h'd with dust;

ose,

ringed his lips. ng;

in rest,

ment, harged

S.

livere,

all I go? my eyes?

dead,

le chance,

le knight. light that led

rrh.

dissolved

world;

less,

And God fulfils himself in many ways,

Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?

I have lived my life, and that which I have done
May He within himself make pure! but thou,
If thou shouldst never see my face again,

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by pray
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voic
Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
For what are men better than sheep or goats
That nourish a blind life within the brain,
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer
Both for themselves and those who call them friend?
For so the whole round earth is every way
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.
But now farewell. I am going a long way
With these thou seëst—if indeed I go―
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)

Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with And bowery hollows crown'd with Where I will heal me of my griev

So said he, and the barge with Moved from the brink, like some f That, fluting a wild carol ere her d Ruffles her pure cold plume, and ta With swarthy webs. Long stood S Revolving many memories, till the Look'd one black dot against the v And on the meer the wailing died a

hard-l

mmer sea,

wound."

r and sail

-breasted swan

ath,

es the flood

r Bedivere

null

rge of dawn,

way.

ht, that long s, flared and fell:

with sound, Good!" but we

ch he read

and there

The lusty bird takes every hour for dawn:
Then Francis, muttering, like a man ill-used,
"There now-that's nothing!" drew a little back,
And drove his heel into the smoulder'd log,
That sent a blast of sparkles up the flue:
And so to bed; where yet in sleep I seem'd
To sail with Arthur under looming shores,
Point after point, till on to dawn, when dreams
Begin to feel the truth and stir of day,

To me, methought, who waited with a crowd,
There came a bark that, blowing forward, bore
King Arthur, like a modern gentleman

Of stateliest port; and all the people cried,
"Arthur is come again: he cannot die."
Then those that stood upon the hills behind
Repeated" Come again, and thrice as fair;
And, further inland, voices echoed “Come

The fable of the city where we dwelt.

My Eustace might have sat for Hercules;
So muscular he spread, so broad of breast.
He, by some law that holds in love, and draws

The greater to the lesser, long desired

A certain miracle of symmetry,

A miniature of loveliness, all grace