
 With 230wer as tranquil as the lids of Jove, — 
 
 All shapes of death the realms around afford : — 
 
 From Fiends God guard him ! — from all else his sword ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 For he, with spring the huts of ice had left 
 And the small People of the world of snows : 
 
 Their food the seal, their camp at night, the cleft, 
 His bold Norwegians follow where he goes ; 
 
 Now in the rear afar, their chief they miss, 
 
 And grudge the danger which they deem a bliss. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Ere yet the meteors from the morning sky 
 Chased large Orion, — in the hour when sleep 
 
 Reflects its ghost-land stillest on the eye. 
 
 Had stol'n the lonely King ; and o'er the deep 
 
 Sought by the clue the dwarfmen-legends yield, 
 
 And the Dove's wing — the demon-guarded Shield. 
 
BOOK X. 10 
 
 Q 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The Desert of the Desolate is won. 
 
 Still lurks, unseen, the ambush horrible- 
 
 Nought stirs around beneath the twofold sun 
 Save that strange shadow where before it fell, 
 Still falling ; — varying, quivering to and fro, 
 From the black cavern on the glaring snow. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Slow the devourers rise, and peer around: 
 
 Now crag and cliff move dire with savage life, 
 
 And rolling downward, — all the dismal ground 
 Shakes with the roar and bristles with the strife : 
 
 Not unprepared — (when ever are the brave?) 
 
 Stands the firm King, and bares the diamond glaive. 
 
 XVill, 
 
 Streams in the meteor fires the fulgent brand. 
 Lightening along the air, the sea, the rock, 
 
 Bright as the arrow in that heavenly hand 
 
 Which slew the Python ! Blinded halt the flock. 
 
 And the great roar, but now so rough and high. 
 
 Sinks into terror wailing timidly. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Yet the fierce instinct and the rabid sting 
 Of famine goad again the check'd array; 
 
 And close and closer in tumultuous ring. 
 
 Keels on the death-mass crushing towards its prey. 
 
 A dull groan tells where first the falchion sweeps — 
 
 When into shape the cave-born Shadow leaps ! 
 
104 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Out from the dark it leapt — the awful form ! 
 
 Manlike but sure not human ! on its hair 
 The ice-barbs bristled : like a coming storm 
 
 The breath smote lifeless every wind in air ; 
 Dread form deform'd, as, ere the birth of Light, 
 Some son of Chaos and the Antique Night ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 At once a dwarf and giant — trunk and limb 
 
 Knit in gnarl'd strength as by a monstrous chance, 
 
 Never Chimera more grotesque and grim, 
 
 Paled Egypt's priesthood with its own romance, 
 
 When from each dire delirium Fancy knows. 
 
 Some Typhon-type of Powers destroying rose. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 At the dread presence, ice a double cold 
 
 Conceived ; the meteors from their dazzling play 
 
 Paused ; and appalled into their azure hold 
 
 Shrunk back with all their banners ; not a ray 
 
 Broke o'er the dead sea and the doleful shore, 
 
 Winter's steel grasp lock'd the dumb world once more. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Halted the war — as the wild multitude 
 
 Left the King scatheless, and their leaders slain; 
 
 And round the giant dwarf the baleful brood 
 
 Came with low howls of terror, wrath, and pain. 
 
 As children round their father. Tliey depart. 
 
 But strife remains ; Fear and the Human Heart ; 
 
BOOK X. ]05 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 For Fear was on the bold ! Then spoke aloud 
 The horrent Image. " Child of hateful Day, 
 
 What madness snares thee to the glooms that shroud 
 The realms abandoned to my secret sway? 
 
 Why on mine air first breathes the human breath ? 
 
 Hath thy far world no fairer path to Death ?" 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " All ways to Death, but one to Glory leads, 
 That which alike thro' earth, or air, or wave, 
 
 Bears a bold thought to goals in noble deeds," 
 
 Said the pale King. "And this, methinks, the cave 
 
 Which hides the Shield that rock'd the sleep of one 
 
 By whom ev'n Fable shows what deeds were done ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " I seek the talisman which guards the free, 
 
 And tread where erst the Sire of freemen trod."* 
 
 " Ho !" laugh'd the dwarf, " Walhalla's child was He ! 
 Man gluts the fiend when he assumes the god." — 
 
 " No god, Deceiver, tho' man's erring creeds 
 
 Make gods of men when godlike are their deeds ; 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 "And if the Only and Eternal One 
 
 Hath, ere his last illuminate Word Reveal'd, 
 
 Left some grand Memory on its airy throne. 
 
 Nor smote the nations when to names they kneel'd — 
 
 It is that each false god was some great truth ! — 
 
 To races Heroes are as Bards to j^outh !" 
 
 • Tiioii's visit to the realms of Hela and Lok forms a pr>)mincnt incident in (he 
 romance of Scandlnavijn mythology. With the i^candinavian branch of the 'I'eu- 
 
106 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Thus spoke the King, to whom the Enchanted Lake, 
 Where from all sources Wisdom ever springs, 
 
 Had given unknown the subtle powers that wake 
 Our Lutuitions into cloudiest things, 
 
 Won but by those, who, after passionate dreams, 
 
 Taste the sharp herb and dare the solemn streams. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The Demon heard ; and as a moon that shines, 
 
 Rising behind Arcturus, cold and still 
 O'er Baltic headlands black with rigid pines, — 
 
 So on his knit and ominious brows a chill 
 And livid smile, revealed the gloomy night. 
 To leave the terror, sterner for the light. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Thus spoke the Dwarf, " Thou would'st survive to tell 
 Of trophies wrested from the halls of Lok, 
 
 Yet wherefore singly face the hosts of Hell ? 
 Return, and lead thy comrades to the rock ; 
 
 Never to one, on earth's less dreadful field, 
 
 The prize of chiefs do War's fierce Valkyrs yield," 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " War," said the King, " is waged on mortal life 
 By men with men : — that dare I with the rest ; 
 
 In conflicts awful with no human strife. 
 
 Mightiest methinks, that soul the loneliest ! 
 
 When starry charms from Afrite's caves were won. 
 
 No Judah march'd with dauntless Solomon !" 
 
 Ion family Thor waff the favourite deity — and it was natural to that free and valiant 
 i-ace to identify liberty with war. 
 
h 
 
 BOOK X. 107 
 
 xxxrr. 
 Fell fangs the demon gnash'd, and o'er the crowd 
 
 Wild cumbering round his feet, with hungry stare 
 Greeding the man, his drooping visage bowed ; 
 
 " Go elsewhere, sons — your prey escapes the snare : 
 Yours but the food which flesh to flesh supplies ; 
 Plere not the mortal but the soul defies." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Then striding to the cave, he plunged w^ithin; 
 
 " Follow," he cried, and like a prison'd blast 
 Along the darkness, the reverberate din, 
 
 Roll'd from the rough sides of the viewless Yast ; 
 As goblin echoes, thro' the haunted hollow, ["Follow !" 
 '^ Twixt groan and laughter, chim'd hoarse-gibbering 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 The King recoiling paused irresolute. 
 
 Till thro' the cave the white wing went its way ; 
 Then on his breast he sign'd the cross, and mute 
 
 With solemn prayer, he left the world of day. 
 Thick stood the night, save where the falchion gave 
 Its clear sharp glimmer lengthening down the cave. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Advancing ; flashes rush'd irregular 
 
 Like subterranean lightning, fork'd and red : 
 
 From warring matter — wandering shot the star 
 Of poisonous gases ; and the tortured bed 
 
 Of th' old Yolcano show'd in trailing fires. 
 
 Where the numb'd serpent dragged its mangled spires. 
 
108 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Broader and ruddier on the Dove's pale wings 
 Now glowed the lava of the widening spaces ; 
 
 Grinn'd from the rock the jaws of giant things. 
 The lurid skeletons of vanished races, 
 
 Thej who, perchance ere man himself had birth, 
 
 Kuled the moist slime of uncompleted earth. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Enormous couch'd fang'd Iguanodon,* 
 To which the monster-lizard of the Nile 
 
 Were prey too small, — whose dismal haunts were on 
 The swamps where now such golden harvest smile 
 
 As had sufficed those myriad hosts to feed 
 
 Yv^hen all the Orient march'd behind the Mede. 
 
 XXXVIII, 
 
 There the foul, earliest reptile spectra lay, 
 Distinct as when the chaos was their home ; 
 
 Half plant, half serpent, some subside away 
 
 Into gnarl'd roots (now stone) — more hideous some 
 
 Half bird — half fish — seem struggling yet to spring, 
 
 Shark-like the maw, and dragon-like the wing. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 But, life-like more, from later layers emerge 
 
 With their fell tusks deep-stricken in the stone, 
 
 Herds,f that thro' all the thunders of the surge, 
 Had to the Ark which swept relentless on 
 
 (Denied to them) — knell'd the despairing roar 
 
 Of sentenced races time shall know no more. 
 
 * Uii. Mantkll, in his IVonders nf Grolngij, computes (he len<>th of the Igua- 
 notliin (formerly an inhabitant of the Wealds of Sussex) at 100 feet. 
 
 •[ The Deinotherium — supposed to have been a colossal species of hippopotamus. ^ 
 
BOOK X. 109 
 
 XL. 
 
 Under the limbs of mammoths went the path, 
 Or thro' the arch immense of Dragon jaws, 
 
 And ever on the King — in watchful wrath 
 Gazed the attendant Fiend, with artful pause 
 
 Where dread was dreadliest ; had the mortal one 
 
 Faltered or quail'dj the Fiend his prey had won, 
 
 XLT. 
 
 And rent it limb by limb ; but on^the Dove 
 
 Arthur look'd steadfast, and the Fiend was foil'd. 
 
 Now, as along the skeleton world they move, 
 
 Strange noises jar, and flit strange shadows. Toil'd 
 
 T he Troll's"-' swart people, in their inmost home 
 
 At work on ruin for the days to come. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 A baleful race, whose anvils forge the flash 
 
 Of iron murder for the limbs of war ; 
 Who ripen hostile embryos, for the crash 
 
 Of earthquakes rolling slow to towers aflirj 
 Or train from Hecla's fount the lurid rills. 
 To cities sleeping under shepherd hills ; 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Or nurse the seeds, thro' patient ages rife 
 With the full harvest of that crowning fire. 
 
 When for the sentenced Three, — Time, Death, and Life, 
 Our globe itself shall be the funeral pyre; 
 
 And, awed in orbs remote some race ui known 
 
 Shall miss one star, whose smile had lit their own ! 
 
 * In Scandinavian rnythoL->gy, the evil spirits arc generally called Trolls (or 
 VOL. II. 8 
 
110 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Thro' the Phlegraean glare, innumerous eyes, 
 Fierce Avith the murther-kist, scowl ravening, 
 
 And forms on which had never look'd the skies 
 Stalk near and nearer, swooping round the King, 
 
 Till from the blazing sword the foul array 
 
 Shrink back, and wolf-like follow on the way. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Now thro' waste mines of iron, whose black peaks 
 Frown o'er dull Phlegethons of fire below. 
 
 While, vague as worlds unform'd, sulphureous reeks 
 Roll on before them huge and dun, — they go. 
 
 Vanish abrupt the vapours ! From the night 
 
 Springs, and spreads rushing, like a flood, the light. 
 
 r 
 
 XLYI. 
 
 A mighty cirque with lustre belts the mine ; 
 
 Its walls of iron glittering into steel ; 
 Wall upon wall reflected flings the shine 
 
 Of armour ! Vizorless the Corpses kneel, 
 Their glazed eyes fixed upon a couch where, screen'd 
 With whispering curtains, sleeps the Kingly Fiend : 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Corpses of giants, who perchance had heard 
 The tromps of Tubal, and had leapt to strife. 
 
 Whose guilt provoked the Deluge : sepulchred 
 In their w^orld's ruins, still a frown like life 
 
 Hung o'er vast brows, — and spears like turrets shone 
 
 In hands whose grasp had crush'd the Mastodon. "< 
 
 (or Trolds). The name is here applied to the malignant race of Dwarfs, whose homes 
 were in the earih, and who could not endure the suili 
 
BOOK X. Ill 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Around the couch, a silent solemn ring, 
 
 They whom the Teuton call the Valkj^rs, sate. 
 
 Shot thro' pale webs their spindles glistening ; 
 Dread tissues woven out of human hate 
 
 For heavenly ends ! — for there is spun the woe 
 
 Of every war that ever earth shall know. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Below their feet a bottomless pit of gore [done, 
 
 Yawned, where each web, when once the woof was 
 
 Was scornful cast. Yet rising evermore 
 Out of the surface, wandered airy on 
 
 (Till lost in upper space) pale winged seeds 
 
 The future heaven-fruit of the hell-born deeds ; 
 
 L. 
 
 For out of every evil born of time, 
 
 God shapes a good for his eternity. 
 Lo where the spindles, weaving crime on crime, 
 
 Form the world-work of Charlemains to be ; — 
 How in that hall of iron lengthen forth 
 The fates that ruin, to rebuild, the North ! 
 
 LI. 
 
 Here, one stern Sister smiling on the King, 
 
 Hurries the thread that twines his Nation's doom, 
 
 And, farther down, the whirring spindles sing 
 Around the woof which from his Baltic home 
 
 Shall charm the avenging Norman, to control 
 
 The shattered races into one calm whole. 
 
112 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LII. 
 
 Already here, tlie liueless lines along, 
 
 Grows the red creed of the Arabian horde ; 
 
 Already here, the arm'd Chivalric Wrong 
 
 Which made the cross the symbol of the sword, 
 
 Which thy worst idol, Rome, to Judah gave. 
 
 And worshipp'd Mars upon the Saviour's grave ! 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Already the wild Tartar in his tents. 
 
 Dreamless of thrones — and the fierce Visigoth* 
 
 Who on Colombia's golden armaments 
 
 Shall loose the hell-hounds,— nurse the age-long growth 
 
 Of Desolation — as the noiseless skein 
 
 Clasps in its web, thy far descendants, Cain ! 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Already, in the hearts of sires remote 
 
 In their rude Isle, the spell ordains the germ 
 
 Of what shall be a Name of w^onder, wrought " 
 From that fell feast which Glory gives the worm. 
 
 When Rome's dark bird shall shade with thunder wings 
 
 Calm brows that brood the doom of breathless kings !f 
 
 LV. 
 
 Already, tho' the s:^d unheeded eyes 
 
 Of Bards alone foresee, and none believe, 
 
 The lightning, hoarded from the farthest skies, 
 Into the mesh the race-destrovers weave, 
 
 When o'er our marts shall graze a stranger s fold, 
 
 And the new Tarshish rot, as rots the old. 
 
 • * V'sigoth, jDoe//ce for the Spanish Ravagers of Mexico and Peru, 
 t Napoleon. 
 
BOOK X. 113 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Yea, ever there, each spectre hand the birth 
 Weaves of a war — until the angel-blast 
 
 (Peal'd from the tromp that knells the doom of earth) 
 Shall start the livid legions from their last; 
 * And man, with arm uplifted still to slay, 
 
 Reel on some Alp that rolls in smoke away ! 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Fierce glared the dwarf upon the silent King, 
 " There is the prize thy vision would achieve ! 
 
 There, where the hush'd inexorable ring 
 
 Murder the myriads in the webs they weave, 
 
 Behind the curtains of Incarnate War, 
 
 Whose lightest tremor topples thrones afar, — 
 
 Lviir. 
 " Which even the Yalkyrs with their bloodless hands 
 
 Ne'er dare aside to draw, — go, seek the Shield ! 
 Yet be what follows known ! — yon kneeling bands 
 
 Whose camps Avere Andes, and whose battle-field 
 Left plains, now empires, rolling seas of gore, 
 Shall hear the clang and leap to life once more. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 " Roused from their task, revengeful shall arise 
 The never baffled 'Choosers of the Slain, 
 
 The Fiend thy hand shall wake, unclose the eyes 
 That flash'd on heavenly hosts their storms again, 
 
 And thy soul wither in the mighty frown 
 
 Before whose night, an earlier sun sunk down. 
 
114 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LX. 
 
 " The rocks shall close all path for flight save one, 
 Where now the Troll-fiends wait to rend their prey, 
 
 And each malign and monster skeleton. 
 Re-clothed with life as in the giant day 
 
 When yonder seas were valleys — scent thy gore 
 
 And grin with fangs that gnash for food once more. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 " Ho, dost thou shudder, pale one ? Back and live." 
 Thrice strove the King for speech, and thrice in vain, 
 
 For he was man, and till our souls survive 
 The instinct born of flesh, shall Horror reign 
 
 In that unknown beyond the realms of Sense, 
 
 Where the soul's darkness seems the man's defence. 
 
 Lxir. 
 Yet as when thro' uncertain troublous cloud 
 
 Breaks the sweet morning star, and from its home 
 Smiles lofty peace, so thro' the phantom crowd 
 
 Of fears — the Eos of the world to come, 
 Faith, look'd — revealing how earth-nourish'd are 
 The clouds ] and how beyond their reach the star ! 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Mute on his knee, amidst the kneeling dead 
 He sank — the dead the dreaming fiend revered^ 
 
 And he, the living, God ! Then terror fled. 
 And all the king illumed the front he reared. 
 
 Firm to the couch on which the fiend reposed 
 
 He strode; — the curtains, murmuring, round him closed. 
 
BOOK X. 115 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Now while this chanced, without the tortured rock 
 Raged fierce the war between the rival might 
 
 Of beast and man ; the dwarf king's ravenous flock 
 And Norway's warriors led by Cymri's knight. 
 
 For by the foot-prints thro' the snows explored, 
 
 On to the rock the bands had track'd their lord. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Repell'd, not conquered, back to crag and cave, 
 Sullen and watchful still, the monsters go ; 
 
 And solitude resettles on the wave, 
 But silence not ; around, aloft, alow. 
 
 Roar the couch'd beasts, and answering from the main, 
 
 Shrieks the shrill gull and booms the dismal crane. 
 
 LXV I, 
 
 And now the rock itself from every tomb 
 Of its dead world within, sends voices forth. 
 
 Sounds direr far, than in its ray less gloom 
 Crash on the midnight of the farthest North. 
 
 From beasts our world hath lost, the strident yell, 
 
 The shout of giants and the laugh of hell. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Reels all the isle; and every ragged steep 
 
 Hurls down an avalanche; — all the crater-cave 
 
 Glows into swarthy red, and fire-showers leap 
 From rended summits, hissing to the wave 
 
 Thro' its hard ice ; or in huge crags, wide sounding 
 
 Spring where they crash — on rushing and rebounding. 
 
116 KIKG ARTHUE. 
 
 LXYIIT. 
 
 Dizzy and blind the staggering Northmen fall 
 On earth that rocks beneath them like a bark ; 
 
 Loud and more lond the tumult swells with all 
 The Acheron of discord. Swift and dark 
 
 From every cleft tlie smoke-clouds burst their way, 
 
 Eush thro' the void, and sweep from heaven the day. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Smitten beneath the pestilential blast 
 
 And the great terror, senseless lay the band. 
 
 Till the arrested life, with throes at last, 
 Gasp'd back : and holy over sea and land 
 
 Silence and light reposed. They look'd above, 
 
 And calm in calmed air beheld the Dove ! 
 
 LXX. 
 
 And o'er their prostraie lord was poised the wing; 
 
 And when they rush'd and reach'd him, shouting joy, 
 There came no answer from the corpselike King; 
 
 And when his true knight raised him, heavily 
 Drooped his pale front upon the faithful breast, 
 And the closed lids seemed leaden in their rest. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 And all his mail was dinted, hewn, and crush'd. 
 And the bright falchion dim w^ith foul dark gore ; 
 
 And the strong pulse of the strong hand was liush'd ; 
 Like a spent storm, that might which seemed before 
 
 Charged with the bolts of Jove, now from the sky 
 
 Drew breath more feeble than an infant's sigh. 
 
BOOK X. IIT 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 And there was solemn change on that fair face, 
 Nor, whatsoe'er the fear or scorn had been, 
 
 Did the past passion leave its haggard trace ; 
 But on the rigid beauty awe was seen. 
 
 As one who on the Gorgon's aspect fell. 
 
 Had gazed, and freezing, yet survived the spell ! 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Not by the chasm in which he left the day, 
 
 But through a new-made gorge the fires had cleft, 
 
 As if with fires, themselves, were forced the way. 
 Had rush'd the King ; — and sense and sinew left 
 
 The form that struggled till the strife was o'er ; 
 
 So faints the swimmer when he gains the shore. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 But on his arm was clasp'd the wondrous prize, 
 
 Dimm'd, tarnished, grimed, and black with gore and 
 smoke. 
 
 Still the pure metal, thro' each foul disguise. 
 Like starlight scattered on dark waters, broke ; 
 
 Thro' gore, thro' smoke it shone — the silver shield. 
 
 Clear as dawns Freedom from her battle-field ! 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Days followed days, ere from that speechless trance 
 (Borne to green inlets isled amid the snows 
 
 Where led the Dove), the king's reviving glance 
 Look'd languid round on watchful, joyful brows ; 
 
 Ev'n while he slept, new flowers the earth had given, 
 
 And on his heart brooded the bird of heaven ! 
 
118 ' KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 But ne'er as voice and strength and sense returned, 
 To his good knight the strife that won the Shield 
 
 Did Arthur tell; deep in his soul inui-ned 
 (As in the grave its secret) nor reveal'd 
 
 To mortal ear — that mystery which for ever 
 
 Flowed thro' his though t^ as thro' the cave a river ; 
 
 Lxxyii. 
 Whether to Love, how true soe'er its faith, 
 
 Whether to Wisdom, whatsoe'er its skill. 
 Till his last hour the struggle and the scathe 
 
 Remained unuttered and unutterable ; 
 But aye, in solitude, in crowds, in strife. 
 In joy, that memory lived within his life : 
 
 Lxxvni. 
 It made not sadness, tho' the calm grave smile 
 
 Never regained the flash that youth had given, — 
 But as some shadow from a sacred pile 
 
 Darkens the earth from shrines that speak of heaven, 
 That gloom the grandeur of religion wore, 
 And seemed to hallow all it rested o'er. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Such Freedom is, Slave, that would be free ! 
 
 Never her real struggles into life 
 Ilath History told ! As it hath been shall be 
 
 The Apocalypse of Nations ; nursed in strife 
 Not with the present, nor with living foes, 
 But where the centuries shroud their long rejDose. 
 
BOOK X. 119 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Out from the graves of earth's primseval bones, 
 The shield of empire, patient Force must win : 
 
 What made the Briton free ? not crashing thrones 
 Nor parchment laws ? The charter must begin 
 
 In Scythian tents, the steel of Nomad spears ; 
 
 To date the freedom, count three thousand years ! 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Neither is freedom mirth ! Be free, slave. 
 And dance no n^ore beneath the lazy palm. 
 
 Freedom's mild brow with nol)le care is grave, 
 Her bliss is solemn as her strength is calm ; 
 
 And thought mature each childlike sport debars 
 
 The forms erect whose look is on the stars. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Now as the King revived, along the seas 
 
 Flowed back, enlarged to life, the lapsing waters, 
 
 Kiss'd from their slumber by the loving breeze 
 
 Glide, in light dance, the Ocean's silver daughters — 
 
 And blithe and hopeful, o'er the sunny strands, 
 
 Listing the long-lost billow, rove the bands. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 At length, sight of joy ! — the gleam of sails 
 Burst on the solitude ! more near and near 
 
 Come the white playmates of the buxom gales. — 
 The whistling cords, the sounds of man, they hear. 
 
 Shout answers shout ; — light sparkles round the oar — 
 
 And from the barks the boat skims on to shore. 
 
120 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 It was a race from Rugen's friendly soil, 
 
 Leagued by old ties with Cymri's land and king. 
 
 Who, with the spring time, to their wonted spoil 
 Of seals and furs had spread the canvas wing 
 
 To bournes their fathers never yet had known ; — 
 
 And found amazed, hearts bolder than their own. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Soon to the barks the Cymrians and their bands 
 Are borne : Bright-hair'd, above the gazing crews, 
 
 Lone on the loftiest deck, the leader stands. 
 
 To whom the King (his rank made known) renews 
 
 All that liis tale of mortal hope and fear 
 
 Vouc-isafes from truth to thrill a mortal's ear ; 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 And from the barks whose sails the chief obey. 
 
 Craves one to waft where yet the fates may guide. — 
 
 With rugged wonder in his large survey. 
 
 That calm grand brow the son of ^gir* eyed, 
 
 And seemed in awe, as of a god, to scan 
 
 Him who so moved his homage, vet was man. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Smoothing his voice, rough with accustomed swell 
 Above the storms, and the wild roar of war, 
 
 The Northman answered, " Skalds in winter tell 
 Of the dire dwarf who guards the Shield of Tlior, 
 
 For one whose race, with Odin's blent, shall be, 
 
 Lords of the only realm which suits the Free, 
 
 * ^gir, the God of the Ocean, the Scandinavian Neptune. 
 
BOOK X. 121 
 
 LXXXVIII, 
 
 '* Ocean ! — I greet thee, and this strong right hand 
 Phice in thine own to pledge myseh' thy man. 
 
 Choose as thou wilt for thee and for thy band, 
 Amongst the sea steeds in the stalls of Ran. 
 
 Need'st thou our arms ascainst the Saxon foe ? 
 
 Our flag shall fly where'er thy trumpets blow !" 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 " Men to be free must free themselves," the King 
 Replied, proud-smiling. " Every father-land 
 
 Spurns from its breast the recreant sons that cling 
 For hope, to standards winds not theirs have fann'd. 
 
 Thankful thro' thee our foe we reach ; — and then 
 
 Cymri hath steel eno' for Cymrian men !" 
 
 xc. 
 While these converse. Sir Gawaine, with his hound. 
 
 Lured by a fragrant and delightsome smell 
 From roasts — not meant for Freya, — makes his round, 
 
 Shakes hands with all, and hopes their wives are well. 
 From spit to spit with easy grace he walks, 
 And chines astounded vanish w^hile he talks. 
 
 xci. 
 At earliest morn the bark to bear the King, 
 
 His sa2:e discernment delicatelv stores, 
 Rejects the blubber and disdains the ling 
 
 For hams of rein-deers and for heads of boars, 
 Connives at seal, to satisfy his men. 
 But childless leaves each loud-lamentin.2: hen. 
 
122 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 And now the bark the Cymrian prince ascends, 
 The large oars chhning to the chaunting crew, 
 
 (His leal Norwegian band) the new-found friends 
 From brazen trumpets blare their loud adieu. 
 
 Forth bounds the ship, and Gawaine, while it quickens, 
 
 The wind propitiates — with three virgin chickens. 
 
 xciir. 
 
 Led by the Dove, more brightly day by day, 
 
 The vernal azure deepens in the sky ; 
 Far from the Polar threshold smiles the way — 
 
 And lo, white Albion shimmers on the eye, 
 Nurse of all nations, who to breasts severe 
 Takes the rude children, the calm men to rear. 
 
 xciv. 
 Doubt and amaze with joy perplex the king, 
 
 Not yet the task achieved, the mission done, 
 Why homeward steers the angel pilot's wdng ? 
 
 Of the three labours rests the crowning one ; 
 Unreached the Iron Gates — Death's sullen hold — 
 Where waits the Child-guide with the locks of gold. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 Yet still the Dove cleaves homeward thro' the air; 
 
 Glides o'er the entrance of an inland stream ; 
 And rests at last on bowers of foliage, where 
 
 Thick forests close their ramparts on the beam ; 
 And clasp with dipping boughs a grassy creek, 
 Whose marge slopes level with the brazen beak. 
 
BOOK X. 123 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Around his neck the shield, the Adventurer skmg, 
 And girt the enchanted sword. Then kneeling, said 
 
 The young Ulysses of the golden tongue, 
 
 " Not now to phantom foes the dove hath led ; 
 
 For, if I err not, this a Mercian haven. 
 
 And from the dove peeps forth at last the raven ! 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 " Not lone, nor reckless, in these glooms profound. 
 Tempt the sure ambush of some Saxon host ; 
 
 If out of sight, at least in reach of sound. 
 
 Let our stout Northmen follow up the coast ; 
 
 Then if thou wilt, from each suspicious tree 
 
 Shake laurels doAvn, but share them. Sire, with me ?" 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 " Nay," answered Arthur, " ever, as before, 
 Alone the pilgrim to his bourne must go ; 
 
 But range the men concealed along the shore ; 
 Set watch, from these green turrets, for the foe; 
 
 Moor'd to the marge where broadest hangs the bough. 
 
 Hide from the sun the glitter of the prow ; — 
 
 xcix. 
 ^'' And so farewell!" He said; to land he leapt; 
 
 And with dull murmur from its verdant waves, 
 O'er his high crest the billowy forest swept. 
 
 As towards some fitful light the swimmer cleaves 
 His stalwart way, — -so thro' the woven shades 
 Where the pale wing now glimmers and now fades, 
 
124 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 ^- I 
 
 With strong hand parting the tough branches, goes 
 Hour after hour the King ; till light at last 
 
 From skies long hid, wide-silvering interflows 
 
 Thro' opening glades, — the length of gloom is past, 
 
 And the dark pines receding, stand around 
 
 A silent hill with antique ruins crown'd. 
 
 CI. 
 
 Day had long closed ; and from the mournful deeps 
 Of old volcanoes spent, the livid moon 
 
 Which thro' the life of j^lanets lifeless creeps 
 Her ghostly way, deaf to the choral tune 
 
 Of spheres rejoicing, on those ruins old 
 
 Look'd down, herself a ruin,^hush'd and cold. 
 
 CII. 
 
 Mutely the granite wrecks the king survey'd. 
 And knew the work of hands Cimmerian, 
 
 What time in starry robes, and awe, array'd. 
 Gray Druids spoke the oracles of man — 
 
 Solving high riddles to Chaldean Mage, 
 
 Or the young wonder of the Samian Sage. 
 
 cm. 
 A date remounting far beyond the day 
 
 When Koman legions met the scythed cars, 
 \Ylien purer founts sublime had lapsed away 
 
 Thro' the deep rents of unrecorded wars. 
 And blooodstained altars cursed the mountain sod, 
 Where''*" the first faith had hail'd the only God. 
 
 • See Note appended to the end of this book. 
 
BOOK X. 125 
 
 CIV. 
 
 For all now left us of the parent Celt, 
 
 Is of that later and corrupter timej — 
 Not in rude domeless fanes those Fathers knelt, 
 
 Who lured the Brahman from his burning clime, 
 Who charmed lost science from each lone abyss. 
 And winged the shaft of Scythian Abaris.* 
 
 cv. 
 
 Yea, the grand sires of our primaBval race 
 Saw angel tracks the earlier earth upon. 
 
 And as a rising sun, the morning face 
 
 Of Truth more near the flush'd horizon shone. 
 
 Filling ev'n clouds with many a golden light. 
 
 Lost when the orb is at the noonday height. 
 
 cvi. 
 
 Thro' the large ruins (now no more), the last 
 Perchance on earth of those diviner sires. 
 
 With noiseless step the lone descendant past ; 
 Not there were seen Bal-huan's amber pyres ; 
 
 No circling shafts vfith barbarous fragments strown. 
 
 Spoke creeds of carnage to the spectral moon. 
 
 CVII. 
 
 But art, vast, simple, and sublime, was there 
 Ev'n in its mournful wrecks, — such art foregone 
 
 As the first Builders, when their grand despair 
 Left Shinar's tower and city half undone. 
 
 Taught where they wander'd o'er the newborn world. — 
 
 Column, and vault, and roof, in ruin hurl'd, 
 
 • The arrow of Abcris (which bore him where he pleased) is supposed by some 
 VOL. II. 9 
 
126 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 Still spoke of hands that founded Babylon ! 
 
 So in the wrecks, the Lord of young Romance 
 By fallen pillars laid him musing down. 
 
 More large and large the moving shades advance, 
 Blending in one dim silence sad and wan 
 The past, the present, ruin and the man. 
 
 cix. 
 Now, o'er his lids life's gentlest influence stole. 
 
 Life's gentlest influence yet the likest death ! 
 That nightly proof how little needs the soul 
 
 Light from the sense, or being from the breath, 
 When all life knows a life unknown supplies, 
 And airy worlds around a Spirit rise. 
 
 ex. 
 
 Still thro' the hazy mists of stealing sleep, 
 
 His eyes explore the watchful guardian's wing. 
 There, where it broods upon the moss-grown heap, 
 ' With plumes that all the stars are silvering. 
 Slow close the lids — re-opening with a start 
 As shoots a nameless terror thro' his heart. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 That strange wild awe which haunted Childhood thrills, 
 When waking at the dead of Dark, alone ; 
 
 A sense of sudden solitude which chills 
 
 The blood ; — a shrinking as from shapes unknown ; 
 
 An instinct both of some protection fled. 
 
 And of the coming of some ghastly dread. 
 
 to have been the loadstone. And Abaris himself has been, by some ingenious 
 f-peculators, identified with a Druid philosopher. 
 
BOOK X. 127 
 
 CXII. 
 
 He looked, and lo, the dove was seen no more, 
 Lone lay the lifeless wrecks beneath the moon. 
 
 And the one loss gave all that seemed before 
 Desolate, — twofold desolation ! 
 
 How slight a thing, whose love our trust has been. 
 
 Alters the world, when it no more is seen ! 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 He strove to speak, but voice was gone from him. 
 
 As in that loss, new might the terror took. 
 His veins congeal'd ; and, interfused and dim, 
 
 Shadow and moonlight swam before his look ; 
 Bristled his hair; and all the strong dismay 
 Seized as an eagle when it grasps its prey. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 Senses and soul confused, and jarr'd, and blent,' 
 Lay crush'd beneath the intolerable Power; 
 
 Then over all, one flash, in lightning, rent 
 
 The veil between the Immortal and the Hour; 
 
 Life heard the voice of unembodied breath. 
 
 And Sleep stood trembling face to face with Death. 
 
NOTE TO BOOK X, 
 
 ** And blood-stained altars cursed the mountain sod, 
 Where the first faith had hail'd the only God," 
 
 Page 124, stanza civ. 
 
 The testimony to be found in classical writers as to the origi- 
 nal purity of the Druid worship, before it was corrupted into the 
 idolatry wdiich existed in Britain at the time of the Roman con- 
 quest, is strongly corroborated by the Welch triads. These tri- 
 ads, indeed, are of various dates, but some bear the mark of a 
 very remote antiquity — wholly distinct alike from the philosophy 
 of the Romans, and the mode of thought prevalent in the earlier 
 ages of the Christian era ; in short, anterior to all the recorded 
 conquests over the Cymrian people. These, like proverbs, ap- 
 pear the wrecks and fragments of some primaeval ethics, or philo- 
 sophical religion. Nor are such remarkable alone for the purity 
 of the notions they inculcate relative to the Deity ; they have 
 often, upon matters less spiritual, the delicate observation, as well 
 as the profound thought, of reflective wisdom. It is easy to see 
 in them, how identified w^as the Bard with the Sage — that rare 
 union which produces the highest kind of human knowledge. 
 Such, perhaps are the relics of that sublimer learning which, ages 
 before the sacrifice of victims in wicker-idols, won for the Dru- 
 ids the admiration of the cautious Aristotle, as ranking among 
 the true enlighteners of men — such the teachers who (we may sup- 
 pose to have) instructed the mystical Pythagoras; a^d furnished 
 
" NOTE TO BOOK X. 129 
 
 new themes for meditation to the musing Brahman. Nor were 
 the Druids of Britain inferior to those with whom the Sages of the 
 western and eastern world came more in contact. On the con- 
 trary, even to the time of Caesar, the Druids of Britain excelled 
 in science and repute those in Gaul: and to their schools the 
 Neophites of the Continent were sent. 
 
 In the Stanzas that follow the description of the more primi- 
 tive Cymrians, it is assumed that the rude Druid remains now ex- 
 istent (as at Stonehenge, &c.), are coeval only with the later and 
 corrupted state of a people degenerated to idol worship, and 
 that they previously possessed an architecture, of which no trace 
 now remains, more suited to their early civilization. If it be true 
 that they worshipped the Deity only in his own works, and that 
 it was not until what had been a symbol passed into an idol, 
 that they deserted the mountain top and the forest for the temple, 
 they would certainly have wanted the main inducement to per- 
 manent and lofty architecture. Still it may be allowed, at least to 
 a poet, to suppose that men so sensible as the primitive Saro- 
 nides, would have held their schools and colleges in places more 
 adapted to a northern climate than their favourite oak groves. 
 
KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XL 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 The Siege of Carcluel ; The Saxon forces ; Stanzas relative to Ludovick 
 the Vandal, in explanation of the failure of his promised aid, and in 
 description of the events in Vandal-land ; The preparations of the Saxon 
 host for the final assault on the City, under cover of the approaching 
 night ; The state of Carduel ; Discord ; Despondence ; Famine ; The 
 apparent impossibility to resist the coming Enemy ; Dialogue between 
 Caradoc and Merlin ; Caradoc hears his sentence, and is resigned ; He 
 unstrings his harp and descends into the town ; The Progress of Song, 
 in its effects upon the multitude ; Caradoc' s address to the people he has 
 roused, and the rush to the Council Hall; Meanwhile the Saxons reach 
 the walls ; The burst of the Cymrians ; the Saxons retire into the plain 
 between the Camp and the City, and there take their stand; The battle 
 described ; The single combat between Lancelot and Harold ; Crida 
 loads on his reserve; the Cymrians take alarm and waver; The pre- 
 diction invented by the noble devotion of Caradoc ; His fate ; The en- 
 tliusiasm of the Cymrians and the retreat of the enemy ta their Camp ; 
 The first entrance of a Happy Soul into Heaven ; The Ghost that ap- 
 pears to Arthur, and leads him tlirough the Cimmerian tomb to the 
 Kealm of Death ; The sense of time and space are annihilated ; Death, 
 the Phantasmal Everywhere ; Its brevity and nothingness ; The condi- 
 tion of soul is life, whether here or hereafter ; Fate and Nature iden- 
 tical ; Arthur accosted by his Guardian Angel ; after the address of 
 that Angel (which in truth represents what we call Conscience), Arthur 
 loses his former fear both of the realm and the Phantom ; He addresses 
 the Ghost, which vanishes without reply to his question; The last boon; 
 The destined Soother ; Arthur recovering as from a trance, sees the 
 Maiden of the Tomb ; Her description ; The Dove is beheld no more ; 
 Strange resemblance between the Maiden and the Dove ; Arthur is led 
 to his ship, and sails at once for Garduel ; He arrives on the Cymrian 
 territory, and lands with Gawaine and the Maiden near Carduel, amidst 
 the ruins of a hamlet devastated b}^ the Saxons ; He seeks a convent, of 
 which only one tower, built by the Romans, remains ; From the hill top 
 he surveys the walls of Carduel and the Saxon encampment ; The ap- 
 pearance of the holy Abbess, who recognizes the king, and conducts 
 him and his companions to the subterranean grottoes built by the Ro- 
 mans for a summer retreat ; He leaves the Maiden to the care of the 
 Abbess, and concerts with GaAvaine in the scheme for attack on the 
 Saxons ; The Virgin is conducted to the cell of the Abbess ; Her 
 thoughts and recollections, which explain her history; Her resolution; 
 She attempts to escape ; Meets the Abbess, who hangs the Cross round 
 her neck, and blesses her ; She departs to the Saxon Camp. 
 
BOOK XI. 
 
 I. 
 
 King Crida's hosts are storming Carduel ! 
 
 From vale to mount one world of armour shines, 
 Round castled piles* for which the forest fell, 
 
 Spreads the white war town of the Teuton lines ; 
 To countless clarions, countless standards swell ; 
 King Crida's hosts are storming Carduel ! 
 
 II. 
 There, all its floods the Saxon deluge pours ; 
 
 All the fierce trihes ; from those whose fathers first 
 With their red seaxes from the southward shores. 
 
 Carved realms for Hengist, — to the bands that burst 
 Along the Humber, on the idle wall 
 Rome built for manhood rotted bj her thrall. 
 
 * The Saxons appear from a very remote period to have fortified their encamp- 
 ments by palisades and strong works of timber. In the centre of these it was the 
 custom of the Teuton tribes to erect a rude fastness for their gods and women. In 
 the latter times of Anglo-Saxon warfa'e, when established in the land, their armies 
 ceased to fight for settlements, and their idols and women did not accompany them, 
 this latter custom naturally ceased, though they always retained the relics of the 
 habit in a strong central position, formed by wagons and barricades. Even in the 
 open battle-field, the Teutons (especially of Scandinavia) were tenacious of a 
 temporary stronghold, which formed the nucleus of their array, selecting generally 
 a rising ground, ramparted with shields^ in which the king stationed himself wiiti 
 his reserve. 
 
134 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 III. 
 
 There, wild allies from many a kindred race, 
 In Cymrian lands hail Teuton thrones to be : 
 
 Dark Jutland wails her absent populace, — 
 
 And large-limb'd sons, his waves no more shall see, 
 
 Leave Danube desolate ! afar they roam. 
 
 Where halts the Raven there to find a home ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 But wherefore fail the Vandal's j^romised bands ? 
 
 Well said the Greek, ' not till his latest hour 
 Deem man secure from Fortune \ in our hands 
 
 We clutch the sunbeam when we grasp at power; — 
 No strength detains the unsubstantial prize, 
 The light escapes us as the moment flies. 
 
 V. 
 
 And monarchs envied Ludovick the Great ! 
 
 And Wisdom's seers his wiles did wisdom call, 
 And Force stood sentry at his castle gate ; 
 
 And Mammon soothed the murmurers in the hall ; 
 For Freedom's forms disguised the despot's thought- 
 lie ruled by synods — and the synods bought ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yet empires rest not or on gold or steel ; 
 
 The old in habit strike the gnarled root ; 
 But vigorous faith — the young fresh sap of zeal, 
 
 Must make the life-blood of the planted shoot — 
 And new-born states, like new religions, need 
 Not the dull code, but the impassion'd creed. 
 
BOOK XL 135 
 
 VII. 
 
 Give but a cause, a child may be a chief! 
 
 What cause to hosts can Ludovick supply ? 
 Swift flies the Element of Power, Belief, 
 
 From all foundations hollowed to a lie. 
 One morn, a riot in the streets arose, 
 And left the Vandal crownless at the close. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A plump of spears the riot could have crush'd ! 
 
 " Defend the throne, my spearmen !" cried the king. 
 The spearmen armed, and forth the sjDearmen rush'd, 
 
 When woe ! they took to reason on the thing ! 
 And then conviction smote them on the spot, 
 That for that throne they did not care a jot. 
 
 IX. 
 
 With scuff and scum, with urchins loosed from school, 
 Thieves, gleemen, jugglers, beggars^ swelled the riot; 
 
 While, like the gods of Epicurus, cool 
 
 On crowd, and crown — the spearmen looked in quiet ; 
 
 Till all its heads that Hydra calFd ' The Many,' 
 
 Stretch'd hissing forth, without a stroke at any. 
 
 X, 
 
 At first Astutio, wrong but very wise, 
 Disdain'd the Hydra as a fabled creature, 
 
 The vague invention of a Poet's lies. 
 
 Unknown to Pliny and the laws of Nature — 
 
 Nor till the fact was past philosophizing, 
 
 Saitli he, " That 's Hydra, there is no disguising ! 
 
136 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XI. 
 
 '^ A Hydra, Sire, a Hercules demands, 
 So if not Hercules, assume his vizard." 
 
 The advice is oiood — the Vandal wrino^s his hands. 
 Kicks out the Sage — and rushes to a wizard. 
 
 The wizard waves his wand — disarms the sentry. 
 
 And (w^ondrous man) enchants the nioh — with entry = 
 
 XII. 
 
 Thus fell, tho' no man touch'd him, Ludovick, 
 
 Tripp'd by the slide of his own slippery feet. "^ 
 
 The crown cajoled from Fortune by a trick. 
 Fortune, in turn, outcheated from the cheat ; 
 
 Clapp'd her sly cap the glittering bauble on. 
 
 Cried " Presto !"^ — raised it — and the gaud was gone ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Ev'n at the last, to self and nature true, 
 No royal heart the breath of danger woke ; 
 
 To mean disguise habitual instinct flew. 
 
 And the King vanished in a craftsman's cloak. 
 
 While his brave princes scampering for their lives, 
 
 Relictus parmulis — forgot their wives ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 King Mob succeeding to the vacant throne. 
 
 Chose for his ministers some wise Chaldeans, — 
 
 Who told the sun to close the day at noon. 
 Nor sweat to death his betters the plebeians ; 
 
 And bade the earth, unvexed by plough and spade, 
 
 Bring forth its wheat in quarterns ready made. 
 
BOOK XL 137 
 
 XV. 
 
 The sun refused the astronomic feat ; 
 
 The earth declined to bake the corn it grew ; 
 King Mob then ordered that a second riot 
 
 Should teach Creation what it had to do. 
 '-' The sun shines on, the earth demands the tillage, 
 Down Time and Nature, and hurrah for pillage !" 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Then rise en mctsse the burghers of the town ; 
 
 Each patriot breast the fires of Brutus fill ; 
 Gentle as lambs when riot reach'd the crown. 
 
 They raged like lions when it touch'd the till. 
 Rush'd all who boasted of a shop to rob. 
 And stout King Money soon dethroned King Mob. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 This done, much scandalized to note the fact, 
 That o'er the short tyrannic rise the tall, 
 
 The middle-sized a penal law enact 
 
 That henceforth height must be the same in all ; 
 
 For being each born equal with the other. 
 
 What greater crime than to outgrow your brother? 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Poor Yandals, do the towers, when foes assail, 
 
 So idlv soar above the level wall? 
 Harmonious Order needs its music-scale ; 
 
 The Equal were the discord of the All. 
 Let the wave undulate, the mountain rise ; 
 Nor ask from Law what Nature's self denies. 
 
138 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 vagrant Muse, deserting all too long, 
 
 Freedom's grand war for frenzy's goblin dream, 
 
 The hour runs on, and redemands from song. 
 And from our Father-land the mighty theme. 
 
 The Pale Horse rushes and the trumpets swell, 
 
 King Crida's hosts are storming Carduel ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 Within the inmost fort the pine-trees made, 
 The hardy women kneel to warrior gods. 
 
 For where the Saxons armaments invade^ 
 All life abandons their resign'd abodes. 
 
 The tents they pitch the all they prize contain ; 
 
 And each new march is for a new domain. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 To the stern gods the fair-hair'd women kneel, 
 As slow to rest the red sun glides along; 
 
 And near and far, hammers, and clanking steel, 
 Neighs from impatient barbs, and runic song 
 
 Mutter'd o'er mystic fires by wizard priests, 
 
 Invite the Valkyrs to the raven feasts. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 For after nine long moons of siege and storm, 
 Thy hold, Pendragon, trembles to its fall ! 
 
 Loftier the Roman tower uprears its form. 
 
 From the crush'd bastion and the shatter'd wall, 
 
 And but till night those iron floods delay 
 
 Their rush of thunder: — Blood-red sinks the day. 
 
BOOK XI. i:: 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Death halts to strike, and swift the moment flies : 
 Within the walls, (than all without more fell,) 
 
 Discord with Babel tongues confounds the wise, 
 And spectral Panic, like a form of hell 
 
 Chased by a Fury, fleets, — or, stone-like, stands 
 
 Dull-eyed Despondence, palsying nerveless hands. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 And pride, that evil angel of the Celt, 
 Whispers to all " 't is servile to obey," 
 
 Robs ordered Union of its starry belt. 
 
 Rends chief from chief and tribe from tribe away, 
 
 And leaves the children wrangling for command 
 
 Round the wild death-throes of the Father-land. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 In breadless marts, the ill-persuading fiend 
 
 Famine, stalks maddening with her wolfish stare ; 
 
 And hearts, on whose stout anchors Faith had lean'd, 
 Bound at her look to treason from despair, 
 
 Shouting, " Why shrink we from the Saxon's thrall ? 
 
 Is slavery worse than Famine smiting all ?" 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Thus, in the absence of the sunlike king. 
 
 All phantoms stalk abroad ; dissolve and droop 
 
 Light and the life of nations — while the wing 
 Of carnage halts but for its rushing swoop. 
 
 Some moan, some rave, some laze the hours away ; — 
 
 And down from Carduel blood-red sunk the day ! 
 
140 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Leaning against a broken parapet 
 
 Alone with Thought, mused Caradoc the Bard, 
 When a voice smote him, and he turned and met 
 
 A gaze prophetic in its sad regard. 
 Beside him, solemn with his hundred years, 
 Stood the arch hierarch of the Cymrian seers. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " Dost thou remember," said the Sage, " that hour 
 When seeking signs to Glory's distant way. 
 
 Thou heard'st the night bird in her leafy bower. 
 Singing sweet death-chaunts to her shining prey. 
 
 While thy young poet-heart, with ravished breath, 
 
 Hung on the music, nor divin'd the death ?"* 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 '• Ay," the bard answer'd, " and ev'n now methought 
 I heard again the ambrosial melody !" 
 
 '^ So," sigh'd the Prophet, " to the bard, unsought, 
 Come the far whispers of Futurity ! 
 
 Like his own harp, his soul a wind can thrill. 
 
 And the chord murmur, tho' the hand be still. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Wilt thou for ever, even from the tomb. 
 Live, yet a music, in the hearts of all ; 
 
 Arise and save thy country from its doom ; 
 Arise, Immortal, at the angel's call ! 
 
 The hour shall give thee all thy life implored. 
 
 And make the lyre more glorious than the sword. 
 
 • See Book ii , pp 67-8, from stanza xxvii. to stanza xxx. 
 
BOOK XI. 141 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " In vain thro' jon dull stupor of despair 
 
 Sound Geraint's tromp and Owaine's battle cry ; 
 
 In vain where yon rude clamour storms the air, 
 The Council Chiefs stem mad'ning mutiny ; 
 
 From Trystan's mail the lion heart is gone. 
 
 And on the breach stands Lancelot alone ! 
 
 XXXIT. 
 
 " Drivelling the wise, and impotent the strong ; 
 
 Fast into ni2:ht the life of Freedom dies ; 
 Awake, Light-Bringer, wake bright soul of song, 
 
 Kindler, reviver, re-creator rise ! 
 Crown thy great mission with thy parting breath, 
 And teach to hosts the Bard's disdain of death !" 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Thriird at that voice the soul of Caradoc ; 
 
 He heard, and knew his glory and his doom. 
 As when in summer's noon the lightning shock 
 
 Smites some fair elm in all its pomp of bloom, 
 Mid whose green boughs each vernal breeze had play'd, 
 And air s sweet race melodious homes had made j 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 So that young life bow'd sad beneath the stroke 
 That sear'd the Fresh and still'd the Musical, 
 
 Yet on the sadness thought sublimely broke : 
 Holy the tree on which the bolt doth fall ! 
 
 Wild flowers shall spring the sacred roots around, 
 
 And nightly fairies tread the haunted ground ; 
 
 VOL. II. 10 
 
142 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 There, age by age, shall youth with musing brow, 
 Hear Legend murmuring of the days of 3^ore ; 
 
 There, virgin love more lasting deem the vow. 
 
 Breathed in the shade of branches green no more ; 
 
 And kind Religion keep the grand decay 
 
 Still on the earth while forests pass awa.y. 
 
 XXXVT. 
 
 *' So be it, voice from Heaven," the Bard replied, 
 " Some grateful tears may yet enbalm my name, 
 
 Ever for human love my youth hath sigh'd, 
 And human love's divinest form is fame. 
 
 Is the dream erring? shall the song remain ? 
 
 Say, can one Poet ever live in vain ?" 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 As the warm south on some unfathom'd sea, 
 Along the Magian's soul, the awful rest 
 
 Stirr'd with the soft emotion : tenderly 
 He laid his hand upon the brows he blest. 
 
 And said, " Complete beneath a brighter sun 
 
 That course. The Beautiful, which life begun. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Joyous and light, and fetterless thro' all 
 
 The blissful, infinite, empyreal space, 
 If then thy spirit stoopeth to recall 
 
 The ray it shed upon the human race, 
 See where the ray had kindled from the dearth, 
 Seeds that shall glad the garners of the earth 1 
 
BOOK XI. 143 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " Never true Poet lived and sung in vain ! 
 
 Lost if his name, and withered if his wreath, 
 The thoughts he woke — an element remain 
 
 Fused in our light and blended with our breath ; 
 All life more noble, and all earth more fair, 
 Because that soul refined man's common air !"* 
 
 XL. 
 
 Then rose the Bard, and smilingly unstrung 
 His harp of ivory sheen, from shoulders broad, 
 
 Kissing the hand that doom'd his life, he sprung 
 Light from the shatter'd wall, — and swiftly strode 
 
 Where, herdlike huddled in the central space, 
 
 Droop'd, in dull pause, the cowering populace. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 There, in the midst he stood ! The heavens were pale 
 With the first stars unseen amidst the glare 
 
 Cast from large pine-brands on the sullen mail 
 Of listless legions, and the streaming hair 
 
 Of women, wailing for the absent dead. 
 
 Or bow'd o'er infant lips that moan'd for bread. 
 
 » Perhaps it is in this sense that Taliessin speaks in his mystical pjem, called 
 " Taliessin's History," still extant : 
 
 "I have been an instructor 
 To the whole universe. 
 I shall remain till the day of doom 
 On the face of the earlh." 
 
144 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 From out the illumed cathedral hollowly 
 
 Swell'd, like a dirge, the hymn \ and thro' the throng 
 
 Whose looks had lost all commerce with the sky, 
 With lifted rood the slow monks swept along, 
 
 And vanish'd hopeless : From those wrecks of man 
 
 Fled ev'n Religion : — Then the Bard began. 
 
 .- XLIII. 
 
 Slow, pitying, soft it glides, the liquid lay, 
 Sad with the burthen of the Singer's soul ; 
 
 Into the heart it coil'd its lulling way ; 
 Wave upon wave the golden river stole; 
 
 Ilush'd to his feet forgetful Famine crept. 
 
 And Woe, reviving, veil'd the eyes that wept. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Then stern, and harsh, clash'd the ascending strain, 
 Telling of ills more dismal yet in store ; 
 
 Rough with the iron of the grinding chain, 
 Dire with the curse of slavery evermore : 
 
 Wild shrieks from lips beloved pale warriors hear. 
 
 Her child's last death-groan rends the mother's ear ; 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Then trembling hands instinctive griped the swords ; 
 
 And men unquiet sought each other's eyes ; 
 Loud into pomp sonorous swell the chords. 
 
 Like linked legions march the melodies ; 
 Till the full rapture swept the Bard along, 
 And o'er the listeners rushed the storm of song ! 
 
BOOK XL 145 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 And the Dead spoke ! From cairns and kingly graves 
 The Heroes call'd ; — and Saints from earliest shrines ; 
 
 And the Land spoke ! — Mellifluous river-waves ; 
 Dim forests awful with the roar of pines ; 
 
 Mysterious caves from legend-haunted deeps; 
 
 And torrents flashing from untrodden steeps ; — 
 
 XLVIT. 
 
 The Land of Freedom call'd upon the Free ! 
 
 All Nature spoke ; the clarions of the wind ; 
 The organ swell of the majestic sea; 
 
 The choral stars; the Universal Mind 
 Spoke, like the voice from which the world hegan, 
 " No chain for Nature and the Soul of Man !" 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 Then loud thro' all, as if mankind's reply, 
 
 Burst from the Bard the Cymrian battle hymn ! 
 
 That song which swell'd the anthems of the Sky, 
 The Alleluia of the Seraphim ; 
 
 When Saints led on the Children of the Lord, 
 
 And smote the heathen with the Angel's sword.* 
 
 • The Bishops, Gerrnanus and Lupus, having baptized the Britons in the River 
 Alyn, led them against the Picts and Saxons, to the cry of "Alleluia." The cry 
 itself, uttered with all the enthusiasm of the Christian host, struck terror into the 
 enemy, who at once took to flight. Most of those who escaped the sword perished in 
 the river. This victory, achieved at Maes Garmon, was called " Victoria Alleluiatica." 
 Brit. Eccles. Axxia-, 335 ; Btn., lib i., c. i , 20. 
 
146 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 As leaps the warfire on the beacon hills, 
 Leapt in each heart the lofty flame divine ; 
 
 As into sunlight flash the molten rills, 
 
 Flash'd the glad claymores,* lightening line on line ; 
 
 From cloud to cloud as thunder speeds along, 
 
 From rank to rank — rush'd forth the choral song. — 
 
 Woman and child — all caught the fire of men, 
 
 To its own heaven that Alleluia rang, 
 Life to the spectres had returned agen ! 
 
 And from the grave an armed Nation sprang ! 
 Then spoke the Bard, — each crest its plumage bow'd, 
 As the large voice went lengthening thro' the crowd. 
 
 LI. 
 
 '^ Hark to the measured march ! — The Saxons come ! 
 
 The sound earth quails beneath the hollow tread ! 
 Your fathers rush'd upon the swords of Rome 
 
 And climb'd her war-ships — when the Caesar fled ! 
 The Saxons come ! why wait within the wall ? 
 They scale the mountain : — let its torrents fall ! 
 
 LIT. 
 
 " Mark, ye have swords, and shields, and armour, ye ! 
 
 No mail defends the Cymrian Child of Song,-}- 
 But where the warrior — there the Bard shall be ! 
 
 All fields of glory to the Bard belong ! 
 His realm extends wherever god-like strife 
 Spurns the base death, and wins immortal life. 
 
 • "The claymore of the Highlanders of Scotland was no other than the cledd 
 mawr (cle'mawr) of the Welch." (JrMnonouioN, vol. ii , p 106. 
 
 t J\o Cymrian bard, according to the primitive law, was allowed the use of 
 weapons. 
 
BOOK XI. 147 
 
 LIII. 
 
 *' Unarmed he goes — his guard the shields of all, 
 Where he bounds foremost on the Saxon spear ! 
 
 Unarmed he goes, that, falling, ev'n his fall 
 
 Shall bring no shame, and shall bequeath no fear ! 
 
 Does the song cease ? — avenge it by the deed, 
 
 And make the sepulchre — a nation freed !" 
 
 LIV. 
 
 He said, and where the chieftains wrangling sate, 
 Led the grand army marshall'd by his song ; 
 
 Into the hall — and on the wild debate, 
 
 King of all kings, A People, poured along ; 
 
 And from the heart of man — the trumpet cry 
 
 Smote faction down^ " Arms, arms, and liberty !" 
 
 LV, 
 
 Meanwhile roU'd on the Saxon's long array ; 
 
 On to the wall the surge of slaughter roll'd ; 
 Slow up the mount — slow heaved its awful way ; 
 
 The moonlight rested on the domes of gold ; 
 No warder peals alarum from the Keep, 
 And Death comes mute, as on the realm of Sleep ; 
 
 LVI. 
 
 When, as their ladders touch'd the ruined wall. 
 And to the van, high-towering, Harold strode, 
 
 Sudden expand the brazen gates, and all 
 The awful arch as with the lava glow'd ; 
 
 Torch upon torch the deathful sweep illumes, 
 
 The burst of armour and the flash of plumes ! 
 
148 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Kings 0\vaine's shout ; — rings Geraint's tlmnder-cry ; 
 
 The Saxon's death-knell in a hundred wars ; 
 And Cador's laugh of joy ; — rush through the sky 
 
 Bright tossing banderolls — swift as shooting stars. — 
 Try Stan's white lion — Lancelot's cross of red. 
 And Tudor's* standard with the Saxon's head. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 And high o'er all, its scaled splendour rears 
 The vengeful emblem of the Dragon Kings. 
 
 Full on the Saxon bursts the storm of spears ; 
 Far down the vale the charging whirlwind rings ; 
 
 While thro' the ranks its barbed knighthood clave, 
 
 All Carduel follows with its roaring wave. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 And ever in the van, with robes of white 
 And ivory harp, shone swordless Caradoc ! 
 
 And ever floated in melodious night. 
 
 The clear song buoyant o'er the battle shock ; 
 
 Calm as an eagle when the Olympian King 
 
 Sends the red bolt upon the tranquil wing. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Borne back, and wedged within the ponderous weight 
 Of their own jarr'd and multitudinous crowd, 
 
 Eecoifd the Saxons ! As adown the height 
 Of some gray mountain, rolls the cloven cloud, 
 
 Smit by the shafts of the resistless day, — 
 
 Down to the vale sunk dun the rent array. 
 
 * The old arms of the Tudors were three Saxons' heads. 
 
BOOK XI. 149 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Midway between the camp and Carduel, 
 
 Halting their slow retreat, the Saxons stood ; 
 
 There as the wall-like ocean ere it fell 
 
 On Egypt's chariots, gathered up the flood ; 
 
 There, in suspended deluge, solid rose, 
 
 And hung expectant o'er the hurrying foes ! 
 
 LXTf. 
 
 Right in the centre, rampired round with shields, 
 King Crida stood, — o'er him, its livid mane 
 
 The horse whose pasture is the Valkyr's fields 
 
 Flung wide; — but, foremost thro' the javelin-rain, 
 
 Blazed Harold's helm, as when, thro' all the stars 
 
 Distinct, pale soothsayers see the dooming Mars. 
 
 LXIIT. 
 
 Down dazzling sweeps the Cymrian Chivalry ; 
 
 Round the bright sweep closes the Saxon wall ; 
 Snatch'd from the glimmer of the funeral sky. 
 
 Raves the blind murder; and enclasp'd with all 
 Its own stern hell, against the iron bar 
 Pants the fierce heart of the imprisoned War. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Only b}^ gleaming banners and the flash 
 
 Of some large sword, the vex'd Obscure once more 
 
 Sparkled to light. In one tumultuous clash 
 
 Merged every sound — as when the maelstrom's roar 
 
 By dire Lofoden, dulls the seaman's groan. 
 
 And drowns the voice of tempests in its OAvn. 
 
150 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 The Cymrian ranks, — disparted from their van, 
 
 And their hemm'd horsemen, — stubborn, but in vain, 
 
 Press thro' the levelled spears j yet, man by man. 
 And shield to shield close-serried, they sustain 
 
 The sleeting hail against them hurtling sent 
 
 From every cloud in that dread armament. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 But now, at length, cleaving the solid clang, 
 And o'er the dead men in their frowning sleep, 
 
 The rallying shouts of chiefs confronted rang 
 
 " Thor and Walhalla !" — answered swift and deep 
 
 By " Alleluia !" and thy chaunted cry, 
 
 Young Bard sublime, " For Christ and Liberty !" 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Then the ranks opened, and the midnight moon 
 Streamed where the battle, like the scornful main 
 
 Ebb'd from the dismal wrecks its WTath had strown. 
 Paused either host ; — lo, in the central plain 
 
 Two chiefs had met, and in that breathless pause, 
 
 Each to its champion left a Nation's cause. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Now, heaven defend thee, noble Lancelot ! 
 
 For never yet such danger thee befell, 
 Tho' loftier deeds than thine emblazon not 
 
 The peerless Twelve of golden Carduel, 
 Tho' oft thy breast hath singly stemm'd a field, — 
 As when thy claymore clanged on Harold's shield ! 
 
BOOK XI. 151 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 And Lancelot knew not his majestic foe, 
 Save by his deeds ; by Cador's cloven crest ; 
 
 By Modred's corpse ; by rills of blood below, 
 
 And shrinking helms above ; — when from the rest 
 
 Spurring, — the steel of his uplifted brand 
 
 Drew down the lightning of that red right hand. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Full on the Saxon's shield the sword descends ; 
 
 The strong shield clattering shivers at the stroke, 
 And the bright crest with all its plumage bends. 
 
 As to the blast with all its boughs an oak : 
 As from the blast an oak with all its boughs, 
 Re towering slow, the crest sublime arose. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Grasp'd with both hands, above the Cymrian swung 
 The axe that Woden taught his sons to wield, 
 
 Tlirice thro' the air the circling iron sang, 
 
 Thencrash'd resounding: — horse and horseman reel'd, 
 
 Tho' slant from sword and casque the weapon shore, 
 
 Down sword and casque the weight resistless bore. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 The bright plume mingles with the charger's mane ; 
 
 Light leaves the heaven, and sense forsakes the breath; 
 Aloft the axe impatient whirrs again, — 
 
 The steed wild-snorting bounds and foils the death ; 
 While on its neck the reins unheeded flow. 
 It shames and saves its Lord, and flies the foe. 
 
152 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 " Lo, Saxons, lo, what chiefs these Walloons* lead !" 
 Laugh'd hollow from his helm the scornful Thane. 
 
 Then towards the Christian knights he spurr'd his steed 
 When midway in his rush — rushes again 
 
 The foe that rallied while he seemed to fly, 
 
 As wheels the falcon ere it swoops from high ; — 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 And as the falcon, while its talons dart 
 
 Into the crane's broad bosom, splits its own 
 
 On the sharp beak, and, clinging heart to heart, 
 Both in one plumage blent, spin whirling down, — 
 
 So in that shock each found, and dealt the blow ; 
 
 Horse roll'd on horse, fell grappling foe on foe. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 First to his feet the slighter Cymrian leapt. 
 And on the Saxon's breast set firm his knee ; 
 
 Then o'er the heathen host a shudder crept. 
 Rose all their voices, — wild and wailingly; 
 
 " Woe, Harold, woe !" as from one bosom came, 
 
 The groan of thousands, and the mighty name. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 The Cymrian starts, and stays his lifted hand, 
 For at that name from Harold's visor shone 
 
 Genevra's eyes ! Back in its sheath the brand 
 
 He plung'd : — sprang Harold — and the foe was gone, — 
 
 Lost where the Saxons rush'd along the plain, 
 
 To save the livinor or avensre the slain. 
 
 • Walloons, — the name given by the Saxons, in contumely, to the Cymrians. 
 
BOOK XI. 153 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Spurr'd to the rescue every Cymrian knight, 
 Again confused, the onslaught raged on high ; 
 
 Again the war-shout swell'd above the fight, 
 Again the chaunt " for Christ and Liberty/' 
 
 When with fresh hosts unbreathed, the Saxon king 
 
 Forth from the wall of shields leapt thundering. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Behind the chief the dreadful gonfanon 
 
 Spread ; — the Pale Horse went rushing down the wind. 
 ^' On where the Valkyrs rest on Carduel, on ! 
 
 On o'er the corpses to the wolf consign'd ! 
 On, that the Pale Horse, ere the night be o'er, 
 Stall'd in yon tower, may rest his hoofs of gore !" 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Thus spoke the king and all his hosts replied ; 
 
 Fill'd by his sword and kindled by his look — 
 For helmless with his gray hair streaming wide. 
 
 He strided thro' the spears — the mountains shook — 
 Shook the dim city — as that answer rang ! 
 The fierce shout chiming to the buckler's clang ! 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Aghast the Cymrians see, like Titan sons 
 
 New-born from earth, — leap forth the sudden bands : 
 
 As when the wind's invisible tremor runs 
 
 Thro' corn-sheaves ripening for the reaper's hands, 
 
 The glittering tumult undulating flows. 
 
 And the field quivers where the panic goes. 
 
154 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Tlie Cymrians waver — shrink — recoil — give w^y, 
 Strike with weak hands amazed ; half turn to flee ; 
 
 In vain with knightly charge the chiefs delay 
 The hostile mass that rolls resistlessly, 
 
 And the pale hoofs for aye had trampled down 
 
 The Cymrian freedom and the Dragon Crown, 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 But for that arch preserver, — under heaven 
 
 Of names and states, the Bard ! the hour was come 
 
 To prove the ends for which the lyre was given : — 
 Each thought divine demands its martyrdom. 
 
 Where round the central standard rallying flock 
 
 The Dragon Chiefs — paused and spoke Caradoc ! 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 '' Ye Cymrian men !" Hushed at the calm sweet sound, 
 Droop'd the wild murmur, bow'd the loftiest crest, 
 
 Meekly the haughty paladins group'd round 
 The s wordless hero with the mailless breast. 
 
 Whose front, serene amid the spears, had taught 
 
 To humbled Force the chivalry of Thought. 
 
 LXXXI V. 
 
 '^ Ye Cymrian men — from Heus the Guardian's tomb 
 I speak the oracular j^romise of the Past. 
 
 Fear not the Saxon ! Till the judgment doom. 
 Free on their hills the Dragon race shall last. 
 
 If from yon heathen, ye this night can save 
 
 One spot not wider than a single grave. 
 
BOOK XI. 155 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 " For thus the antique prophecy's decree, — 
 
 ' When where the Pale Horse crushes down the dead, 
 
 War's sons shall see the lonely child of peace 
 Grasp at the mane to fall beneath the tread — 
 
 There where he falleth let his dust remain. 
 
 There bid the Dragon rest above the slain ; 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 " ' There let the steel-clad living watch the clay, 
 Till on that spot their swords the grave have made. 
 
 And the Pale Horse shall melt in cloud away, 
 No stranger's steps the sacred mound invade : 
 
 A people's life that single death shall save, 
 
 And all the land be hallowed by the grave/ 
 
 Lxxxvir. 
 '' So be the Guardian's prophecy fulfill'd, 
 
 Advance the Dragon, for the grave is mine." 
 He ceased ; while yet the silver accents thrill'd 
 
 Each mailed bosom down the listening line 
 Bounded his steed, and like an arrow went 
 His plume, swift glancing thro' the armament. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 On thro' the tempest went it glimmering. 
 
 On thro' the rushing barbs and levelled spears ; 
 
 On where, far streaming o'er the Teuton king. 
 Its horrent pomp the ghastly standard rears. 
 
 On rush'd to rescue all to whom his breath 
 
 Left what saves Nations, — the disdain of death ! 
 
156 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Alike the loftiest kniglit and meanest man, 
 All the roused host, but now so panic chill'd, 
 
 All Cymri once more as one Cymrian, 
 
 With the last light of that grand spirit fill'd, 
 
 Thro' rank on rank, mow'd down, down trampled, sped, 
 
 And reach'd the standard — to defend the dead. 
 
 xc. 
 
 Wrench'd from the heathen's hand, one moment bow'd 
 In the bright Christian's grasp the gonfanon ; 
 
 Then from a dumb amaze the countless crowd 
 Swept, — and the night as with a sudden sun 
 
 Flash'd with avenging steel ; life gained its goal, 
 
 And calm from lips proud-smiling went the soul ! 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Leapt from his selle, the king-born Lancelot ; 
 
 Leapt from the selle each paladin and knight ; 
 In one mute sign that where upon that spot 
 
 The foot was planted, God forbade the liight : 
 There shall the Father-land avenge the son. 
 Or heap all Cymri round the grave of one. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 Then, well nigh side by side — broad floated forth 
 The Cymrian Dragon and the Teuton Steed, 
 
 The rival Powers that struffole for the north ; 
 The gory Idol — the chivahic Creed; 
 
 Odin's and Christ's confronting flags unfurl'd. 
 
 As which should save and which destroy a world ! 
 
BOOK XT. 157 
 
 XCIIT. 
 
 Then fought those Cymrian men, as if on each 
 All Cymri set its last undaunted hope; 
 
 Thro' the steel bulwarks round them vawns the breach ; 
 Vistas to freedom brightening onwards ope ; 
 
 Crida in vain leads band on slaughtered band, 
 
 In vain revived falls Harold's ruthless hand ; 
 
 xciv. 
 
 As on the bull the pard will fearless bound, 
 
 But if the horn that meets the spring should gore, 
 
 Awed with fierce pain, slinks snarling from the ground ; 
 So baffled in their midmost rush, before 
 
 The abrupt assault, the savage hosts give way, 
 
 Yet will not own that man could thus dismay. 
 
 xcv. 
 '^ Some God more mighty than Walhalla's king. 
 
 Strikes in yon arms" — the sullen murmurs run. 
 And fast and faster drives the Dragon wing — 
 
 And shrinks and cowers the ghastly gonfanon, 
 They flag — they falter — lo, the Saxons lly ! — 
 Lone rests the Dragon in the dawning sky ! 
 
 xcvi. 
 Lone rests the Dragon with its wings outspread. 
 
 Where the pale hoofs one holy ground had trod, 
 There the hush'd victors round the martyr'd dead, 
 
 As round an altar, lift their hearts to God. 
 Calm is that brow as when a host it braved, 
 And smiles that lip as on the land it saved ! 
 
 VOL II. H 
 
158 KIXG ARTHUR. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Pardon, ye shrouded and mysterious Powers, 
 Ye fixr off shadows from the spirit-cUme, 
 
 K for that reahii untrodden by the Hours, 
 Awhile we leave this lazar house of Time ; 
 
 With Song remounting to those native airs 
 
 Of which tho' exiled, still we are the heirs. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 Up from the clay and towards the Seraphim, 
 The Immortal, men call'd Caradoc, arose. 
 
 Round the freed captive whose melodious hymn 
 
 Had haifd each glimmer earth, the dungeon, knows. 
 
 Spread all the aisles by angel worship trod ; 
 
 Blazed every altar conscious of the God. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 All the illumed creation one calm shrine ; 
 
 All space one rapt adoring extasy; 
 All the sweet stars with their untroubled shine, 
 
 Near and more near enlarging thro' the sky ; 
 All opening gradual on the eternal sight, 
 Joy after joy, the depths of their delight. 
 
 c. 
 Paused on the marge. Heaven's beautiful New-born, 
 
 Paused on the marge of that wide happiness ; 
 And as a lark that, poised amid the morn. 
 
 Shakes from its wing the dews, — the plumes of bliss, 
 Sunned in the dawn of the diviner birth. 
 Shook every sorrow memory bore from eartli ; 
 
BOOK XI. 159 
 
 CI. 
 
 Knowledge (tliat on the troubled waves of sense 
 Breaks into sparkles) — poured upon the soul 
 
 Its lambent, clear, translucent affluence, 
 
 And cold-eyed Keason loosed its hard control ; 
 
 Each godlike guess beheld the truth it sought ; 
 
 And inspiration flash'd from what was thought. 
 
 CII. 
 
 Still evermore the old familiar train 
 
 That fill the frail Proscenium of our deeds, 
 
 The unquiet actors on that stage, the brain, 
 Which, in the spangles of their tinsell'd weeds, 
 
 Mime the true soul's majestic royalties. 
 
 And strut august in Wonders credulous eyes ; — 
 
 cm. 
 
 Ambition, Envy, Pride, those false desires 
 For a true bourne which is — but not in life ; 
 
 x\nd human Passion that with meteor fires 
 
 Lures from the star it simulates ; Wisdom's strife ; 
 
 With its own Angel, Faith ; — that nurse of Grief, 
 
 Hope, crown'd with flowers, a blight in every leaf; 
 
 CIV. 
 
 All these are still — abandoned to the worm. 
 Their loud breath jars not on the calm above; 
 
 Only survived, as if the single germ 
 
 Of the new life's ambrosian being, — love. 
 
 Ah, if the bud can give such bloom to Time, 
 
 What is the flower when in its native clime ? 
 
160 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 cv. 
 
 Love to the radiant Stranger left alone 
 
 Of all the vanish'd hosts of memory ; 
 Vf liile broadening round, on splendour splendour shone, 
 
 To earth soft-pitying dropt the veilless eye, 
 And saw the shape, that love remembered still, 
 Couch'd mid the ruins on the moonlit hill. 
 
 CVT. 
 
 And, with the new-born vision piercing all 
 
 Things past and future, view'd the fates ordain'd ; 
 
 The fame achieved amidst the Coral Hall ; 
 
 From war and winter Freedom's symbol gained, 
 
 Yf hat rests ? — the sj)irit from its realm of bliss. 
 
 Shot, loving down, — the guide to Happiness ! 
 
 CVII. 
 
 Pale to the Cymrian king the Shadow came, 
 
 Its glory left it as the earth it neared. 
 In livid likeness as its corpse the same. 
 
 Wan with its wounds the awful ghost appeared. 
 Life heard the voice of unembodied breath. 
 And Sleep stood trembling side by side with Death. 
 
 cvni. 
 " Come," said the voice, " Before the Iron Gate 
 
 Which hath no egress, waiting thee, behold 
 Under the shadow of the brows of Fate, 
 
 The childHke playmate with the locks of gold." 
 Then rose the mortal following, and, before, 
 Moved the pale shape the angel's comrade wore. 
 
BOOK XI. 161 
 
 cix. 
 Where, in the centre of those ruins gray, 
 
 Immense with blind walls columnless, a tomb 
 For earlier kings, whose names had passed away, 
 
 Chill'd the chill moonlight with its mass of gloom ; 
 Thro' doors ajar to every prying blast 
 By which to rot imperial dust had past, 
 
 ex. 
 The vision went, and went the living king ; 
 
 Then strange and hard to human ear to tell 
 By language moulded but by thoughts that bring 
 
 Material images, what there befell ! 
 The mortal entered Eld's dumb burial place. 
 And at the threshold vanished time and space ! 
 
 CXI. 
 
 Yea, the hard sense of time was from the mind 
 Rased and annihilate ; — yea, space to eye 
 
 And soul was presenceless ? What rest behind ? 
 Thought and the Infinite ! the eternal I, 
 
 And its true realm the Limitless, whose brink 
 
 Thought ever nears : What bounds us when we think ? 
 
 CXII. 
 
 Yea, as the dupe in tales Arabian, 
 
 Dipp'd but his brow beneath the beaker's brim, 
 And in that instant all the life of man 
 
 From youth to age roll'd its slow years on him, 
 And while the foot stood motionless — the soul 
 Swept with deliberate wing from pole to pole, 
 
162 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 So when the man the graves still portals pass'd, 
 Closed on the substances or cheats of earth, 
 
 The Immaterial for the things it glass'd, 
 
 Sliaped a new vision from the matter's dearth: 
 
 Before the sight that saw not thro' the clay. 
 
 The undefined Immeasurable lay. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 A realm not land, nor sea, nor earth, nor sky. 
 Like air impalpable, and yet not air ; — 
 
 " Where am I led ?" asked Life with hollow sigh. 
 " To Death, that dim phantasmal Every where," 
 
 Answered the Ghost. " Nature's circumfluent robe 
 
 Girding all life — the globule of the globe." 
 
 cxv. 
 
 '^ Yet," said the Mortal, " if indeed this breath 
 Profane the w^orld that lies beyond the tomb; 
 
 Where is the Spirit-race that peoples death ? 
 My soul surveys but unsubstantial gloom, 
 
 A void — a Ijlank — where none preside or dwell, 
 
 Nor woe nor bliss is here, nor heaven nor hell." 
 
 ex VI. 
 
 " And what is death ? — a name for nothingness,"* 
 Replied the Dead ; " The shadow of a shade ; 
 
 Death can retain no spirit ! — w^oe and bliss, 
 And heaven and hell, are for the living made ; 
 
 An instant flits between life's latest sigh 
 
 And life's renewal ; — that it is to die ! 
 
 * The suMime idea of the noncnity of deatli, of the instantaneous transit of the 
 soul from one phase or cycle of being to another, is earnestly insisted upon hy the 
 early Cymriau baids in term& which seem borrowed from some spiritual belief an- 
 
- BOOK XI. 1G8 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 " From the brief Here to the eternal There, 
 We can but see the swift flash of the goal ; 
 
 Less than the space between two weaves of air, 
 The void between existence and a soul ; 
 
 Wherefore look forth ; and wdth calm sight endure 
 
 The vague, impalpable, inane Obscure : 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 Lo, by the Iron Gate a giant cloud 
 
 From which emerge (the form itself unseen) 
 
 Vast adamantine browns sublimely bow'd 
 Over the dark, — relentlessly serene ; 
 
 Thou canst not view the hand beneath the fold, 
 
 The work it w^eaveth none but God behold. 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 ^' Yet ever from this Nothingness of Death, 
 
 That hand shapes out the myriad pomps of life ; 
 
 Receives the matter when resign'd the breath, 
 Calms into Law the Elemental strife. 
 
 On each still'd atom forms afresh bestows ; 
 
 (No atom lost since first Creation rose.) 
 
 cxx. 
 
 " Thus seen, what men call Nature, thou surveyest. 
 But matter boundeth not the still one's power , 
 
 Li every deed its presence thou displayest, 
 
 It prompts each impulse, guides each wdnged hour, 
 
 It spells the Valkyrs to their gory loom. 
 
 It calls the blessing from the bane they doom : 
 
 lerior to that which does in truth teach that the Ufe of man once begun, has not 
 only no end, but no pause — and, in the triumjihal or}- of the Christian, '• O Grave 
 where is thy victory ?" — annihilates death. 
 
164 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 cxxi. 
 
 ^' It rides the steed, it saileth with the bark, 
 Wafts the first corn-seed to the herbless wild, 
 
 Alike directing thro' the doom of dark. 
 
 The age-long Nature and the new-born child ; 
 
 Here the dread Power, yet loftier tasks await. 
 
 And Nature, twofold, takes the name of Fate. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 ^' Nature or Fate, Matter's material life. 
 
 Or to all spirit the si)iritual guide, 
 Alike with one harmonious being rife. 
 
 Form but the whole which only names divide ; 
 Fate's crushing power, or Nature's gentle skill. 
 Alike one Good — from one all loving Will." 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 While thus the Shade benign instructs the King, 
 Near the dark cloud the still brows bended o'er, 
 
 They come : A soft wind with continuous wing 
 Sighs thro' the gloom and trembles thro' the door, 
 
 ^^ Hark to that air," the gentle phantom said, 
 
 *' In each faint murmur flit unseen the dead, — 
 
 cxxiv. 
 
 " Pass thro' the gate, from life the life resume. 
 As the old impulse flies to heaven or hell." 
 
 While spoke the Ghost, stood forth amidst the gloom, 
 A lucent Image, crowned with asphodell, 
 
 The left hand bore a mirror crystal-bright, 
 
 A wand star-pointed glittered in the right. 
 
BOOK XI. 165 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 " Dost thou not know me ? — me, thy second soul ? 
 
 Dost thou not know me, Arthur ?" said the Voice ; 
 " I who have led thee to each noble goal, 
 
 Mirror'd thy heart, and starward led thy choice ? 
 To each thee wisdom won in Labour's school, 
 I lured thy footsteps to the forest pool, 
 
 cxxvi. 
 
 " ShoAved all the woes which wait inebriate power. 
 And woke the man from youth's voluptuous dream ; 
 
 Glass'd on the crystal — let each stainless hour 
 Obey the wand I lift unto the beam ; 
 
 And at the last, when yonder gates expand. 
 
 Pass with thy Guardian Angel; hand in hand." 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 Spoke the sweet Splendour, and as music dies 
 Into the heart that hears, subsides away, 
 
 Then Arthur lifted his serenest eyes 
 
 Towards the pale Shade from the celestial day, 
 
 And said, " thou in life beloved so well, 
 
 Dream I or wake ? — As those last accents fell, 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 " So fears that, spite of thy mild words, dismay'd, 
 Fears not of death, but that which death conceals, 
 
 Vanish ; — my soul that trembled at thy shade. 
 Yearns to the far light which the shade reveals. 
 
 And sees how human is the dismal error 
 
 That hideth God, when veiling death with terror. 
 
166 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 cxxix. 
 
 '^ Ev'n thus some infant, in the earlj'' spring, 
 Under the pale buds of the abiiond tree, 
 
 Shrinks from the wind that with an icy wing 
 
 Shakes showering down white flakes that seem to he 
 
 Winter's w\an sleet, — till the quick sunbeam shows 
 
 That those were blossoms which he took for snows. 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 " Thou to this last and sovran mystery 
 Of my mysterious travail guiding sent, 
 
 Dear as thou wert, I will not mourn for thee. 
 
 Thou w^ert not shaped for earth's hard element — 
 
 Our ends, our aims, our pleasure, and our woe. 
 
 Thou knew'st them all, but thine we could not know. 
 
 cxxxi. 
 
 ^^ Forgive that none were worthy of thy worth ! 
 
 That none took heed upon the plodding way. 
 What diamond dcAv was on the flowers of earth. 
 
 Till in thy soul drawn upw^ard to the day. 
 But now, why gape the wounds uj^on thy breast ? 
 What guilty hand dismissed thee to the blest ? 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 ^' For blest thou art, beloved and lost ? Oh, speak , 
 Say thou art with the Angels ?" — As at night 
 
 Far off the pharos on the mountain peak 
 Sends o'er dim ocean one pale path of light, 
 
 Lost in the wideness of the weltering Sea, 
 
 So, that one gleam along eternity 
 
BOOK XI. 167 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 
 Youclisafed, the radiant guide (its mission closed) 
 Fled, and the mortal stood amidst the cloud ! 
 
 All dark above, — lo at his feet reposed 
 
 Beneath the Brow's still terror o'er it bow'd, 
 
 With eyes that lit the gloom thro' which they smiled 
 
 A Virgin shape^ half woman and half child ! 
 
 cxxxiv. 
 There, bright before the iron gates of Death, 
 
 Bright in the shadow of the aAvful Power 
 Which did as Nature give the human breath, 
 
 As Fate mature the germ and nurse the flower 
 Of earth for heaven, — Toil's last and sweetest prize, 
 The destined Soother lifts her fearless eyes ! 
 
 cxxxv. 
 
 Thro' all the mortal's frame, enraptured thrills 
 
 A subtler tide, a life ambrosial, 
 Brio'ht as the fabled element which fills 
 
 The veins of Gods when in the golden hall 
 Flush'd Hebe brims the urn. The transport broke 
 The charm that gave it — and the Dreamer woke. 
 
 cxxxvr. 
 
 Was it in truth a Dream ? He gazed around. 
 And saw the granite of sepulchral walls ; 
 
 Thro' open doors, along the desolate ground. 
 O'er coffin dust — the morning sunbeam falls ; 
 
 On mouldering relics life its splendour flings. 
 
 The arms of warriors and the bones of kinu's. — 
 
168 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CXXXVII. 
 
 He stood within that Golgotha of old, 
 
 Whither the Phantom first had led the soul. 
 
 It was no dream ! lo, round those locks of gold 
 Rest the young sunbeams like an auriole; 
 
 Lo, where the day, night's mystic promise keeps, 
 
 And in the tomb a life of beauty sleeps ! 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 Slow to his eyes, those lids reveal their own, 
 And, the lips smiling even in their sigh. 
 
 The Virgin woke ! never yet w^as known, 
 In bower or plaisaunce under summer sky. 
 
 Life so enrich'd with nature's happiest bloom 
 
 As thine, thou young Aurora of the tomb ! 
 
 cxxxix. 
 
 Words cannot paint thee, gentlest Cynosure 
 Of all things lovely in that loveliest form. 
 
 Souls wear — the youth of woman ! brows as pure 
 As Memphian skies that never knew a storm ; 
 
 Lips with such sweetness in their honied deeps 
 
 As fills the rose in which a fairy sleeps ; 
 
 CXL. 
 
 Eyes on whose tenderest azure, aching hearts 
 Might look as to a heaven, and cease to grieve ; 
 
 The very blush, as day, when it departs, 
 Haloes, in liushing, the mild cheek of eve, 
 
 Takimir soft warmth in lit>lit from earth afar, 
 
 Heralds no thoudit less holv than a star. 
 
BOOK XI. 169 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 And Arthur spoke ! ye, all noble souls, 
 
 Divine how knighthood speaks to maiden fear ! 
 
 Yet, is it fear which that young heart controls 
 And leaves its music voiceless on the ear — 
 
 Ye, who have felt what words can ne'er express, 
 
 Say then, is fear as still as happiness ? 
 
 CXLII. 
 
 By the mute pathos of an eloquent sign, 
 
 Her rosy finger on her lip, the maid 
 Seem'd to donote that on that choral shrine 
 
 Speech was to silence vow'd. Then from the shade 
 Gliding — she stood beneath the golden skies. 
 Fair as the dawn that brightened Paradise. 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 And Arthur looked, and saw the dove no more ; 
 
 Yet, by some wild and wondrous giamoury. 
 Changed to the shape the new companion wore. 
 
 His soul the missing Angel seemed to see ; 
 And, soft and silent as the earlier guide, 
 The soft eyes thrill, the silent footsteps glide. 
 
 CXLTV. 
 
 Thro' paths his yester steps had fail'd to find, 
 Adown the w^oodland slope she leads the king, — 
 
 And, pausing oft, she turns to look behind, 
 As oft had turned the dove upon the wing ; 
 
 And oft he questioned, still to find reply 
 
 Mute on the lip, yet struggling to the eye. 
 
170 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 Far briefer now the way, and open more 
 
 To heaven, than those his whileome steps had won ; 
 And sudden, lo ! his galley's brazen prore 
 
 Beams from the greenwood burnished in the sun ; 
 Uj) from the SAvard his watchful cruisers spring, 
 And loud-lipp'd welcome girds with joy the King. 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 Now plies the rapid oar, now swells the sail ; 
 
 All day, and deep into the heart of night, 
 Flies the glad bark before the favouring gale ; 
 
 Now Sabra's virgin waters dance in light 
 Under the large full moon, on margents green. 
 Lone with charr'd wrecks where Saxon fires have been. 
 
 CXLVII. 
 
 Here furls the sail, here rests awhile the oar. 
 And from the crews the Cymrians and the maid 
 
 Pass with mute breath upon the mournful shore ; 
 For, where yon groves the gradual hillock shade, 
 
 A convent stood when Arthur left the land. 
 
 God grant the shrine hath 'scaped the heathen's hand ! 
 
 CXLVIII. 
 
 Landing, on lifeless hearths, thro' roofless walls 
 
 And casement gaps, the ghost-like star-beams peer ; 
 
 Welcomed by night and ruin, hollow falls 
 The footstep of a King ! — Upon the ear 
 
 The inexpressible hush of murder lay, — 
 
 Wide yawn'd the doors, and not a watch dog's bay ! 
 
BOOK XI. 171 
 
 CXLIX. 
 
 They pass the groveSj they gain the holt, and lo ! 
 
 Rests of the sacred pile but one gray tower, 
 A fort for luxury in the long-ago 
 
 Of gentile gods, and Rome's voluptuous power. 
 But far on walls yet spared, the moonbeams fell, — 
 Far on the golden domes of Carduel ! 
 
 CL. 
 
 ^'^Joy," cried the King, "behold, the land lives still!" 
 Then Gawaine 23ointed, where, in lengthening line 
 
 The Saxon watch-fires from the haunted hill 
 (Shorn of its forest old,) their blood-red shine 
 
 Fling over Isca, and with wrathful flush 
 
 Gild the vast storm-cloud of the armed hush. 
 
 CLI. 
 
 " Ay," said the King, " in that lull'd Massacre 
 Doth no ghost whisper Crida — ' Sleep no more !' 
 
 " Hark, where I stand, dark murder-chief, on thee 
 I launch the doom ! ye airs, that wander o'er 
 
 Ruins and graveless bones, to Crida' s sleep 
 
 Bear Cymri's promise, which her king shall keep !" 
 
 CLII. 
 
 As thus he spoke, upon his outstretch'd arm 
 A light touch trembled, — turning he beheld 
 
 The maiden of the tomb ; a wild alarm 
 
 Shone from her ej^es; his own their terror spell'd. 
 
 Struggling for speech, the pale lips Avrithed apart, 
 
 And, as she clung, he heard her beating heart ; 
 
172 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CLIII. 
 
 While Artliur marvelling sootli'd the agonj 
 
 Which., comprehending not^ he still could share, 
 
 Sudden sprang Gawaine — hark ! a timorous cry 
 
 Pierced yon dim shadows ! Arthur look'd, and where 
 
 On' artful valves revolved the stoney door, 
 
 A kneeling nun his knight is bending o'er. 
 
 CLIV. 
 
 Ere the nun's fears the knightly words dispell, 
 As towards the spot the maid and monarch came, 
 
 On Arthur's brows the slanted moonbeams fell. 
 And the nun knew the King, and call'd his name 
 
 And clasp'd his knees, and sobb'd thro' joyous tears, 
 
 *' Once more ! once more ! our God his people hears !" 
 
 CLV. 
 
 Kin to his blood — the welcome face of one 
 
 Known as a saint throughout the Christian land, 
 
 Arthur recall'd, and as a pious son 
 
 Honouring a mother — on that sacred hand 
 
 In homage bow'd the King, " What mercy saves 
 
 Thee, blest survivor in this shrine of graves ?" 
 
 CLVI. 
 
 Then the nun led them, thro' the artful door 
 
 Mask'd in the masonry, adown a stair 
 That coil'd its windings to the grottoed floor 
 
 Of vaulted chambers desolately fair ; 
 Wrought in the green hill like on Oread's home, 
 For summer heats by some soft lord of Rome, 
 
BOOK XI. 173 
 
 CLVII. 
 
 On shells, which nymphs from silver sands might cuU,^ 
 On paved mosaics and long-silenced fount, 
 
 On marble waifs of the far Beautiful 
 
 By graceful spoiler garner'd from the mount 
 
 Of vocal Delphi, or the Elean town, 
 
 Or Sparta's rival of the violet-crown — 
 
 CLVIIT. 
 
 Shone the rude cresset from the homely shrine 
 Of that new Power, upon whose Syrian Cross 
 
 Perished the antique Jove ! And the grave sign 
 Of the glad faith (which, for the lovely loss 
 
 Of poet-gods, their own Olympus frees \ 
 
 To men ! — our souls the new Uranides,) 
 
 CLIX. 
 
 High from the base, on which, of old, reposed 
 Grape-crown'd lacchus — spoke the Saving Woe ! 
 
 The place itself the sister s tale disclosed. 
 
 Here, while, amidst the hamlet doomed below, 
 
 Raged the fierce Saxon — was retreat secured ; 
 
 Nor gnawed the iiame where those deep vaults immured. 
 
 CLX. 
 
 To peasants scattered thro' the neighbouring plains, 
 The secret known ; — kind hands with pious care 
 
 Supply such humble nurture as sustains 
 
 Lives must with fiist familiar ; thus and there 
 
 The patient sisters in their faith sublime. 
 
 Felt God was good, and waited for His time. 
 
 VOL. II. 12 
 
174 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CLXI. 
 
 Yet ever when the crimes of earth and day 
 Slept in the starry peace, to the lone tower 
 
 The sainted abbess won her nightly way, 
 
 And gazed on Carduel ! — 'T was the wonted hour 
 
 When from the opening door the Cymrian knight 
 
 Saw the pale shadow steal along the light. 
 
 CLXIT. J 
 
 Musing, the King the safe retreat surveyed, [care ; 
 
 And smoothed his brow from time's most anxious 
 Here — from the strife secure, might rest the maid 
 
 Not meet the tasks that morn must bring to share ; 
 And pleased the sister's pitying looks he eyed 
 Bent on the young form creeping to her side. 
 
 CLXIII. 
 
 " King," said the sainted nun, " from some far clime 
 Comes this fair stranger, that her eyes alone 
 
 Answer our mountain tongue ?" — " May happier time," 
 Replied the King, " her tale, her land, make known. 
 
 Meanwhile, kind recluse, receive the guest 
 
 To whom these altars seem the native rest." 
 
 CLXIV. 
 
 The sister smiled, " In sooth those looks," she said, 
 " Do speak a soul pure with celestial air ; 
 
 And in the morrow's awful hour of dread, 
 Her heart methinks will echo to our prayer, 
 
 And breathe responsive to the hymns that swell 
 
 The Christian's curse upon the infidel. 
 
BOOK XI. 175 
 
 CLXV. 
 
 " But say, if truth from rumor vague and wild 
 To this still world the friendly peasants bring, 
 
 ' That grief and wrath for some lost heathen child, 
 Urge to yon walls the Mercian's direful king ?' " — 
 
 " Nay," said the Cymrian, " doth ambition fail 
 
 When force needs falsehood, of the glozing tale ? 
 
 CLXVI. 
 
 " And — but behold she droops, she faints, outworn 
 By the long wandering and the scorch of day !" 
 
 Pale as a lily when the dewless morn, 
 Parch'd in the fiery dog-star, wanes away 
 
 Into the glare of noon without a cloud, 
 
 O'er the nun's breast that flower of beauty bow'd. 
 
 CLXVII. 
 
 Yet still the clasp retained the hand that prest. 
 
 And breath came still, tho' heaved in sobbing sighs. 
 
 " Leave her," the sister said, " to needful rest. 
 And to such care as woman best supplies ; 
 
 And may this charge a conqueror soon recall. 
 
 And change the refuge to a monarch's hall !" 
 
 CLXVIII. 
 
 Tho' found the asylum sought, with boding mind 
 The crowning guerdon of his mystic toil 
 
 To the kind nun the unwilling King resigned ; 
 Nor till his step was on his mountain soil 
 
 Did his large heart its lion calm regain, 
 
 And o'er his soul no thought but Cymri reign. 
 
176 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CLXIX. 
 
 As towards the bark the friends resume their way, 
 Quick they resolve the conflict's hardy scheme ; 
 
 With half the Northmen, at the break of day 
 
 Shall Gawaine sail where Sabra's broadening stream 
 
 Admits a reeded creek, and, landing there, 
 
 Elude the fleet the neighbouring waters bear; 
 
 CLXX. 
 
 Thro' secret paths with bush and bosk o'ergrown, 
 Wind round the tented hill, and win the wall ; 
 
 With Arthur's name arouse the leaguered town, 
 Give the pent stream the cataract's rushing fall, 
 
 Sweep to the camp, and on the Pagan horde 
 
 Urge all of man that yet survives the sword. 
 
 CLXXI. 
 
 Meanwhile on foot the king shall guide his band 
 Round to the rearward of the vast array. 
 
 Where yet large fragments of the forest stand 
 To shroud with darkness the avenger's way ; 
 
 Thence when least look'd for, burst upon the foe, 
 
 On war's own heart direct the sudden blow ; 
 
 CLXXII. 
 
 Thus front and rear assailed, their numbers, less 
 (Perplex'd, distraught,) avail the heathen's power. 
 
 Dire was the peril, and the sole success 
 In the nice seizure of the season'd hour ; 
 
 The high-soul'd rashness of the bold emprize ; 
 
 The fear that smites the fiercest in surprise ; 
 
BOOK XI. 177 
 
 CLXXIII. 
 
 Whatever worth the enchanted boons may bear, 
 The hero heart by which those boons were won ; 
 
 The stubborn strength of that supreme despair, 
 When victory lost is all a land undone ; 
 
 In the man's cause and in the Christian's zeal, 
 
 And the just God that sanctions Freedom's steel. 
 
 CLXXIV. 
 
 Meanwhile, along a cave-like corridor 
 The stranger guest the gentle abbess led; 
 
 Where the voluptuous hypocaust of yore 
 Left cells for vestal dreams saint-hallowed. 
 
 Her own, austerely rude, affords the rest 
 
 To which her parting kiss consigns the guest. 
 
 CLXXV. 
 
 But Avelcome not for rest that loneliness ! 
 
 The iron lamp the imaged cross displays, 
 And to that guide for souls, what mute distress 
 
 Lifts the imploring passion of its gaze ? 
 Fear like remorse — and sorrow dark as sin ? 
 Enter that mystic heart and look within ! 
 
 CLXXVI. 
 
 What broken gleams of memorj^ come and go 
 
 Along the dark ! — a silent starry love 
 Lighting young Fancy's virgin waves below. 
 
 But shed from thoughts that rest ensphered above ! 
 Oh, flowers whose bloom had perfumed Carmel, weave 
 Wreaths for such love as lived in Genevieve ! 
 
178 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CLXXVII. 
 
 A May noon resteth on the forest hill ; 
 
 A May noon resteth over ruins hoar ; 
 A maiden muses on the forest hill, 
 
 A tomb's vast pile o'ershades the ruins hoar, 
 With doors now open to each prying blast, 
 Where once to rot imperial dust had past ; 
 
 CLXXVIII. 
 
 Glides thro' that tomb of Eld the musing maid, 
 And slumber drags her down its airy deep. 
 
 wondrous trance ! in druid robes array'd, 
 
 What form benignant charms the life-like sleep ? 
 
 What spells low-chaunted, holy-sweet, like prayer, 
 
 Plume the light soul, and waft it through the air ? 
 
 CLXXTX. 
 
 Comes a dim sense as of an angel's being, 
 Bathed in ambrosial dews and liquid day; 
 
 Of floating wings, like heavenward instincts, freeing 
 Thro' azure solitudes a spirit's way, — 
 
 An absence of all earthly thought, desire. 
 
 Aim — ^liope, — save those which love and which asjiire : 
 
 CLXXX. 
 
 Each harder sense of the mere human mind 
 Merged into some protective prescience ; 
 
 Calm gladness, conscious of a charge consign'd 
 To the pure ward of guardian innocence ; 
 
 And the felt presence, in that charge, of one 
 
 Whose smile to life is as to flowers the sun, 
 
BOOK XI. 179 
 
 CLXXXI. 
 
 Go on J tliou troubled Memory, wander on ! 
 
 Dull, o'er the bounds of the departing trance. 
 Droops the lithe wing the airier life hath known ; 
 
 Yet on the confines of the dream, the glance 
 Sees— where before he stood, the Enchanter stand, — 
 Bend the vast brow, and stretch the shadowy hand. 
 
 CLXXXII. 
 
 And, human sense reviving, on the ear 
 
 Fall words ambiguous, now with happy hours 
 
 And plighted love, — and now with threats austere 
 Of demon dangers — of malignant Powers 
 
 Whose force might 3^et the counter charm unbind, 
 
 If loosed the silence to her lips enjoin'd. — 
 
 CLXXXIII, 
 
 Then as that Image faded from the verge 
 Of life's renewed horizon — came the day ; 
 
 Yet, ere the vision's last faint gleams submerge 
 Into earth's common light, their parting ray 
 
 On Arthur's brow the faithful memories leave. 
 
 And the Dove's heart still beats in Genevieve ! 
 
 CLXXXTV, 
 
 Still she the presence feels, — resumes the guide. 
 Till slowly, slowly waned the prescient power 
 
 That gave the guardian to the pilgrim's side ; — 
 And only rested, with her human dower 
 
 Of gifts sublime to soothe, but weak to save, 
 
 And blind to warn^ — the Daughter of the Grave, 
 
180 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CLXXXV. 
 
 Yet the last dream bequeathed for ever more 
 Thoughts that did, like a second nature, make 
 
 Life to that life the Dove had hover'd o'er 
 Cling as an instinct, — and for that dear sake 
 
 Danger and Death had found the woman's love 
 
 In realms as near the Angel as the Dove. 
 
 CLXXXIV. 
 
 And now and now is she herself the one 
 To launch the bolt on that beloved life ? 
 
 Shuddering she starts, again she hears the nun 
 Denounce the curse that arms the awful strife ; 
 
 Again her lips the wild cry stilie,^ — " See 
 
 Crida's lost child, thy country's curse, in me !" 
 
 CLXXXVII. 
 
 Or — if along the world of that despair 
 
 Fleet other spectres, — from the ruined steep 
 
 Points the dread arm and hisses thro' the air 
 The avenger's sentence on the father's sleep ! 
 
 The dead seem rising from the yawning floor, 
 
 And the shrine steams as with a shamble's gore. 
 
 CLXXXVIII. 
 
 Sudden she springs, and, from her veiling hands, 
 Lifts the pale courage of her calmed brow; 
 
 With upward eyes, and murmuring lips, she stands, 
 Raising to heaven the new-born hope : — and now 
 
 Glides from the cell along the galleried caves, 
 
 Mute as a moonbeam tiitting over waves. 
 
BOOK XI. 181 
 
 CLXXXIX. 
 
 Now gained the central grot ; now won the stair ; 
 
 The lamp she bore gleamed on the door of stone ; 
 Why halt ? what hand detains ? — she tiirn'd, and there, 
 
 On the nun's serge and brow rebuking, shone 
 The tremulous light ; then fear her lips unchain'd 
 From that stern silence by the Dream ordain'd, 
 
 cxc. 
 
 And at those holy feet the Saxon fell 
 Sobbing, " stay me not ! rather free 
 
 These steps that fly to save Ids Carduel ! 
 Throne, altars, life — his life ! In me, in me, 
 
 To these strange shrines, thy saints in mercy bring 
 
 Crida's lost Child ! — Way, way to save thy king !" 
 
 cxci. 
 Listened the nun; doubt, joy, and awed amaze 
 
 Fused in that lambent atmosphere of soul. 
 Faith in the wise All Good ! — so melt the rays 
 
 Of varying Iris in the lucid whole 
 Of light ; — " Thy people still to Thee are dear, 
 Lord," she murmured, " and Thy hand is here !" 
 
 cxcir. 
 " Yes," cried the suppliant, " if my loss deplored, 
 
 My fate unguest — misled and arm'd my sire ; 
 When to his heart his child shall be restored, 
 
 Sure, war itself will in the cause expire ; 
 Ruth come with joy, — and in that happy hour 
 Hate drop the steel, and Love alone have power ?" 
 
182 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CXCIII. 
 
 Then the nun took the Saxon to her breast, 
 
 Round the bow'd neck she hung her sainted cross, 
 
 And said, " Go forth — beautiful and blest ! 
 And if my king rebuke me for thy loss, 
 
 Be my reply the gain that loss bestow'd, — 
 
 Hearths for his peoj)le, altars for his God !" 
 
 CXCIV. 
 
 She ceased ; — on secret valves revolved the door. 
 Breathed on the silent hill the dawning air ; 
 
 One moment paused the steps of Hope, and o'er 
 The war's vast slumber look'd the Soul of Prayer. 
 
 So halts the bird that from the cage hath flown ; — 
 
 A light bough rustled, and the Dove was gone. 
 
KING ilRTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Preliminary Stanzas ; Scene returns to Carduel ; a day has passed since 
 the retreat of the Saxons into their encampment ; The Cymrians take 
 advantage of the enemy's inactivity, to introduce supplies into the fa- 
 mished city ; Watch all that day, and far into the following night, is 
 kept round the corpse of Caradoc; Before dawn, the burial takes place; 
 The Prophet by the grave of the Bard ; Merlin's address to the Cym- 
 rians, whom he dismisses to the walls, in announcing the renewed as- 
 sault of the Saxons ; Merlin then demands a sacrifice from Lancelot ; 
 gives commissions to the two sons of Faul the Aleman, and takes Paul 
 himself (to whom an especial charge is destined) to the city; The scene 
 changes to the Temple Fortress of the Saxons ; The superstitious panic 
 of the heathen hosts at their late defeat ; The magic divination of the 
 Runic priests ; The magnetic trance of the chosen Soothsayer ; The 
 Oracle he utters ; He demands the blood of a Christian maid ; The 
 pause of the priests and the pagan king ; The abrupt entrance of Ge- 
 nevieve ; Crida's joy ; The priests demand the Victim ; Genevieve's 
 Christian faith is evinced by the Cross which the Nun had hung round 
 her neck ; Crida's reply to the priests ; They dismiss one of their 
 number to inflame the army, and so insure the sacrifice ; The priests 
 lead the Victim to the Altar, and begin their hymn, as the Soothsayer 
 wakes from his trance ; The interruption and the compact ; Crida goes 
 from the Temple to the summit of the tower without ; The invading 
 march of the Saxon troops under Harold described ; The light from the 
 Dragon Keep ; The Saxons scale the walls, and disappear within the 
 town ; The irruption of flames from the fleet ; The dismay of that part 
 of the army that had remained in the camp ; The flames are seen by 
 the rest of the heathen army in the streets of Carduel ; The approach 
 of the Northmen under Gawaine ; The light on the Dragon Keep changes 
 its hue into blood-red, and the Prophet appears on the height of the 
 tower; The retreat of the Saxons from the city ; The joy of the Chief 
 Priest ; The time demanded by the compact has exj)ired ; He summons 
 Crida to complete the sacrifice ; Crida's answer ; The Priest rushes 
 back into the Temple ; The ofi'ering is bound to the Altar ; Faul ! the 
 gleam of the enchanted glaive ; The appearance of Arthur ; The War 
 takes its last stand within the heathen temple ; Crida and the Teuton 
 kings ; Arthur meets Crida hand to hand ; Meanwhile Harold saves 
 the Gonfanon, and follows the bands under his lead to the river side; 
 He addresses them, re-forms their ranks, and leads them to the brow of 
 the hill ; His embassy to Arthur ; The various groups in the heathen 
 temple described; Harold's speech; Arthur's reply ; Merlin's prophetic 
 address to the chiefs of the two races ; The End. 
 
BOOK XII. 
 
 I. 
 
 Flow on, flow on, fair Fable's happy stream, 
 Vocal for aye with Eld's first music-chaunt, 
 
 Where mirror'd far adown the crystal, gleam 
 The golden domes of Carduel and Komaunt ; 
 
 Still one last look on knighthood's peerless ring, 
 
 Of mooned dream-land and the Dragon King ! — 
 
 11. 
 
 Detain me yet amid the lovely throng, 
 
 Hold yet thy Sabbat, thou melodious spell ! 
 
 Still to the circle of enchanted song 
 
 Charm the high Mage of Druid parable. 
 
 The Fairy, barb-led from her Caspian Sea, 
 
 And Genius,* lured from caves in Araby ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Tho' me, less fair if less familiar ways. 
 
 Sought in the paths by earlier steps untrod, 
 
 Allure — yet ever, in the marvel-maze. 
 The flowers afar perfume the virgin sod ; 
 
 The simplest leaf in fairy gardens cull. 
 
 And round thee opens all the Beautiful ! 
 
 * whether or not the fairy of Great Britain and Ireland be of Celtic or Piclish 
 origin, in the rude shape it assumes in the simplest legends; — as soon as it appears 
 in the romance of that later period in which Arthur was the popular hero, it be- 
 trays unequivocal evidence of its identity with the Persian Peri. The Genius is 
 still more obviously the creation of the Kast. 
 
186 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Alas ! the sunset of our Northern main 
 
 Soon lose the tints Hesperian Fancy weaves ; 
 
 Soon the sweet river feels the icy chain, 
 
 And haunted forests shed their murmurous leaves ; 
 
 The bough must wither, and the bird depart, 
 
 And winter clasp the world — as life the heart ! 
 
 V. 
 
 A day had pass'd since first the Saxons fled 
 Before the Christian, and their war lay still ; 
 
 From mom to eve the Cymrian rider spread 
 Where flocks yet graze on some remoter hill, 
 
 Pale, on the walls, fast-sinking Famine waits. 
 
 When hark, the droves come lowing thro' the gates ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yet still, the corpse of Caradoc around. 
 All day, and far into the watch of night, 
 
 The grateful victors guard the sacred ground ; 
 But in that hour when all his race of light 
 
 Leave Eos lone in heaven, — earth's hollow breast 
 
 Oped to the dawn-star and the singer's rest 
 
 VII. 
 
 Now, ere they lowered the corpse, with noiseless tread 
 
 Still as a sudden shadow. Merlin came 
 Thro' the arm'd crowd ; and paused before the dead, 
 
 And, looking on the face, thrice call'd the name, 
 Then, hush'd, thro' all an awed compassion ran, 
 And all gave way to the old quiet man. 
 
BOOK XI. 187 
 
 VIII. 
 
 For Cymri knew that of her children none 
 Had, like the singer, loved the lonely sage ; 
 
 All felt, that there a father call'd a son 
 
 Out from that dreariest void, — bereaved age ; 
 
 Forgot the dread renown, the mystic art, 
 
 And saw but sacred there — the human heart ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 And thrice the old man kiss'd the lips that smiled. 
 And thrice he call'd the name, — then to the grave, 
 
 Hush'd as the nurse that bears a sleeping child 
 To its still mother's breast, — the form he gave : 
 
 With tender hand composed the solemn rest, 
 
 And laid the harp upon the silent breast. 
 
 X. 
 
 And then he sate him down, a little space 
 
 From the dark couch, and so, of none took heed ; 
 
 But lifting to the twilight skies his flxce, 
 
 That secret soul which never man could read. 
 
 Far as the soul it miss'd, from human breath. 
 
 Rose — where Thought rises when it follows Death ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 And swells and falls in gusts the funeral dirge 
 As hollow falls the mould, or swells the mound : 
 
 And (Cymri's warlike wont) upon the verge. 
 The orbed shields are placed in rows around ; 
 
 Now o'er the dead, grass waves ; — the rite is done : 
 
 And a new grave shall greet a rising sun. 
 
188 ' KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Then slowly turned, and calmly moved the sage, 
 On the Bard's grave his stand the Prophet took. 
 
 High o'er the crowd in all his pomp of age 
 August, a glory brightened from his look ; 
 
 Hope flashed in eyes illumined from his own, 
 
 Bright^ as if there some sure redemption shone. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Thus spoke the Seer : '^ Hosannah to the brave ; 
 
 Lo, the eternal heir-looms of your land ! 
 A realm's great treasure house ! The freeman's grave ; 
 
 The hero creed that to the swordless hand 
 Thought, when heroic, gives an army's might ; — 
 And song to nations as to plants the light ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Cymrians, the sun yon towers will scarcely gild. 
 Ere war will scale them ! Here, your task is o'er. 
 
 Your walls your camp, your streets your battle-field ; 
 Each house a fortress ! — One strong effort more 
 
 For God, for Freedom — for your shrines and homes ! 
 
 After the Martyr the Deliverer comes !" 
 
 XV. 
 
 He ceased ; and such the reverence of the crowd, 
 No lip presumed to question. Wonder hushed 
 
 Its curious guess, and only Hope aloud 
 
 Spoke in the dauntless shout : each cheek was flushed ; 
 
 Each eye was bright ;■ — each heart beat high ; and all 
 
 Ranged in due ranks, resought the shatter'd wall : 
 
BOOK XII. - 189 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Save only four, wliom to that holy spot 
 
 The Prophet's whisper stay'd : — of these, the one 
 
 Of knightly port and arms, was Lancelot ; 
 But in the ruder three, with garments won 
 
 From the wild beast, — long hair'd, large limb'd, agen 
 
 See Rhine's strong sons, the convert Alemen ! 
 
 XVIT. 
 
 When these alone remained beside the mound, 
 
 The Prophet drew apart the Paladin, 
 And said, " what time, feud, worse than famine, found 
 
 The Cymrian race, like some lost child of sin 
 That courts, yet cowers from death ; — serene thro' all 
 The jarring factions of the maddening hall. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Thou didst in vain breathe high rebuke to pride, 
 With words sublimely proud. ' No post the man 
 
 Ennobles ; — man the post ! did He who died 
 To crown in death the end His birth began. 
 
 Assume the sceptre when the cross He braved ? 
 
 Did He wear purple in the world He saved ? 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " ' Ye clamour which is worthiest of command,— 
 Place me, whose fathers led the hosts of Gaul, 
 
 Amongst the meanest children of your land ; 
 Let me owe nothing to my fathers, — all 
 
 To such high deeds as raised, ere kings were known, 
 
 The boldest savage to the earliest throne !' 
 
 VOL. II. 13 
 
190 KING ARTHUE. 
 
 XX. 
 
 '' But none did heed tliee, and in scornful grief 
 Went thy still footsteps from the raging hall, 
 
 Where by the altars of the bright Belief 
 
 That spans this cloud-world when its sun-showers fall, 
 
 She, thine in heaven at least assured to be, 
 
 Pray'd not for safety but for death with thee. 
 
 xxr. 
 
 " There, by the altar, did ye join your hands. 
 And in your vow, scorning malignant Time, 
 
 Ye plighted two immortals ! in those bands [clime ; 
 Hope -still wove flowers, — but earth was not their 
 
 Then to the breach alone, resigned, consoled. 
 
 Went Gaul's young hero. — Art thou now less bold ? 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " Thy smile replies ! Know, while we speak, the King 
 Is on the march ; each moment that delays 
 
 The foeman, speeds the conqueror on its wing ; 
 If, till the hour is ripe, the Saxon stays 
 
 His rush, then idly wastes it on our wall, 
 
 Not ours the homes that burn, the shrines that fall ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " But that delay vouchsafed not — -comes in vain 
 The bright achiever of enchanted powers ; 
 
 He comes a king, — no people but the slain, 
 
 And round his throne will crash his blazing towers, 
 
 This is not all ; for him the morn is rife 
 
 With one dire curse that threatens more than life ; — 
 
BOOK XII. 191 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " A curse which, launched, will wither every leaf 
 In victory's crown, chill youth itself to age ! 
 
 Here magic fails — for over love and grief 
 There is no glamour in the brazen page. 
 
 Born of the mind, o'er mind extends mine art : — 
 
 Beyond its circle beats the human heart ! — 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Delay the hour — save Carduel for thy king ; 
 
 Avert the curse ; from misery save thy brother !" 
 " Thrice welcome Death," cried Lancelot, "could it bring 
 
 The bliss to bless mine Arthur ! As the mother 
 Lives in her child, the planet in the sky, 
 Thought in the soul, in Arthur so live I." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Prepare," the Seer replied, " be firm ! — and yield 
 The maid thou lovest to her Saxon sire." 
 
 Like a man lightning-stricken, Lancelot reel'd, 
 As if blinded by the intolerant fire. 
 
 Covered his face with his convulsive hand. 
 
 And groaned aloud, " What woe dost thou demand ? 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " Yield her ! and wherefore ? Cruel as thou art ! 
 
 Can Cymri's king or Carduel's destiny 
 Need the lone ofiering of a loving heart, 
 
 Nothing to kings and states, but all to me ?" 
 " Son," said the prophet, " can the human eye 
 Trace by what wave light quivers from the sky ; 
 
192 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " Explore some thought whose utterance shakes the earth 
 
 Along the airy galleries of the brain ; 
 Or can the human judgment gauge the worth 
 
 Of the least link in Fate's harmonious chain ? 
 All doubt is cowardice — all trust is brave — 
 Doubt^ and desert thy king ; — believe and save." 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Then Lancelot fix'd his keen eyes on the sage, 
 And said, " Am I the sacrifice, or she ? 
 
 Risks she no danger from the heathen's rage, 
 
 She the new Christian ?" — " Danger more with thee ! 
 
 Will blazing roofs and trampled altars yield 
 
 A shelter surer than her father's shield ? 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " If mortal schemes may foil the threatening hour, 
 Thy heart's reward shall crown thine honour's test ; 
 
 And the same fates that crush the heathen power 
 Restore the Christian to the conqueror's breast ; 
 
 Yea, the same lights that gild the nuptial shrine 
 
 Of Arthur, shed a beam as blest on thine !" 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 "I trust and I submit," said Lancelot, 
 
 With pale firm lip. "Go thou — I dare not — I! 
 
 Say, if I yield, that I abandon not ! 
 
 Her form may leave a desert to my eye. 
 
 But here — but hereT — No more his lips could say, 
 
 He smote his bleeding heart, and went his way ! 
 
BOOK XII. 193 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 The Enchanter, thoughtful, turned, and on the grave 
 His look relaxing fell. — " Ah, child, lost child ! 
 
 To thy young life no youth harmonious gave 
 Music ; — no love thine exquisite griefs beguil'd ; 
 
 Thy soul's deep ocean hid its priceless pearl ; — 
 
 And he is loved, and yet repines ! churl !" 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 And murmuring thus, he saw below the mound 
 
 The stoic brows of the stern Alemen, 
 Their gaunt limbs strewn supine along the ground, 
 
 Still as gorged lions couch' d before the den 
 After the feast ; their life no medium knows. 
 Here, headlong conflict, there, inert repose ! 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " Which of these feet could overtake the roe ? 
 
 Which of these arms could grap23le with the bear?" 
 " My first-born," answered Faul, " outstrips the roe ; 
 
 My youngest crushes in his grasp the bear." 
 " Thou, then, the swift one, gird thy loins, and rise ; 
 See o'er the lowland where the vapour lies, 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " Far to the right, a mist from Sabra's wave ; 
 
 Amidst that haze explore a creek rush-grown, 
 Screen'd from the w^aters less remote, which lave 
 
 The Saxon's anchor'd barks, and near a lone 
 Gray crag where bitterns boom ; within that creek 
 Gleams thro' green boughs a galley's brazen peak j 
 
194 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " This gain'd, demand the chief, a Christian knight, 
 The bear's rough mantle o'er his rusted mail ; 
 
 Tell him from me, to tarry till a light 
 
 Burst from the Dragon keep; — then crowd his sail, 
 
 Fire his own ship — and, blazing to the bay. 
 
 Cleave thro' yon fleet his red destroying way; 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 ^^ No arduous feat ; the gallies are unman n'd, 
 Moor'd each to each ; let fire consume them all ! 
 
 Then, the shore won, lead hitherwards the band 
 Between the Saxon camp and Cymrian wall. 
 
 What next behooves, the time itself will show, 
 
 Here counsel ceases ; — there, ye find the foe !" 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Heard the wild youth, and no reply made he. 
 
 But braced his belt and grip'd his spear, and straight 
 
 As the bird flies, he flew. " My son, to thee," 
 Next said the Prophet, " a more urgent fate 
 
 And a more perilous duty are consign'd ; 
 
 Mark, the strong arm requires the watchful mind. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 '' Thou hast to pass the Saxon sentinels ; 
 
 Thou hast to thread the Saxon hosts alone ; 
 Many are there whom thy far Rhine expels 
 
 His swarming war-hive, — and their tongue thine own ; 
 Take from yon Teuton dead the mail'd disguise. 
 Thy speech their ears, thy garb shall dupe their eyes ; 
 
BOOK XII. 195 
 
 XL. 
 
 " The watcli-pass ' Yingolf '"■" wins thee thro' the van, 
 The rest shall danger to thy sense inspire, 
 
 And that quick light in the hard sloth of man 
 Coil'd till sharp need strikes forth the sudden fire. 
 
 The encampment traversed, where the woods behind 
 
 Slope their green gloom, thj stealthy pathway wind ; 
 
 XLI. 
 
 '' Keep to one leftward track, amidst the chase 
 Clear d for the hunter's sport in hap]3ier days ; 
 
 Till scarce a mile from the last tent, a space 
 
 Clasping gray crommell stones, will close the maze. 
 
 There, in the centre of that Druid ring, 
 
 Arm'd men will stand around the Cymrian King : — 
 
 XLII. 
 
 '' Tell him to set upon the tallest pine 
 
 Keen watch, and wait, until from Carduel's tower. 
 High o'er the wood, a starry light shall shine ; 
 
 Not that the signal, tho' it nears the hour. 
 But when the light shall change its hues, and form 
 One orb blood-dyed, as sunsets red with storm ; 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " Then, while the foe their camp unguarded leave, 
 And round our walls their tides tempestuous roll, 
 
 To yon wood pile, the Saxon fortress, cleave ; 
 Be Odin's idol the Deliverer's goal. 
 
 Say to the King, ' In that funereal fane 
 
 Complete thy mission and thy guide regain 
 
 I' " 
 
 * Vingolf. Literally, *' The Abode of Friends ;" the name fur the place in which 
 the heavenly goddesses assemble. 
 
196 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XLTV. 
 
 While spoke the seer, the Teuton's garb of mail 
 The son of Faul had donn'd, and bending now, 
 
 He kissed his father's cheek, " And if I fail," 
 He munnur'd, " leave thy blessing on my brow, 
 
 My father !" Then the convert of the wild 
 
 Look'd up to Heaven, and mutely blessed his child. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " Thou wend with me, proud sire of dauntless men," 
 Resumed the seer : — '' On thy arm let my age 
 
 Lean, as shall thine upon tJieir children !" — Then 
 The loreless savage — the all gifted-sage, 
 
 By the strong bonds of will and heart allied ; 
 
 Went towards the towers of Carduel, side by side. 
 
 xLvr. 
 To Crida's camp the swift song rushing flies ; 
 
 Round Odin's* shrine wild Priests, rune-muttering. 
 Task the weird omens hateful to the skies ; 
 
 Pale by the idol stands the gray-hair'd king ; 
 And, from without, the unquiet armament 
 Booms, in hoarse surge, its chafing discontent. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 For in defeat (when first that multitude 
 
 Shrunk from a foe, and fled the Cymrian sword,) 
 
 The pride of man the wrath of gods had viewed ; 
 Religious horror smote the palsied horde ; 
 
 The field refused, till priest, and seid, and charm. 
 
 Explore the offence, and wrath divine disarm. 
 
 • As throughout this twelfth book, Odin representing more than the mere Woden 
 of the Saxons, assumes the general character of the great War God of the universal 
 Teuton Family, and as it would be here both perplexing and pedantic to mark the 
 
BOOK XII. 197 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 All day, all night, glared fires, dark-red and dull 
 With mystic gums, before the Teuton god, 
 
 And waved o'er runes which Mimer's trunkless skull 
 Had whisper'd Odin — the Diviner's rod; 
 
 And rank with herbs which baleful odours breathed, 
 
 The bubbling hell juice in the caldron seethed. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Now towards that hour when hito coverts dank 
 Slinks back the wolf; when to her callow brood 
 
 Veers, thro' still boughs, the owl; when from the bank 
 The glow-worm wanes; w^hen heaviest droops the w^ood, 
 
 Ere the faint twitter of the earliest lark, — 
 
 Ere dawn creeps chill and timorous thro' the dark ; 
 
 L. 
 
 About that hour, of all the dreariest, 
 
 A flame leaps up from the dull fire's repose. 
 
 And shoots weird sparks along the runes, imprest 
 On stone and elm-bark, ranged in ninefold rows ; 
 
 The vine's deep flush the purpling seid assumes, 
 
 And the strong venom coils in maddening fumes. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Pale grew the elect Diviner's altered brows ; 
 
 Swell'd the large veins, and writhed the foaming lips ; 
 And as some swart and fateful planet glows 
 
 Athwart the disk to which it brings eclipse ; 
 So that strange Pythian madness whose control 
 Seems half to light and half efface the soul, 
 
 faint distinctions between the two ; so in this portion of the work, whether in narra- 
 tive, or in the dialogue of the Saxons, the former appellation of the Deity of the 
 North (Odin) will be uniformly preserved. 
 
198 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LII. 
 
 Broke from the horror of his glaring look ; 
 
 His breath that died in hollow gusts away ; 
 Seized by the grasp of unseen tempests, shook 
 
 To its rack'd base the spirit-house of clay ; 
 Till the dark Power made firm the crushing spell ; 
 And from the man burst forth the voice of hell. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 " The god — the god ! lo, on his throne he reels ! 
 
 Under his knit brows glow his wrathful eyes ! 
 At his dread feet a spectral Valkyr kneels. 
 
 And shrouds her face ! And cloud is in the skies, 
 And neither sun nor star, nor day nor night. 
 But in the cloud a steadfast Cross of Light ! 
 
 LIV. 
 
 " The god — the god ! hide, hide me from his gaze ! 
 
 Its awful anger burns into the brain ! 
 S2)are me, spare me ! Speak, thy child obeys ! 
 
 What rites appease thee. Father of the Slain ?* 
 What direful omen do these signs foreshow ? 
 What victim ask'st thou ? Speak; the blood shall flow !" 
 
 LV. 
 
 Sunk the Possest One — ^writhing with wild throes ; 
 
 And one appalling silence dusk'd the place. 
 As with a demon's wing. Anon, arose. 
 
 Calm as a ghost, the soothsayer : form and face 
 Rigid with iron sleep ; and hollow fell 
 From stonelike lips the hateful oracle. 
 
 « Father of the Slain, Valfader.— Odin. 
 
BOOK XII. 199 
 
 LVI. 
 
 " A cloud wliere Noma's nurse the thunder lowers ; 
 
 A curse is cleaving to the Teuton race ; 
 Before the Cross the stricken Valkyr cowers ; 
 
 The Herr-god trembles on his column'd base ; 
 A virgin's loss aroused the Teuton strife ; 
 A virgin's love hath charm'd the Avenger's life ; 
 
 LVII. 
 
 «' A virgin's blood alone averts the doom ; 
 
 Revives the Valkyr, and preserves the god. 
 Whet the quick steel — she comes, she comes, for w^hom 
 
 The runes glow'd blood-red to the soothsayer's rod ! 
 king, whose wrath the Odin-born array'd. 
 Regain the lost, and yield the Christian maid !" 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 As if that voice had quicken'd some dead thing 
 To give it utterance, so, when ceased the sound. 
 
 The dull eye fix'd, and the faint shuddering 
 
 Stirr'd all the frame ; then sudden on the ground 
 
 Fell heavily the lumpish inert clay, 
 
 From which the demon noiseless rush'd away. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Then the gray priests and the gray king creep near 
 The corpselike man ; and sit them mutely down 
 
 In the still fire's red vaporous atmosphere ; 
 The bubbling caldron sings and simmers on ; 
 
 And thro' the reeks that from the poison rise, 
 
 Looks the w^olf's blood-lust from those cruel eyes. 
 
200 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LX. 
 
 So sat they, musing fell ; — when liark, a shout 
 Rang loud from rank to rank, re-echoing deep ; - 
 
 Hark to the tramp of multitudes without ! 
 
 Near and more near the thickening tumults sweep ; 
 
 King Crida wrathful rose ; " what steps profane 
 
 Thy secret thresholds^ Father of the Slain ?" 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Frowning he strode along the lurid floors, 
 
 And loud, and loud the invading footsteps ring ; 
 
 His hand impetuous flings apart the doors : — 
 " Who dare insult the god, and brave the king ?" 
 
 Swift thro' the throng a bright-haired vision came ; 
 
 Those stern lips falter with a daughter's name ! 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Those hands uplifted, or to curse or smite, 
 
 Fold o'er a daughter's head their tremulous joy ! 
 
 Oh, to the natural worship of delight, 
 
 How came the monstrous dogma — to destroy ! 
 
 Sure, Heaven foreshow'd its gospel to the wild 
 
 In earth's first bond — the father and the child ! 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 While words yet fail'd the bliss of that embrace. 
 The muttering priests, unmoved, each other eyed ; 
 
 Then to the threshold came their measured pace : — 
 " Depart, Profane," their Pagan pontiff cried, 
 
 " Depart, Profane, too near your steps have trod 
 
 To altars darkened with an angry God. 
 
BOOK XII. 201 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 " Dire are the omens ! Skulda rides the clouds, 
 Her sisters tremble"'^ at the Urdar spring ; 
 
 The hour demands us — shun the veil that shrouds 
 The Priests, the God, the Victim and the King." 
 
 Shuddering, the crowds retreat, and whispering low, 
 
 Spread the contagious terrors where they go. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Then the stern elders came to Crida's side. 
 
 And from their lock'd embrace unclasp'd his hands : 
 
 ^' Lo," said their chieftain, " how the gods provide 
 Themselves the offering which the shrine demands ! 
 
 By Odin's son be Odin's voice obey'd ; 
 
 The lost is found — behold, and yield the maid !" 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 As when some hermit saint, in the old day 
 
 Of the soul's giant war with Solitude, 
 From some bright dream which wrajDt his life away 
 
 Amidst the spheres — unclosed his eyes, and view'd, 
 'Twixt sleep and waking, vaguely horrible, 
 The grausame tempter of the gothic hell ; 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 So, on the father's bliss abruptly broke 
 The dreadful memory of his dismal god ; 
 
 And his eyes pleading ere his terrors spoke, 
 
 Look'd round the brows of that foul brotherhood. 
 
 Then his big voice came weak and strangely mild, 
 
 " What mean those words ? — why glare ye on my child ? 
 
 • <' Her sisters tremble," «&c., that is, the other two Fates (the Present and the 
 Past) tremble at the Well of Life. 
 
202 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXVIIT. 
 
 " Do ye not know her ? Elders, she is mine, — 
 My flesh, my blood, mine age's youngest-born ! 
 
 Why are ye mute ? Why point to yonder shrine ? 
 Ay," — and here haughty mth the joy of scorn 
 
 He raised his front. — " Ay, he the voice obeyed 1 
 
 Priests, ye forget, — it was a Christian maid !" 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 He ceased, and laugh'd aloud, as humbled fell 
 Those greedy looks, and mutteringly replied 
 
 Faint voices, " True, so said the Oracle ! 
 When the arch Elder, with an eager stride 
 
 Reach'd child and sire, and cried, " See Crida, there, 
 
 On the maid's breast the Cross that Christians wear !'• 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Those looks, those voices, thrill'd thro' Genevieve, 
 With fears as yet vague, shapeless, undefined ; 
 
 " Father," she murmured, " Father, let us leave 
 These dismal precincts ; how those eyes unkind 
 
 Freeze to my soul ; sweet father, let us go ; 
 
 My heart to thine would speak ! why frown'st thou so ?" 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 "" Tear from thy breast that sign, unhappy one ! 
 
 Sign to thy country's wrathful gods accurst ! 
 Back, priests of Odin, I am Odin's son. 
 
 And she my daughter ; in my war-shield nurst, 
 Reared at your altars ! Trample down the sign, 
 child, and say — the Saxon's God is mine !" 
 
BOOK XII. 203 
 
 Lxxir. 
 
 Infant, who came to bid a war relent, 
 
 And rob ambition of its carnage-prize, 
 Is it on thee those sombre brows are bent ? 
 
 For thee the death-greed in those ravening eyes ? 
 Thy task undone, thy gentle prayer unspoken ? 
 Ay, press the cross ; it is the martyr's token ! 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 She press'd the cross with one firm faithful hand, 
 While one — (that trembled !) — clasp'd her father's 
 knees ; 
 
 As clings a wretch, that sinks in sight of land. 
 To reeds swept with him down the weltering seas, 
 
 And murmured, " Pardon ; Him whose agony 
 
 Was earth's salvation, I may not deny ! 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 '^ Him who gave God the name I give to thee, 
 ' Father,' — in Him, in Christ, is my belief!" 
 
 Then Crida turned unto the priests, — " Ye see," 
 Smiling, he said, "that I have done with grief: 
 
 Behold the victim ! be the God obey'd ! 
 
 The son of Odin dooms the Christian maid !" 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 He said, and from his robe he wrench'd the hand, 
 And, where the gloom was darkest, stalk'd away. 
 
 But whispering low, still pause the hellish band ; 
 And dread lest Nature yet redeem the prey. 
 
 And deem it wise against such chance to arm 
 
 The priesthood's puissance with the host's alarm ; 
 
204 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 To bruit abroad the dark oracular threats, 
 
 From which the Virgin's blood alone can save; 
 
 Gird with infuriate fears the murtherous nets, 
 And plant an army to secure a grave ; 
 
 The whispers cease — the doors one gleam of day 
 
 Give — and then close ; — the blood-hound slinks away. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Around the victim — where, with wandering hand, 
 Tho' her blind tears she seems to search thro' space, 
 
 For him who had forsaken, — circling stand 
 The solemn butchers; calm in every face 
 
 And death in every he:\rt ; till from the belt 
 
 Stretched one lean hand and grasp'd her where she knelt. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 And her wild shriek went forth and smote the shrine, 
 Which echoed, shrilling back the sharp despair. 
 
 Thro' the waste gaps between the shafts of pine 
 To th' unseen father's ear. Before the glare 
 
 Of the weird fire, the sacrifice they chain 
 
 To stones impress'd with rune and shamble-stain. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Then wait (for so their formal rites compel) 
 Till from the trance that still his senses seals, 
 
 Awakes the soothsayer of the oracle ; 
 
 At length with tortured spasms, and slowly, steals 
 
 Back the reluctant life — slow as it creeps 
 
 To one hard-rescued from the drowning deeps. 
 
BOOK XII. . 205 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 And when from dim, uncertain, swimming eyes 
 The gaunt long fingers put the shaggy hair, 
 
 And on the j)riests, the shrine, the sacrifice, 
 Dwelt the fixed sternness of the glassy stare. 
 
 Before the god they led the demon-man, 
 
 And, circling round the two, their hymn began. 
 
 LXXXI, 
 
 So rapt in their remorseless ecstasy, 
 
 They did not hear the quick steps at the door, 
 
 Nor that loud knock, nor that impatient cry ; 
 
 Till shook, — till crash 'd, the portals on the floor, — 
 
 Crash'd to the strong hand of the fiery Thane ; 
 
 And Harold's stride came clanging up the fane. — 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 But from his side bounded a shape as light 
 
 As forms that glide thro' Elf heim's limber air ; • 
 
 Swift to the shrine — where on those robes of white 
 The gloomy hell fires scowled their sullen glare. 
 
 Thro' the death-chaunting choir,— she sprang,— she prest, 
 
 And bowed her head upon the victim's breast ; 
 
 LXXXIIT. 
 
 And cried, " With thee, with thee, to live or die. 
 With thee, my Genevieve !" the Elders raised 
 
 Their hands in wrath, when from as stern an eye 
 And brow erect as theirs, they shrunk amazed — 
 
 And Harold spoke, " Ye priests of Odin, hear ! 
 
 Your Gods are mine, their voices I revere. 
 
 VOL. II. 14 
 
206 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 " Voices in winds, in groves, in hollow caves, 
 Oracular dream, or runic galdra sought ; 
 
 But ages ere from Don's ancestral waves 
 
 Such wizard signs the Scythian Odin brought, 
 
 A voice that needs no priesthood's sacred art. 
 
 Some earlier God placed in the human heart. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 " I bow to charms that doom embattled walls ; 
 
 To dreams revealing no unworthy foe ; 
 A warrior's God in Glory's clarion calls ; 
 
 Where war-steeds snort and hurtling standards flow ; 
 But when weak women for strong men must die, 
 My Man's proud nature gives your Gods the lie ! 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 '- If, — not yon seer by fumes and dreams beguiled, 
 But, Odin's self stood where his image stands, 
 
 Against the god I w^ould protect my child ! 
 
 Ha,Crida! — come! — ^/^t/ child in chains! — those hands 
 
 Lifted to smite ! — and thou, whose kingly bann 
 
 Arms nations, — wake, statue, into man !" 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 For from his lair, and to his liegeman's side 
 
 Had Crida listening strode : When ceased the Thane, 
 
 His voice, comprest and tremulous, replied, — 
 
 " The life thou plead'st for doth these shrines profane, 
 
 In Odin's son a father lives no more ; 
 
 Yon maid adores the God our foes adore." 
 
BOOK XII. 207 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 "And I — and I, stern king!" — Genevra cries, 
 " Her God is mine, and if that faith is crime, 
 
 Be just — and take a twofold sacrifice !" 
 
 " Cease," cried the Tliane, — " is this, ye Powers^ a time 
 
 For kings and chiefs to lean on idle blades, — 
 
 Our leaders dreamers^ and our victims maids ? 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 ^' Be vaiying gods by varying tribes addrest, 
 I scorn no gods that worthy foes adore ; 
 
 Brave was the arm that humbled Harold's crest, 
 And large the heart that did his child restore. 
 
 To all the valiant, Gladsheim's Halls unclose ;* 
 
 In Heaven the comrades were on Earth the foes. 
 
 xc. 
 
 " And if our Gods are wrath, what wonder, when 
 Their traitor priests creep whispering coward fears ; 
 
 Unnerve the arms and rot the hearts of men, 
 
 And filch the conquest from victorious spears ? — 
 
 Yes, reverend Elders, one such priest I found. 
 
 And cheer'd my bandogs on the meaner hound !" 
 
 XCT. 
 
 " Be dumb, blasphemer," cried the Pontiff seer, 
 " Depart, or dread the vengeance of the shrine ; 
 
 Depart or armies from these floors shall hear 
 
 How chiefs can mock what nations deem divine ; 
 
 Then, let her Christian faith thy daughter boast, 
 
 And brave the answer of the Teuton host !" 
 
 * Gladshcim, Heaven ; Walhalla, (" the Hall of the Chosen,") did not exclude 
 brave foes who fell in battle. 
 
208 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 xcir. 
 
 A paler hue shot o'er the hardy face 
 
 Of the great Earl, as thus the Elder spoke ; 
 
 But calm he answered, " Summon Odm's race ; 
 On me and mine the Teuton's wrath invoke 1 
 
 Let sliuddering fathers learn wdiat priests can dream, 
 
 And warriors judge if / their Gods blaspheme ! 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 " But peace, and hearken. — To the king I speak : — ■ 
 With mine own lithsmen, and such willing aid 
 
 As Harold's tromps arouse, — ^yon walls I seek ; 
 Be Cymri's throne the ransom of the maid. 
 
 On Carduel's wall, if Saxon standards wave, 
 
 Let Odin's arms the needless victim save ! 
 
 xciv. 
 
 " Grant me till noon to prove wdiat men are worth, 
 Who serve the War God by the warlike Deed ; 
 
 Refuse me this. King Crida, and henceforth 
 
 Let chiefs more prized the Mercian armies lead ; 
 
 For I, blunt Harold, join no cause with those 
 
 Who, wolves for victims, are as hares to foes !" 
 
 xcv. 
 Scornful he ceased, and leaned upon his sword ; 
 
 Whispering the Priests, and silent Crida, stood. 
 A living Thor to that barbarian horde 
 
 Was the bold Thane, — and ev'n the men of blood 
 Felt Harold's loss amid the host's dismay 
 Would rend the clasp that link'd the wild array. 
 
BOOK XII. 209 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 At length out spoke the priestly chief, "' The gods 
 Endure the boasts, to bow the pride, of men ; 
 
 The Well of Wisdom sinks in Ilelfs abode ; 
 The Laeca shines beside the bautasten,* 
 
 And Truth too oft illumes the eyes that scorned 
 
 In the death-flash from which in vain it warned. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 " Be the delay the pride of man demands 
 
 Vouchsafed, the nothingness of man to show ! 
 
 The gods unsoftened, march thy futile bands : 
 Till noon we spare the victim ; — seek the foe ! 
 
 But when with equal shadows rests the sun — 
 
 The altar reddens^ or the walls are won !" 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 " So be it," the Thane replied, and sternly smiled ; 
 
 Then towards the sister-twain, vrith pitying brow. 
 Whispering he came, — " Fair friend of ELarold's child, 
 
 Let our own gods at least be with thee now ; 
 Pray that the Asas bless the Teuton strife. 
 And guide the swords that strike for thy sweet hfe." 
 
 xcix. 
 
 " Alas !" cried Genevieve, " Christ came to save. 
 Not slay : He taught the weakest how to die ; 
 
 For me, for me, a nation ghit the grave ! 
 
 That nation Christ's, and — No, the victim II 
 
 Not now for life, my father, see me kneel, 
 
 But one kind look, — and then, how blunt the steel !" 
 
 * The Scin Lseca, or shining corpse, tliat was seen before thebautaslen, or burial- 
 stone of a dead hero was supposed to possess prophetic powers, and to guard the 
 treasures of the grave. 
 
210 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 C. 
 
 And Cricla moved not ! Moist were Harold's eyes ; 
 
 Bending, lie whisper'd in Genevra's ear, 
 ^^ Thy presence is her safety ! Time denies 
 
 All words but these ; — hope in the brave ; revere 
 The gods they serve : — by acts our faith we test ; 
 The holiest gods are where the men are best." 
 
 CI. 
 
 With this he turned, '^ Ye 2:)riests/' he called aloud^ 
 " On every head within these walls, I set 
 
 Dread weregeld for the compact ; blood for blood !" 
 Then o'er his brows he closed his bassinet, 
 
 Shook the black death-pomj:) of his shadowy plume^ 
 
 And his arm'd stride was lost amidst the gloom. — 
 
 CII. 
 
 And still poor Genevieve with mournful eyes 
 Gazed on the father, whose averted brows 
 
 And more of darkness for her soul than lies 
 Under the lids of death. The murmurous 
 
 And lurid air buzzed with a si:hostlike sound 
 
 From patient murder's iron lip ; — and round 
 
 cm. 
 
 The delicate form which, like a Psyche, seemed 
 Beauty sublimed into the type of soul. 
 
 Fresh from such stars as ne'er on Paphos beamed, 
 When first on love the chastening vision stole, — 
 
 The sister virgin coil'd her clasp of woe ; 
 
 Ev'n as that Sorrow which the Soul must know 
 
BOOK XII. 211 
 
 CIV. 
 
 Till Soul and Love meet never more to part. 
 
 At last, from under his wide mantle's fold, 
 The strain'd arms lock'd on his loud-beating heart, 
 
 (As if the anguish which the king controll'd, 
 The man could stifle,) — Crida toss'd on high; — 
 And nature conquer'd in the father's cry ! 
 
 cv. 
 
 Over the kneeling form swept his gray hair ; 
 
 On the soft upturned eyes prest his wild kiss ; 
 And then recoiling with a livid stare, 
 
 He faced the priests, and muttered, " Dotage this ! 
 Crida is old, — come — come," and from the ring 
 Beckoned their chief, and went forth tottering. 
 
 cvi. 
 
 Out of the fane, up where the stair of pine 
 
 Wound to the summit of the camp's rough tower. 
 
 King Crida passed. On moving armour shine 
 The healthful beams of the fresh morning hour; 
 
 He hears the barb's shrill neigh, — the clarion's swell. 
 
 And half his armies march to Carduel. 
 
 CVII. 
 
 Far in the van, like Odin's fatal bird 
 
 Wing'd for its feast, sails Harold's raven plume. 
 
 Now from the city's heart a shout is heard. 
 
 Wall, bastion, tower, their steel-clad life resume ; 
 
 Far shout ! faint forms ! yet seem they loud and clear 
 
 To that strain'd eyeball and that feverish ear. 
 
212 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 But not on hosts that march bj Harold's side, 
 
 Gazed the stern priest, who stood with Crida there ; 
 
 On sullen gloomy groupes — discattered wide, 
 Grudging the conflict they refuse to share, 
 
 Or seated round rude tents and piled spears : 
 
 Circling the mutter of rebellious fears ; 
 
 CIX. 
 
 Or, near the temple fort, with folded arms 
 
 On their broad breasts, waiting the deed of blood : 
 
 On these he gazed — to gloat on the alarms 
 That made lihn monarch of that multitude ! 
 
 Not one man there had pity in his eye. 
 
 And the priest smiled, — then turned to watch the sky. 
 
 ex. 
 
 And the sky deepen'd, and the time rush'd on. 
 
 And Cricla sees the ladders on the wall ; 
 And dust-clouds gather round his gonfanon ; 
 
 And thro' the dust-clouds glittering rise and fall 
 The meteor lights of helms, and shields, and glaives ; 
 Up o'er the rampires mount the labouring waves ; 
 
 cxi. 
 
 And joyous rings the Saxon's battle shout ; 
 
 And Cymri's angel cry wails like despair ; 
 And from the Dragon Keep a light shines out, 
 
 Calm as a single star in tortured air, 
 To whose high peace, aloof from storms, in vain 
 Looks a lost navy from the violent main. 
 
BOOK XII. 213 
 
 CXII. 
 
 Now on the nearest wall the Pale Horse stands ; 
 
 Now from the wall the Pale Horse lightens down ; 
 And flash and vanish, file on file, the bands 
 
 Into the rent heart of the howling town ; 
 And the Priest paling frown'd upon the sun, — 
 Though the sky deepened and the time rush'd on. 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 When from the camp around the fane, there rose 
 Ineffable cries of wonder, wrath, and fear, 
 
 With some strange light that scares the sunshine, glows 
 O'er Sabra's waves the crimson'd atmosphere, 
 
 And dun from out the widening, widening glare, 
 
 Like Hela's serpents, smoke-reeks wind thro' air. 
 
 cxiv. 
 Forth look'd the king appall'd ! and where his masts 
 
 Soared from the verge of the far forest-land. 
 He hears the crackling, as when vernal blasts 
 
 Shiver Groninga's pines — " Lo, the same hand," 
 Cried the fierce priest,"wliich sway'd the soothsayer's rod , 
 Writes now the last runes of thine angry god !" 
 
 cxv. 
 
 And here and there, and wirbelling to and fro. 
 
 Confused, distraught, pale thousands spread the plain; 
 
 Some snatch their arms in haste, and yelling go 
 
 Where the fleets burn ; some creep around the fane 
 
 Like herds for shelter ; prone on earth lie some 
 
 Shrieking, '- The Twilight* of the Gods hath come !" 
 
 • The Twilight of the Gods (Ragnorok), viz., the Last Day, when the world 
 shall be destroyed in fire. 
 
214 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 cxvi. 
 
 And the great glare hath reddened o'er the town. 
 And seems the strife it gildeth to appall ; 
 
 Flock back dim straggling Saxons, gazing down 
 The lurid vaUies from the jagged wall, 
 
 Still as on Cuthite towers Chaldean seers, 
 
 When some red portent flamed into the spheres. 
 
 ex VII. 
 
 And now from brake and copse — from combe and dell, 
 Gleams break ; — steel flashes ; — helms on helms arise ; 
 
 Faint heard at first, — now near, now thunderous, — swell 
 The Cj' mrian mingled with the Baltic cries ; 
 
 And, loud alike in each, — exulting came 
 
 War's noblest music — a Deliverer's name. 
 
 CXVIlf. 
 
 " Arthur ! — for Arthur ! — Arthur is at hand ! 
 
 AYoe, Saxons, woe !" Then from the rampart height 
 Yanish'd each watcher ; while the rescue-band 
 
 Sweep the clear slopes ; and not a foe in sight ! 
 And now the beacon on the Dragon Keep 
 Springs from pale lustre into hues blood-deep. 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 And on that tower stood forth a lonely man ; 
 
 Full on his form the beacon glory fell ; 
 And joy revived each sinking Cymrian ; 
 
 There, the still Prophet watched o'er Carduel ! 
 Back o'er the walls, and back thro' gate and breach, 
 Now ebbs the war, like billows from the beach. 
 
BOOK XII. 215 
 
 cxx. 
 
 Along the battlements swift crests arise, 
 
 Swift followed by avenging, smiting ])rands ; 
 
 And fear and flight are in the Saxon cries ! 
 The Portals vomit bands on hurtling bands ; 
 
 And lo, wide streaming o'er the helms, — again 
 
 The Pale Horse flings on angry winds its mane ! 
 
 cxxi. 
 And facing still the foe, but backward borne 
 
 By his own men, towers high one kingiiest chief; 
 Deep thro' the distance rolls his shout of scorn. 
 
 And the grand anguish of a hero's grief. 
 Bounded the Priest ! — " The Gods are heard at last ! — 
 Proud Harold flieth ; — and the noon is past ! 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 '^ Come, Crida, come !" Up as from heavy sleep 
 The gray-hair'd giant raised his awful head \ 
 
 As, after calmest w^aters, the swift leap 
 Of the strong torrent rushes to its bed, — 
 
 So the new passion seized and changed the form, 
 
 As if the rest had braced it for the storm. 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 No grief was in the iron of that brow^ ; 
 
 Age cramp'd no sinew in that mighty arm ; 
 " Go," he said, sternly, " where it fits thee, thou : 
 
 Thy post with Odin — mine wdth Managarm 1* 
 Let priests avert the danger kings must dare ; 
 My shrine yon standard, and my children — there P' 
 
 * Manasrarm, the Monster Wolf (symbolically, war). *' He will be fill'd with 
 the blo.'d of men who draw near their end,'' &,c. (Pkose Euua.) 
 
216 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 cxxiv. 
 
 So from the height he swept — as doth a cloud 
 That brings a tempest when it sinks below ; 
 
 Swift strides a chief amidst the ja^rring crowd ; 
 Swift in stern ranks the rent disorders grow ; 
 
 Swiftj as in sails becalm'd swells forth the wind, 
 
 The wide mass quickens with the one strong mind. 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 Meanwhile the victim to the Demon vow^'d, 
 
 Knelt ; every thought wing'd for the Angel goal, 
 
 And ev'n the terror which the form had bow'd 
 
 Search'd but new sweetness where it shook the soul. 
 
 Self was forgot, and to the Eternal Ear 
 
 Prayer but for others spoke the human fear. 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 And when at moments from that rapt communion 
 With the Invisible Holy, those young arms 
 
 Clasp'd round her neck, to childhood's happy union 
 In the old days recalled her ; such sweet charms 
 
 Did Comfort weave, that in the sister's breast 
 
 Grief like an infant sobb'd itself to rest. 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 Up leapt the solemn priests from dull repose : 
 The fires were fann'd as with a sudden wind ; 
 
 While shrieking loud, " Hark, hark, the conquering foes ! 
 Haste, haste, the victim to the altar bind !" 
 
 Rush'd to the shrine the haggard Slaughter-Chief. — 
 
 As the strong gusts that vv hirl the fallen leaf 
 
BOOK XII. 217 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 r the month when wolves descend, the barharous hands 
 Plunge on the prey of their deUrious wrath, 
 
 Wrench'd from Genevra's clasp ; — Lo, where she stands, 
 On earth no anchor, — is she less like Faith ? 
 
 The same smile firmly sad, the same calm eye, 
 
 The same meek strength ; — strength to forgive and die ! 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 '^ Hear us, Odin, in this last despair ! 
 
 Hear us, and save !" the Pontifi:' call'd aloud ; 
 " By the Child's blood we shed, thy children spare !" 
 
 And the knife glitter'd o'er the breast that bow'd. 
 Dropp'd blade ; — fell priest ! — blood chokes a gurgling 
 
 groan ; 
 Blood, — blood not Gliristian^ dyes the altar stone ! 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 Deep in the doomer's breast it sank — the dart ; 
 
 As if from Fate it came invisibly ; 
 Where is the hand ? — from what dark hush shall start 
 
 Foeman or fiend ? — no shape appalls the eye. 
 No sound the ear ; — ice-lock'd each coward breath ; 
 The Power the Deathsmen call'd, hath heard them — 
 Death ! 
 
 CXXXI. 
 
 While yet the stupor stuns the circle there. 
 
 Fierce shrieks— loud feet— come rushing thro' the doors; 
 
 Women with outstretch'd arms and tossing hair, 
 And flying warriors, shake the solemn floors ; 
 
 Thick as the birds storm-driven on the decks 
 
 Of some lone ship — the last an ocean wrecks. 
 
218 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 And where on tumult, tumult whirl'd and roar'd, 
 Shrill'd cries, " The fires around us and behind, 
 
 And the last Fire-God, and the Flaming Sword !"* 
 And from witliout, like that destroying wind 
 
 In which the world shall perish, grides and sweeps 
 
 Victory — swift-cleaving thro' the battle deeps ! — 
 
 CXXXITI. 
 
 Victory, by shouts of terrible rapture known. 
 Thro' crashing ranl^s it drives in iron rain ; 
 
 Borne on the wings of fire it blazes on ; 
 It halts its storm before the fortress fane ; 
 
 And thro' the doors, and thro' the chinks of pine. 
 
 Flames its red breath upon the paling shrine. 
 
 cxxxiv. 
 Eoused to their demon courage by the dread 
 
 Of the wild hour, the priests a voice have found ; 
 To pious horror show their sacred dead. 
 
 Invoke the vengeance, and explore the ground ; 
 When, like the fiend in monkish legends known. 
 Sprang a grim image on the altar stone ! 
 
 CXXXV. 
 
 The w^olf's hide bristled on the shaggy breast, 
 
 Over the brows, the forest buffalo 
 With horn impending arm'd the grisly crest. 
 
 From which the swart eye sent its savage glow. 
 Long shall the Saxon dreams that shape recall, 
 And ghastly legends teem wdth tales of Faul if 
 
 * "And the last Fire-God and the Flaming Sword," i. e , Surtur the genius, who 
 dwells in the region of fire (Muspelheini), wliose flaming sword shall vanquish the 
 gods themselves in tlie last day. (Pkosk Euda.) 
 
 J- Faul is indeed the name of one of the malignant Powers peculiarly dreaded 
 
BOOK XII. 219 
 
 cxxxvi. 
 
 Needs liere to tell, that when, at Merlin's liest, 
 Faul led to Harold's tent the Saxon maid, 
 
 The wrathful Thane had chased the skulking priest, 
 From the paled ranks, that evil Bode'-' dismay'd : — 
 
 And the grim tidings of the rite to come 
 
 Flew lip to lip thro' that awed Heathendom. 
 
 CXXXVII. 
 
 Foretaught by Merlin of her mission there. 
 Scarce to her father's heart Genevra sprung 
 
 Than (while most soften'd) her impassioned prayer 
 Pierced to its human deeps; and, roused and stung 
 
 By that keen pit}^, keenest in the brave, — 
 
 Strength felt why strength is given, and rush'd to save. 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 Amidst those quick emotions, half forgot, 
 
 Followed the tutored furtive Aleman ; 
 On, when the portals crash'd, still heeded not. 
 
 Stole his light step behind the striding Thane. 
 From coign to shaft the practised glider crept, 
 A shadow, lost Avhere shadoAvs darkest slept. 
 
 CXXXIX. 
 
 And safe and screened the idol god behind, 
 
 He who once lurked to slay, kept watch to save : — 
 
 Now there he stood ! And the same altar shrined 
 The wild man, the wild god ! and up the nave 
 
 Flight flowed on flight ; and near and loud, the name 
 
 Of ' Arthur' borne as on a whirlwind came. 
 
 by the Saxons, — a name that I cannot discover to have been known to other 
 branches of the Gre it Teuton Family. 
 • Bode, Saxon word for messenger. 
 
220 KIXG ARTHUR. 
 
 CXL. 
 
 Down from tlie altar to the victim's side, 
 
 While yet shrunk back the priests — the savage leapt^ 
 And with quick steel gash'd the strong cords that tied ; 
 
 When round them both the rallying vengeance swept ; 
 Raised every arm ; — joy ! — the enchanted glaive 
 Shines o'er the threshold ! is there time to save ? 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 Whirls thro' the air a torch, — it flies — it falls ^ 
 
 Into the centre of the murderous throng! 
 
 Dread herald of dread steps ! the conscious halls 
 Quake where the falchion flames and fleets along ; 
 
 Tho' crowd on crowd behold the falchion cleave ! — 
 
 The Silver Shield rests over Genevieve ! 
 
 cxLir. 
 
 Bright as the shape that smote the Assyrian, 
 The fulgent splendor from the arms divine 
 
 Paled the hell fires round God's elected Man, 
 And burst like Truth upon the demon-shrine. 
 
 Among the thousands stood the Conquering One, 
 
 Still, lone, and unresisted as a sun ! 
 
 CXLIIT. 
 
 Now thro' the doors, commingling side by side, 
 Saxon and Cymrian struggle hand in hand ; 
 
 For there the war, in its fast ebbing tide, 
 
 Flings its last prey — there, Crida takes his stand ; 
 
 There his co-monarchs hail a funeral pyre 
 
 That opes Walhalla from the grave of fire. 
 
BOOK XII. 221 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 And as a tiger swept aclown a flood 
 
 With meaner beasts, that dyes the howling water 
 Which whirls it onward, wdth a waste of blood ; 
 
 And gripes a stay with fangs that leave the slaughter. 
 So where halts Crida, groans and falls a foe — 
 And deep in gore his steps receding go. 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 And his large sword has made in reeking air 
 
 Broad space (thro' which, around the golden ring 
 
 That crownlike clasps the sweep of his gray hair). 
 Shine the tatl helms of many a Teuton king. 
 
 Lord of the West — broad-breasted Chevaline ; 
 
 And Ymrick's son of Hengist's giant line; 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 Fierce Sibert, throned by Britain's kinghest river, 
 And Elrid, honoured in Northumbrian homes ; 
 
 And many a sire whose stubborn soul for ever 
 
 Shadows the fields where England's thunder comes. 
 
 High o'er them all his front gray Crida rears. 
 
 As some old oak whose crest a forest clears. 
 
 CXLVII. 
 
 High o'er them all, that front fierce Arthur sees, 
 And knows the arch invader of the land. 
 
 Swift thro' the chiefs — swift path his falchion frees; 
 Corpse falls on corpse before the avenger s hand : 
 
 For fair-hair'd, J^lla, Cantia's maids shall wail, 
 
 Hurl'd o'er the dead, rings Elrid's crashing mail ; 
 VOL. n. 15 
 
222 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CXLVIII. 
 
 His follower's arms stunn'd Sibert's might receive, 
 And from the sure death snatch their bleeding lord ; 
 
 And now behold, fearful Genevieve, 
 
 O'er thy doom'd father shines the charmed sword ! 
 
 And shaking, as it shone, the glorious blade, 
 
 The hand for very wrath the death delay'd. 
 
 CXLIX. 
 
 " At last, at last we meet, on Cymri's soil ; 
 
 And foot to foot ! Destroyer of my shrines, 
 And murderer of my people ! Ay, recoil 
 
 Before the doom thy quailing soul divines ! 
 Ay — turn thine eyes, — nor hosts nor flight can save ! 
 Thy foe is Arthur — and these halls thy grave !" 
 
 CL. 
 
 ^'Flight," laughed the king, whose glance had wandered 
 round, 
 
 Where thro' the throng had pierced a woman's cry, 
 " Flight for a chief, by Saxon warriors crown'd, 
 
 And from a Walloon ! — this is my reply !" 
 And, both hands heaving up the sword enorme. 
 Swept the swift orbit round the luminous form ; 
 
 CLT. 
 
 Full on the gem the iron drives its course. 
 
 And shattering clinks in splinters on the floor ; 
 
 The foot unsteadied by tlie blow's spent force. 
 Slides on the smoothness of the soil of gore ; 
 
 Gore, quench the blood-thirst ! guard, soil, the guest ! 
 
 For Freedom's heel is on the Invader's breast ! 
 
BOOK XII. 22 
 
 o 
 
 CLII. 
 
 When, swift beneath the flasliing of the bhide. 
 When, swift before the bosom of the foe, 
 
 She sprang, she came, she knelt, — the guardian maid ! 
 And, starthng vengeance from the righteous blow, 
 
 Cried, " Spare, Oh spare, this sacred life to me, 
 
 A father's life I — I would have died for thee !" 
 
 CLHI. 
 
 While thus within, the Christian God prevails, 
 
 Without the idol temple, fast and far. 
 Like rolling storm-wrecks, shattered by the gales, 
 
 Fly the dark fragments of the Heathen War, 
 Where, thro' the fires that flash from camp to wave, 
 Escape the land that locks them in its grave ? 
 
 CLIV. 
 
 When by the Hecla of their burning fleet 
 Dismay'd amidst the marts of Carduel, 
 
 The Saxons rush'd without the walls to meet 
 
 The Viking's swords, which their mad terrors swell 
 
 Into a host — assaulted, rear and van. 
 
 Scarce smote the foe before the flight began. 
 
 CLV. 
 
 In vain were Harold's voice, and name, and deeds. 
 Unnerved by omen, priest, and shapeless fear. 
 
 And less by man than their own barbarous creeds 
 Appall'd, — a God in every shout they hear, 
 
 And in their blazinsc barks behokl unfurl'd, 
 
 The wings of Muspell* to consume the world. 
 
 * Muspell, Fire ; Muspelheim, the region of Fire, the final destroyer. 
 
224 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 cLvi. 
 
 Yet still awhile the heart of the great Thane, 
 And the stout few that gird the gonfanon, 
 
 Build a steel bulwark on the midmost plain, 
 That stem^ all Cjmri, — so Despair fights on. 
 
 When from the camp the new volcanoes spring, 
 
 With sword and fire he comes, — the Dragon King ! 
 
 CLVII. 
 
 Then all, save Harold, shriek to Hope farewell ; 
 
 Melts the last barrier ; through the clearing space. 
 On towards the camp the Cymrian chiefs compel 
 
 The ardent followers from the tempting chase ; 
 Thro' Crida's ranks to Arthu/s side they gain, 
 And blend two streams in one resistless main. 
 
 CLVIII. 
 
 True to his charge as chief, mid all disdain 
 Of recreant lithsmen — Harold's iron soul 
 
 Sees the storm sweep beyond it o'er the plain ; 
 And lofty duties, yet on earth, controul 
 
 The yearnings for Walhalla : — Where the day 
 
 Paled to the burning ships — he towered away. 
 
 CLIX. 
 
 And with him, mournful, drooping, rent and torn, 
 But captive not — the Pale Horse dragg'd its mane. 
 
 Beside the fire-reflecting waves, forlorn. 
 
 As ghosts that gaze on Phlegethon — the Thane 
 
 Saw listless leaning o'er the silent coasts. 
 
 The spectre wrecks of what at morn were hosts. 
 
BOOK XII. 225 
 
 CLX. 
 
 Tears rush'd to burning eyes, and choked awhile 
 The trumpet music of his manly voice, 
 
 At length he spoke : " And are ye then so vile ! 
 A death of straw ! Is that the Teuton's choice ? 
 
 By all our gods, I hail that reddening sky, 
 
 And bless the burning fleets wdiich flight deny ! 
 
 CLXI. 
 
 '' Lo, yet the thunder clothes the charger's mane, 
 As when it crested Hengist's helmet crown ! 
 
 What ye have lost — an hour can yet regain ; 
 Life has no path so short as to renown ! 
 
 Shrunk if your ranks, — when first from Albion's shore 
 
 Your sires carved Kingdoms, were their numbers more ? 
 
 CLXII. 
 
 '■' If not your valour, let your terrors speak. 
 
 Where fly ? — what path can lead you from the foes ? 
 Where hide ? — what cavern wnll not vengeance seek ? 
 
 What shun ye ? Death ? — Death smites ye in repose ! 
 Back to your king ; from Hela snatch the brave — 
 We best escape, when most we scorn, the grave." 
 
 CLxni. 
 
 Boused by the words, tho' half reluctant still. 
 The listless ranks re-form their slow array, 
 
 Sullen but stern they labour up the hill. 
 
 And gain the brow ! — In smouldering embers lay 
 
 The castled camp, and slanting sunbeams shed 
 
 Light o'er the victors — quiet o'er the dead. 
 
226 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CLXTV. 
 
 Hush'd was the roar of war — the conquered ground 
 Waved with the ghtter of the Cymrian spears ; 
 
 The temple fort the Dragon standard crown'd ; 
 And Christian anthems peal'd on Pagan ears : 
 
 The Mercian halts his bands — their front survej^s ; 
 
 No fierce eye kindles to his fiery gaze. 
 
 CLXV. 
 
 One dull, disheartened, but not dastard gloom 
 Clouds every brow, — like men compelled to die, 
 
 Who see no hope that can elude the doom, 
 Prepared to Ml but powerless to defy. 
 
 Not those the ranks, yon ardent hosts to face ! 
 
 The Hour had conquered earth's all conquering race. 
 
 CLXVI. 
 
 The leader paused, and into artful show. 
 Doubling the numbers with extended wing, 
 
 *^ Here halt," he said, " to yonder hosts I go 
 With terms of peace or war to Cymri's king." 
 
 Tie turned, and towards the victor's bright array, 
 
 With tromj) and herald, strode his bitter way. 
 
 CLXVIT. 
 
 Before the signs to war s sublime belief 
 Sacred, the host disparts its hushing wave. 
 
 Moved by the sight of that renowned chief, 
 
 Joy stills the shout that might insult the brave; 
 
 And princeliest guides the stately foeman bring, 
 
 Where Odin's temple shrines the Christian king. 
 
BOOK XII. 227 
 
 CLXVIII. 
 
 The North's fierce idol, rolFd in pools of blood, 
 Lies criish'd before the Cross of Nazareth. 
 
 Crouch'd on the splintered fragments of their god, 
 Silent as clouds from which the tempest's breath 
 
 Has gone, — the butchers of the priesthood rest. — 
 
 Each heavy brow bent o'er each stonej breast. 
 
 CLXIX, 
 
 Apart, the guards of Cymri stand around 
 The haught repose of captive Teuton kings ; 
 
 With eyes disdainful of the chains that bound, 
 And fronts superb — as if defeat but flings 
 
 A kinglier grandeur over fallen power : — 
 
 So suns shine larger in their setting hour. 
 
 CLXX, 
 
 From these remote, unchained, unguarded, leant 
 On the gnarl'd pillar of the fort of pine, 
 
 The Saturn of the Titan armament. 
 
 His looks averted from the altered shrine 
 
 Whence iron Doom the Antique Faith has hurl'd, 
 
 For that new Jove who dawns upon the world ! 
 
 CLXXI. 
 
 And one broad hand conceal'd the monarch's face ; 
 
 And one lay calm on the low-bended head 
 Of the forgiving child, whose young embrace 
 
 Clasp'd that gray wreck of Empire ! All had fled 
 The heart of pride : — Thrones, hosts, the gods ! yea all 
 That scaled the heaven, strew'd Hades with their fall ! 
 
228 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CLXXII. 
 
 But Natural Love, the household melody 
 
 Steals thro' the dearth, — resettling on the breast; 
 
 The bird returning with the silenced sky, 
 Sings in the ruin, and rebuilds its nest. 
 
 Home came the Soother that the storm exiled, — 
 
 And Crida's hand lay calm upon his child ! 
 
 CLXXIII. 
 
 Beside her sister saint, Genevra kneeleth. 
 
 Mourning her father's in her Country's woes ; 
 
 And near her, hushing iron footsteps, stealeth 
 
 The noblest knight the wondrous Table knows — 
 
 Whispering low comfort into thrilling ears — 
 
 When Harold's plume floats up the flash of spears. 
 
 CLXXIV. 
 
 But the proud Earl, with warning hand and eye, 
 Repells the yearning arms, the eager start ; 
 
 Man amidst men, his haughty thoughts deny 
 To foes the triumph o'er his father's heart; 
 
 Quickly he turn'd — where shone amidst his ring 
 
 Of subject planets, the Hyperion Kinj 
 
 ^S- 
 
 CLXXV. 
 
 There Tristan graceful — Agrafayn uncouth ; 
 
 And Owaine comely with the battle-scar, 
 And Geraint's lofty age, to venturous youth 
 
 Glory and guide, as to proud ships a star ; 
 And Gawaine, sobered to his gravest smile. 
 Lean on the spears that lighten through the pile. 
 
BOOK XII. 229 
 
 CLXXVI. 
 
 There stood the stoic Alemen sedate, 
 
 Blocks hewn from man, which love with life inspired ; 
 There, by the Cross, from eyes serene with Fate, 
 
 Look'cl into space the Mage ! and carnage-tired. 
 On -^gis shields, like Jove's still'd thunders, lay 
 Thine ocean giants, Scandinavia ! 
 
 CLXXVII. 
 
 But lo, the front, where conquest's auriole 
 Shone, as round Genius marching at the van 
 
 Of nations ; — where the victories of the soul 
 Stamped Nature's masterpiece, perfected Man : 
 
 Fair as young Honour's vision of a king 
 
 Fit for bold hearts to serve, free lips to sing ! 
 
 CLXXVIII. 
 
 So stood the Christian Prince in Odin's hall. 
 Gathering in one. Renown's converging rays; 
 
 But, in the hour of triumph, turn, from all 
 War's victor pomp, the memory and the gaze ; 
 
 Miss that last boon the mission should achieve. 
 
 And rest where droops the dove-like Genevieve. 
 
 CLXXIX. 
 
 Now at the sight of Mercia's haughty lord, 
 A loftier grandeur calms yet more his brow ; 
 
 And leaning lightly on his sheathless sword. 
 
 Listening he stood, while spoke the Earl : — " I bow 
 
 Not to war's fortune, but the victor's fame ; 
 
 Thine is so large, it shields thy foes from shame. 
 
230 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CLXXX. 
 
 ^' Prepared for battle, proffering peace I come, 
 
 On yonder hills eno' of Saxon steel 
 Remains, to match the Cj^mrian Christendom ; 
 
 Not slaves with masters, men with men would deal. 
 We cannot leave j-our land, our chiefs in gyves, — 
 While chains irall Saxons, Saxon war survives. 
 
 CLXXXI. 
 
 ^' Our kings, our women, and our priests release. 
 And in their name I pledge (no mean return) 
 
 A ransom worthy of both nations — Peace ; 
 
 Peace with the Teuton ! On jowy hills shall burn 
 
 No more the beacon ; on j'our fields, no more 
 
 The steed of Hengist plunge its hoofs in gore, 
 
 CLXXXII. 
 
 *^ Peace while this race remains — (our sons, alas. 
 We cannot bind !) Peace with the Mercian men : 
 
 This is the ransom. Take it, and we pass 
 Friends from a foeman's soil ; reject it, — then 
 
 Firm to this land we cling, as if our own. 
 
 Till the last Saxon falls, or Cymri's throne 1" 
 
 CLXXXVIII, 
 
 Abrupt upon the audience dies the voice. 
 
 And varying passions stir the murmurous groupes ; 
 
 Here, to the wiser ; there, the haughtier choice : 
 Youth rears its crest ; but age foreboding droops ; 
 
 Chiefs yearn for fame ; the crowds to safety cling ; 
 
 The murmurs hush, and thus replies the King : — 
 
BOOK XII. 231 
 
 CLXXXIV. 
 
 ^' Foe, thy proud speech offends no manly ear. 
 
 So would I speak, could our conditions change. 
 Peace gives no shame, where war has brought no fear ; 
 
 We fought for freedom, — we disdain revenge ; 
 The freedom won, no cause for war remains, 
 And loyal Honour binds more fast than chains. 
 
 CLXXXV. 
 
 " The Peace thus proffered, with accustomed rites, 
 Hostage and oath, confirm, ye Teuton kings, 
 
 And ye are free ! Where we, the Christians, fight, 
 Our Valkyrs sail with healing on their wings ; 
 
 We shed no blood but for our fatherland ! — 
 
 And so, frank soldier, take this soldier's hand !" 
 
 CLXXXVI. 
 
 Low o'er that conquering hand, the high-soul'd foe 
 Bow'd the war plumed upon his raven crest ; 
 
 Caught from those kingly words, one generous glow 
 Chased Hate's last twilight from each Cymrian breast; 
 
 Humbled, the captives hear the fetters fall. 
 
 Power's tranquil shadow — Mercy, awes them all ! 
 
 CLXXXVII. 
 
 Dark scowl the Priests; — with vengeance Priestcraft 
 dies ! 
 
 Slow looks, where Pride yet struggles, Crida rears ; 
 On Crida's child rest Arthur's soft'ning eyes ; 
 
 And Crida's child is weeping happy tears ; 
 And Lancelot, closer at Genevra's side. 
 Pales at the compact that may lose the bride. 
 
232 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CLXXXVIII. 
 
 When from tlie altar by the holy rood, 
 
 Come the deep accents of the Cjanrian Mage, 
 
 Sublimely bending o'er the multitude 
 
 Thought's Atlas temples crown'd with Titan age, 
 
 O'er Druid robes the beard's broad silver streams, 
 
 As when the vision rose on virgin dreams. 
 
 CLXXXIX. 
 
 '' Hearken, ye Scythia's and Cimmeria's sons, 
 Whose sires alike by golden rivers dwelt. 
 
 When sate the Asas on their hunter thrones ; 
 When Orient vales rejoiced the shepherd Celt ; 
 
 While Eve's young races towards each other drawn, 
 
 Roved lingering round the Eden gates of dawn. 
 
 cxc. 
 
 *^ Still the old brother-bond in these new homes. 
 After long woes, shall bind your kindred races ; 
 
 Here, the same God shall find the sacred domes ; 
 And the same land-marks bound your resting-j)laces. 
 
 What time, o'er realms to Heus and Tlior unknown, 
 
 Both Celt and Saxon rear their common throne. 
 
 cxci. 
 
 '' Meanwhile, revere the Word the viewless Hand 
 Writes on the leaves of kingdom-dooming stars ; 
 
 Thro' Prydain's Isle of Pines, from sea to land. 
 Where yet Rome's eagle leaves the thunder scars, 
 
 The sceptre-sword of Saxon kings shall reach, 
 
 And new-born nations speak the Teuton's speech. 
 
BOOK XII. 233 
 
 CXCII. 
 
 "All save thy mountain empire, Dragon king! 
 
 All save the Cymrian Ararat^ — ^Yild Wales !* 
 Here Cymrian bards to fame and God shall sing — 
 
 Here Cymrian freemen breathe the hardy gales. 
 And the same race that Heus the Guardian led, 
 Rise from these graves — when God awakes the dead !" 
 
 CXCIII. 
 
 The Prophet paused, and all that pomp of plumes 
 Bowed as the harvest which the south wind heaves, 
 
 When, while the breeze disturbs, the beam illumes, 
 And blessings gladden in the trembling sheaves. 
 
 He paused, and thus renewed : " Thrice happy, ye 
 
 Founders of shrines and sires of kings to be ! 
 
 CXCIV. 
 
 " Hear, Harold, t3'23e of the strong Saxon soul, 
 
 Supple to truth, untameable by force. 
 Thy dauntless blood thro' GAvjmedd's chiefs shall roll,f 
 
 Thro' Scotland's monarchs take its fiery course, 
 And How with Arthur's, in the later days, 
 Thro' Ocean-Coesars, either zone obeys. 
 
 * " Their Lord they shall praise, 
 
 And their language they shall preserve ; 
 Their land they shall lose, 
 
 Except Wild Wales!" — Puophect of Taliessix. 
 
 ■f This prediction refers to the marriage of the daughter of Griffith ap Llewellyn 
 (Prince of Gwynedd, or North Wales, whose name and fate are not unfamiliar to 
 those who have read the romance of "Harold, the Last of the Saxon Kings") with 
 Fleance. From that marriage descended the Stuarts, and mdeed the reigtnng family 
 of Great Britain. 
 
234 KING AETHUR. 
 
 cxcv. 
 " Man of the manly heart, reward the foe 
 
 Who braved thy sword, and yet forebore thy breast, 
 Who loved thy child, yet could the love forego 
 
 And give the sire ; — thy looks supply the rest, 
 I read thine answer in thy generous glance ! 
 Stand forth- — bold child of Christian Chevisaunce !" 
 
 CXCVI. 
 
 Then might ye see a sight for smiles and tears. 
 Young Lancelot's hand in Harold's cordial grasp, 
 
 While from his breast the frank-eyed father rears 
 The cheek that glows beneath the arms that clasp ; 
 
 '^ Shrink'st thou," he said, " from bonds by fate reveal'd ? 
 
 Go — rock my grandson in the Cymrian's shield !" 
 
 CXCVII. 
 
 " And ye," the solemn voice resumed, " kings ! 
 
 Hearken, Pendragon, son of Odin hear ! 
 There is a mystery in the heart of things. 
 
 Which Truth and Falsehood, seek alike with fear, 
 To Truth from Heaven, to Falsehood breathed from hell. 
 Comes yet to both the unquiet oracle. 
 
 CXCVIII. 
 
 " Not vainly, Crida, priest, and rune, and dream, 
 Warned thee of fates commingling into one 
 
 The silver river and the mountain stream ; 
 From Odin's daughter and Pendragon's son, 
 
 Shall rise those kings that in remotest years 
 
 Shall grasp the birthright of the Saxon spears. 
 
BOOK XII. 235 
 
 CXCIX. 
 
 " The bright decree that seem'd a curse to Fate, 
 Blesses both races when fulfilFd by love ; 
 
 Saxon, from Arthur shall thy lineage date, 
 Thine eagles, Arthur, from thy Saxon dove. 
 
 The link of peace let nuptial garlands weave, 
 
 And Cymri's queen be Saxon Genevieve !" 
 
 CC. 
 
 Perplexed, reluctant with the pangs of pride. 
 And shadowy doubts from dark religion thrown, 
 
 Stern Crida lingering turned his face aside ; 
 Then rise the elders from the idol stone ; 
 
 From fallen chains the kindred Teutons spring. 
 
 Low murmurs rustle round the moody king ; 
 
 cci. 
 On priest and warrior, while they w^hisper, dwells 
 
 The searching light of that imperious eye ; 
 Warrior and priest, the prophet word compels ; 
 
 And overmasters like a destiny — 
 When towards the maid the radiant conqueror drew, 
 And said, " Enslaver, it is mine to sue !" 
 
 ecu. 
 
 To Crida, then, " Proud chief, I do confess 
 The loftier attribute 't is thine to boast. 
 
 The pride of kings is in the power to bless. 
 
 The kingliest hand is that which gives the most ; 
 
 Priceless the gift I ask thee to bestow, — 
 
 But doubly royal is a generous foe !" 
 
236 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CCIII. 
 
 Then forth — subdued, yet stately, Crida came, 
 And the last hold in that rude heart was won : 
 
 " Hero, thy conquest makes no more my shame, 
 He shares thy glory who can call thee ' Son !' 
 
 So may this love-knot bind and bless the lands !" 
 
 Faltering he spoke — and joined the plighted hands. 
 
 cciv. 
 There flock the hosts as to a holy ground. 
 
 .There where the dove at last may fold the wing ! 
 His mission ended, and his labours crown'd, 
 
 Fair as in fable stands the Dragon King — 
 Below the Cross, and by his prophet's side. 
 With Carduel's knighthood kneeling round his bride. 
 
 ccv. 
 What gallant deeds in gentle lists were done, 
 
 What lutes made joyaunce sweet in jasmine bowers. 
 Let others tell : — Slow sets the summer sun ; 
 
 Slow fall the mists, and closing, droop the flowers; 
 Faint in the gloaming dies the vesper bell, — 
 And Dream-land sleeps round golden Carduel. 
 
 THE END. 
 

 
 . Iwtl 
 
 11