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"Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the Before. His own thought drove him, like gems
a goad. Should blind my purpose, for I never saw, Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die, And barren chasms, and all to left and Not though I live three lives of mortal right men,
The bare black cliff clanged round him, as So great a miracle as yonder hilt.
he based Then with both hands I flung him, wheel- His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang
Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed But when I looked again, behold an arm, heels
190 Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonder- And on a sudden, lo! the level lake, ful,
And the long glories of the winter moon. That caught him by the hilt, and bran- Then saw they how there hove a dusky dished him
barge, Three times, and drew him under in the Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern,
Beneath them; and descending they were And answer made King Arthur, breath
195 ing hard:
That all the decks were dense with stately “My end draws nigh; 'tis time that I were forms gone.
Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dreamMake broad thy shoulders to receive my by these weight,
Three Queens with crowns of gold-and And bear me to the margin; yet I fear 165 from them rose My wound hath taken cold, and I shall A cry that shivered to the tingling stars, die.”
And, as it were one voice, an agony So saying, from the pavement he half of lamentation, like a wind that shrills rose,
All night in a waste land, where no one Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm,
comes, And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes Or hath come, since the making of the As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere
world. Remorsefully regarded through his tears, Then murmured Arthur, “Place me in And would have spoken, but he found not the barge, words,
And to the barge they came. There those Then took with care, and kneeling on one three Queens
Put forth their hands, and took the King, O’er both his shoulders drew the languid and wept. hands,
But she that rose the tallest of them all And rising bore him through the place of And fairest, laid his head upon her lap, tombs.
And loosed the shattered casque, and But, as he walked, King Arthur panted chafed his hands, hard,
And called him by his name, complaining Like one that feels a nightmare on his loud, bed
And dropping bitter tears against his When all the house is mute. So sighed the brow king,
Striped with dark blood; for all his face Muttering and murmuring at his ear,
was white “Quick, quick
And colorless, and like the withered moon I fear it is too late, and I shall die." 180 Smote by the fresh beam of the springing But the other swiftly strode from ridge to east; ridge,
And all his greaves and cuisses? dashed Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he with drops
Of onset; and the light and lustrous curlsLarger than human on the frozen hills. That made his forehead like a rising sun He heard the deep behind him, and a cry 1 leg guards.
: thigh guards.
High from the dais-throne—were parched If, knowing God, they lift not hands of with dust;
prayer Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, Both for themselves and those who call Mixed with the knightly growth that them friend? fringed his lips.
For so the whole round earth is every way So like a shattered column lay the King; Bound by gold chains about the feet of Not like that Arthur who, with lance in God.
But now farewell. I am going a long way From spur to plume a star of tournament, With these thou seest—if indeed I goShot through the lists at Camelot, and For all my mind is clouded with a doubtcharged
To the island-valley of Avilion; Before the eyes of ladies and of kings.
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere: Nor ever wind blows loudly, but it lies 261 “ “Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go? Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchardWhere shall I hide my forehead and my lawns eyes?
And bowery hollows crowned with summer For now I see the true old times are dead, sea, When every morning brought a noble Where I will heal me of my grievous chance,
wound.” And every chance brought out a noble So said he, and the barge with oar and knight.
265 Such times have been not since the light Moved from the brink, like some fullthat led
breasted swan The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, But now the whole ROUND TABLE is dis- Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the solved
flood Which was an image of the mighty world; With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir BedAnd I, the last, go forth companionless, 236 ivere And the days darken round me, and the Revolving many memories, till the hull years,
Looked one black dot against the verge of Among new men, strange faces, other dawn,
And on the mere the wailing died away. And slowly answered Arthur from the
barge: “The old order changeth, yielding place
240 And God fulfils Himself in many ways, It little profits that an idle king, Lest one good custom should corrupt the By this still hearth, among these barren world.
crags, Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me? Matched with an agèd wife, I mete and dole I have lived my life, and that which I have Unequal laws unto a savage race, done
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know May He within Himself make pure! but not me.
245 I cannot rest from travel; I will drink If thou shouldst never see my face again, Life to the lees. All times I have enjoyed Pray for my soul. More things are wrought Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with by prayer
those Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, That loved me, and alone; on shore, and let thy voice
when Rise like a fountain for me night and Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades day.
Vexed the dim sea. I am become a name; For what are men better than sheep or For always roaming with a hungry heart 12 goats
250 Much have I seen and known,-cities of That nourish a blind life within the brain, men,
And manners, climates, councils, govern- The long day wanes; the slow moon ments,
climbs; the deep
55 Myself not least, but honored of them Moans round with many voices. Come, all,
15 my friends, And drunk delight of battle with my peers, 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. Push off, and sitting well in order smite I am a part of all that I have met;
The sounding furrows; for my purpose Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
holds Gleams that untravelled world, whose To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 60 margin fades
Of all the western stars, until I die. Forever and forever when I move.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us How dull it is to pause, to make an end, down; To rust unburnished, not to shine in use! It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, As though to breathe were life! Life piled And see the great Achilles, whom we
knew. Were all too little, and of one to me 25
Though much is taken, much abides; and Little remains: but every hour is saved
65 From that eternal silence, something more, We are not now that strength which in old A bringer of new things; and vile it were days For some three suns to store and hoard Moved earth and heaven; that which we myself,
are, we are; And this gray spirit yearning in desire
One equal temper of heroic hearts, To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in Beyond the utmost bound of human will thought.
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. This is my son, mine own Telemachus, To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil 35 This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
LOCKSLEY HALL A rugged people, and through soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. Comrades, leave me here a little, while as Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere yet 'tis early morn: Of common duties, decent not to fail Leave me here, and when you want me, In offices of tenderness, and pay
sound upon the bugle-horn. Meet adoration to my household gods, When I am gone. He works his work, I 'Tis the place, and all around it, as of old, mine.
the curlews call, There lies the port; the vessel puffs her Dreary gleams about the moorland flying sail;
over Locksley Hall; There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
45 Locksley Hall, that in the distance overSouls that have toiled, and wrought, and looks the sandy tracts,
5 thought with me,
And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into That ever with a frolic welcome took
cataracts. The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Many a night from yonder ivied casement, Free hearts, free foreheads,-you and I are ere I went to rest, old:
Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
to the West. Death closes all; but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising Not unbecoming men that strove with through the mellow shade, Gods.
Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks; a silver braid.
Here about the beach I wandered, nourish- Love took up the harp of Life, and smote ing a youth sublime
on all the chords with might; With the fairy tales of science, and the Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, long result of time;
passed in music out of sight.
When the centuries behind me like a fruit- Many a morning on the moorland did we ful land reposed;
hear the copses ring, When I clung to all the present for the And her whisper thronged my pulses with promise that it closed;
the fulness of the spring.
When I dipped into the future far as Many an evening by the waters did we human eye could see;
watch the stately ships, Saw the vision of the world, and all the And our spirits rushed together at the wonder that would be.
touching of the lips.
In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon O my cousin, shallow-hearted! O my Amy, the robin's breast;
mine no more! In the spring the wanton lapwing gets him- O the dreary, dreary moorland! O the self another crest;
barren, barren shore!
In the spring a livelier iris changes on the Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than burnished dove;
all songs have sung, In the spring a young man's fancy lightly Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to turns to thoughts of love.
a shrewish tongue!
Then her cheek was pale and thinner than
should be for one so young, And her eyes on all my motions with a
mute observance hung.
Is it well to wish thee happy? having
known me to decline On a range of lower feelings and a nar
rower heart than mine!
And I said, “My cousin Amy, speak, and Yet it shall be; thou shalt lower to his speak the truth to me,
level day by day, Trust me, cousin, all the current of my What is fine within thee growing coarse being sets to thee.”
to sympathize with clay.
On her pallid cheek and forehead came a As the husband is, the wife is; thou art color and a light,
mated with a clown, As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the And the grossness of his nature will have northern night.
weight to drag thee down.
And she turned-her bosom shaken with He will hold thee, when his passion shall a sudden storm of sighs
have spent its novel force, All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark Something better than his dog, a little of hazel eyes
dearer than his horse.
Saying, “I have hid my feelings, fearing What is this? his eyes are heavy; think not they should do me wrong;
they are glazed with wine. Saying, "Dost thou love me, cousin?” Go to him, it is thy duty; kiss him, take
weeping, “I have loved thee long.” 30 his hand in thine. Love took up the glass of Time, and turned It may be my lord is weary, that his brain it in his glowing hands;
is overwrought; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch in golden sands.
him with thy lighter thought.
He will answer to the purpose, easy things Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, to understand
lest thy heart be put to proof, Better thou wert dead before me, though In the dead unhappy night, and when the I slew thee with my hand!
rain is on the roof.
Better thou and I were lying, hidden from Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou the heart's disgrace,
art staring at the wall, Rolled in one another's arms, and silent in Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and a last embrace.
the shadows rise and fall.
Cursèd be the social wants that sin against Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointthe strength of youth!
ing to his drunken sleep, Cursèd be the social lies that warp us from To thy widowed marriage-pillows, to the the living truth!
60 tears that thou wilt weep.
Cursèd be the sickly forms that err from Thou shalt hear the “Never, never," whishonest Nature's rule!
pered by the phantom years, Cursèd be the gold that gilds the straitened And a song from out the distance in the forehead of the fool!
ringing of thine ears;
Well—'tis well that I should bluster! And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient hadst thou less unworthy proved
kindness on thy pain.
85 Would to God-for I had loved thee more Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow; get than ever wife was loved.
thee to thy rest again.
Am I mad, that I should cherish that which Nay, but Nature brings thee solace; for a bears but bitter fruit?
tender voice will cry. I will pluck it from my bosom, though my 'T is a purer life than thine, a lip to drain heart be at the root.
thy trouble dry.
Never, though my mortal summers to such Baby lips will laugh me down; my latest length of years should come
rival brings thee rest. As the many-wintered crow that leads the Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me clanging rookery home.
from the mother's breast.
Where is comfort? in division of the records Oh, the child too clothes the father with a of the mind? .
dearness not his due. Can I part her from herself, and love her, Half is thine and half is his; it will be as I knew her, kind?
70 worthy of the two.
I remember one that perished; sweetly Oh, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy did she speak and move;
petty part, Such a one do I remember, whom to look With a little hoard of maxims preaching at was to love.
down a daughter's heart.
Can I think of her as dead, and love her “They were dangerous guides, the feelings for the love she bore?
-she herself was not exemptNo-she never loved me truly; love is love Truly, she herself had suffered”—Perish for evermore.
in thy self-contempt!
Comfort? comfort scorned of devils! this is Overlive it-lower yet-be happy! wheretruth the poet sings,
fore should I care? That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remem- I myself must mix with action, lest I wither bering happier things.