Arthurian Romance
ARTHURIAN ROMANCE
THE loneliness of all this withered land
Is ev'n as sad a sight as man may see;
A tangled marsh lies flat on every hand,
And here and there a maimed and leafless tree
Stands gaunt, as if complaining silently,
Its bare and shattered boughs to heaven raising;
And terrors dwell in this abandoned lea,
Where flocks should lie, and cattle should be grazing
And a strange peaceless peace turns sad the eye with gazing.
And here at hand the ghostly ruins lie
Of what was once a city ; grey and bare
One ancient tower alone remains on high;
And here a heap that was a house; and there
A roofless church stands open to the air;
And here, where rose of old the city's crown,
Of all its beauties that which was most fair,
The carven work is burned and broken down;
And desolation reigns o'er all the silent town.
167
But when the sunset fades, and slowly night
Encloses all the blank deserted plain,
Then, like wild demons barking with delight
At all the raging misery and pain
Their hellish toils have wrought, burst forth again
High raucous shrieks and thunderous cries once more;
Silence is fled before the wild refrain,
The whistling scream of shells, the guns' loud roar,
And all the noise and din of execrable war.
War ! is this war, or muddy massacre?
Our terrors lurk, not blazon; not with show
Of gold and scarlet, shining sword and spur,
Do warriors now move forward to the foe;
Softly we pass along, and crouching low,
Hiding from distant weapons that we dread;
And this amid the mud we learn to know:
The splendour and the pomp of war is dead;
The toil and fear remain; the glory long is fled.
168
And yet I know—I feel it in myself
Though war's magnificence be long decayed,
That still divine Romance, immortal elf,
Has faded not and shall not ever fade;
For who his life can gamble unafraid
Upon the board of still triumphant fate,
And smile to watch the issue, him the maid
Shall glad the heart of with her smile elate,
And recompense his love, whom courage maketh great.
And yet I love her more in gayer dress
Than this bleak vesture of despairing night,And long to see her pristine loveliness
Shining in all poetic radiance bright;
Therefore an ancient tale of great delight,
Rich with the glamour of the youth of time,
For love's sweet sake I strive to tell aright,
With burning heart, but hand unskilled in rhyme,
Of mighty battles past, and venturous quests sublime.
169
Yes, let me pause a little in the ways
Of modern strife, the while for pleasure's sake
I freshen all my parched soul with praise
Of Fancy, and my verdurous pathway take
To those hushed realms where never dreamers wake,
In vision seeing royal Arthur crowned,
And Percival, and Lancelot of the Lake,
Merlin the wise, and Gawain faithful found,
And all the knightly warriors of the Table Round.
0 for his honeyed voice and lyre sweet-strung
Who spake of Arthur and of Arthur's court,
And nobly of their high adventures sung,
Who for the Christ against the pagans fought,
And wondrous feats of arms in battle wrought,
Holding their oath of swerveless loyalty,
Of fearless deed, pure word, and lofty thought,
And from the heathen holding Britain free,
Till round their lord they fell, beside the winter sea.
170
For since the time the king began to reign
Through all the land he and his knights had gone,
And in eleven mighty battles slain
The Saxons, and where'er their arms had shone
The heathen fled; the wood of Celidon
Had seen them put to flight, and Bassas' flow,
Mount Agned, and the keep of Guinnion,
And Glein and Tribruit, and many mo,
Hill, river, town, and plain, where Arthur smote the foe.
And now his twelfth great battle came at last;
The hosts each side were pitched in fierce array ;
And Arthur armed among his warriors passed,
Exhorting all to valorous deeds that day,
To break the heathen and the Saxon sway,
Calling on Mary and her heavenly Child
For strength and succour in the dread affray ;
And gazing on the opposing ranks he smiled,
Glad in his fearless heart for joy of battle wild.
171
Upon Mount Badon stood the Saxon host,
A lofty hilltop in the western land;
Far off, a man might see the Severn coast,
And here the Roman city nigh at hand;
And on the summit triple ramparts stand
Of ancient building, which the heathen hold,
A mighty force, that mock the little band
Of knights below, with haughty words and bold,
Behind the towering walls that their wild hordes enfold.
And now they move to battle. Up the steep
And grassy slope King Arthur's warriors charge
Toward the lofty summit of the keep,
Till on the frowning fortress' outer marge
The fight begins, as sword on stricken targe
Falls heavy, and the heathen backward reel
Up the hillside. But why should I enlarge
On Arthur's followers? Most the king's own steel
The Saxons felt; himself the deadliest blows did deal.
172
For like a vengeful angel fought the king,
And none could stand against his fierce attack,
But all men shrank, afraid and muttering,
Where slaughtered chieftains marked his gory track,
And in their walls the Saxon host drew back,
None daring to oppose him face to face,
But watching in despair their army's wrack ;
And all the heathen stood amazed a space,
As Arthur rode alone up the defended place.
Nor all their works could keep the conqueror out,
But o'er the ramparts on his steed he came,
And in his fury turned them all to rout,
Dreadful and bright as a devouring flame,
And many a heathen did he sorely maim,
And many smite to death with his keen sword
Excalibur, that blade of mickle fame,
Till all the rest, and Octa too their lord,
Yielded in humble guise, and Arthur's grace implored.
173
Nine hundred men and sixty of the foe
Upon that happy day King Arthur slew,
And in Christ's honour caused the heathen woe,
Such mighty deeds and valorous did he do ;
And to his feet the beaten Saxons drew,
Requesting favour, and the victor bad
His seneschal admit the heathen crew;
And all his knights, in fairest armour clad,
Stood round their glorious lord, joyful of heart, and glad.
Amid the concourse of his followers bold,
And all the nobles of his royal court,
The king was seated on a throne of gold
Upon Mount Badon where the hosts had fought,
And thither were the Saxon envoys brought,
Who coming in with fear before the king,
Their conqueror bespake in humble sort,
All that he might command them promising,
If to their comrades life and mercy they might bring.
174
Then sternly to the Saxons Arthur spake :
"For that in senseless greed ye came in arms
From me and mine this pleasant land to take,
And tear and ravage it and do it harms
By force of terror and of war's alarms,
Unheeding justice and despising right,
Now that by gift of battle victory's palms
Are mine, and ye are helpless, well I might
Destroy you utterly from under heaven's light.
" But since ye begged me in the name of Christ
(Though Him, I know full well, ye worship not),
Who bought us with His blood a gift unpriced,
Cleansing our souls from every sinful spot,
For His sake, not for yours, the treacherous plot
Against my kingdom that ye did prepare
I do forgive you, and I pardon what
Ye wrought against me, and your lives I spare,
For Christ's dear sake alone granting your helpless prayer.
175
"But from this realm to which ye made pretence
Ye must at once depart without delay :
Ten days I give you to be gone from hence,
With all your armies and your proud array;
But whosoever by the eleventh day
On British earth shall yet forbidden stand,
Him, by Saint Michael, surely I will slay;
Go therefore, tell your lord what I command,
Bid him fare forth at once from hence to his own land."
And so king Octa mustered up his force,
The little remnants of a mighty host,
And through the land unresting took his course
Unto the marshes of the eastern coast,
Not as he came, with high presumptuous boast,
And sound of trumpets, and with banners spread;
But wandering always like a stricken ghost,
And mindful ever of his myriad dead,
From out the British realm the beaten Octa fled.
176
But Arthur from that fiercest of his fights
To high Caerleon came in royal state,
And with him all his company of knights,
And all his army, joyful and elate,
Exulting over their deserved fate
Whose bodies lay upon the British earth
They dreamed to conquer; and they celebrate
With much rejoicing noble Arthur's worth,
And so they pass their days in feasting and in mirth.
And all the knights of Arthur's Table Round
In fair Caerleon feast with hearty cheer,
And much their laughter and delight abound,
For all the noblest and the best are here;
The valiant Lancelot, and bold Bedivere,
And Gawain, Arthur's cousin, bright and fair,
High-thoughted Percival, who knew not fear,
And Kay, and Tristram, and Geraint, are there,
And many a knight besides, in gorgeous robes and rare.
177
Thereafter came the feast of Pentecost,
And Arthur held high revel in his court,
To celebrate the coming of the Ghost
Upon the holy men whom Christ had taught.
All day they jousted and they made them sport,
And after feasted, while an old man frail,
But wise with knowledge that the years had brought,
Told them an ancient and a sacred tale,
The high and mystic story of the Holy Grail.
For when our blessed Lord was crucified,
And earth was shrouded and the noon was dim,
Then Joseph, after that the Lord had died,
Took down His body and did bury Him,
Composing reverently each wounded limb;
And in a holy vessel stored he up
The Saviour's Blood, and filled it to the brim;
And that fair vessel was the selfsame cup
The Lord had used, when ere His Passion He did sup.
178
But after Christ His promise did fulfil,
And with the Spirit's gifts His followers blessed,
Because the faithless Jews did seek to kill
The Christians, then Saint Joseph, sore distrest,
Entered a boat and sailed into the West,
And after many leagues the ship had gone,
At last God gave his weary wanderings rest,
In Britain, in the vale of Avalon,
Where stands a lonely hill a reedy marsh upon.
And there the heathen king Arviragus
Gave holy Joseph land whereon to dwell,
And when of Christ, the Victor glorious.
Who conquered death and took the spoils of hell,
He heard the Saint and his companions tell,
Full gladly the good tidings did he hail,
And was baptised there in a bubbling well,
And Joseph built a chapel in the vale,
And there within a shrine he placed the Holy Grail.
179
And when Saint Joseph and his fellows died,
Care of the Grail was given to a priest;
But after many years, the heathen tide
Of Saxons flowed on Britain from the east,
And faith burned dim, and wickedness increased
And from its place the Grail was rapt away,
And all remembrance of the relic ceased,
Save with a few, who ever watch and pray,
That they may see at length its fair returning day.
But since that time no eye of mortal man
Has ever gazed upon the holy thing;—
Sudden the old man ceased, and all began
To tremble with amazed wondering;
A shaft of light through the high casementing
Burst brighter than the sunshine and more clear,
And fell upon the visage of the king,
And something shrouded did therein appear,
They knew not what, but all were struck with reverent fear.
180
Then rose the ancient seer, crying, "Hail!
0 fairest sight that ever I espied,
0 blessed vision of the Holy Grail .
That long to men the wrath of God denied!
To thee, and all thy friends who sit beside
Thy table here, 0 king, is sent the sign;
Bid forth thy knights, to wander far and wide
Till one unveiled may see the vessel shine,
The sacred cup that held the Saviour's Blood divine.
"For so 'twas prophesied of ancient years,
That one at length should see the Grail again,
In whom God was well pleased: and now appears
At length the promised time; and I were fain
Myself to follow, but my years restrain
My eager will; let these who banquet here
Go forth against all peril and all pain
Of war and wandering, these who have no fear,
And seek this high adventure and this vision dear."
181
Then Arthur spake, "0 company of knights,
Who under me have slain the heathen horde,
Well have ye borne you in a hundred fights,
Now in a nobler task be used each sword;
Now ye, whose grace the Saxons oft implored,
Must needs seek grace yourselves from God, to achieve
This vision of the vessel of the Lord;
So great a boon and honour to receive,
Who for awhile my Court on this high quest will leave?"
At this with one accord uprose they all,
And of them Arthur chose a certain few,
Gawain, and Lancelot, and Percival,
With other knights unflinching, bold, and true, ,
The best of all his Table, to pursue
Such sacred quest and such adventure high,
Enlarge their honour and their fame renew,
And bade them forth the morrow morn to try
The mystic thing revealed to them so wondrously.
182
And then they turned to feasting and to mirth,
And lo ! to every knight upon his place
What best of cheer he loved upon the earth
There lay, and thankfulness on every face
To God for all His goodness and His grace,
In heavenly things and earthly, was displayed,
And so they revelled all the night's long space,
With wine and laughter much delight they made,
Till dry rebuking dawn their merry pleasure stayed.
And then the valiant knights of Arthur's choice
Prepared themselves to go on that emprise
The vision bade; and much did they rejoice
To be accounted by their leader wise,
Worthy of such adventure; in their eyes
Was hope of honour and contempt of fear
And light and laughter; but Sir Lancelot hies
Unto the chamber of queen Guinevere;
Now of these twain men spake what it were ill to hear.
183
There she awaited him, expecting well
That he would visit her or e'er he went,
And at his coming she to weeping fell,
And o'er her as she wept his face he bent,
And kissed her on the lips in full content,
And then to Lancelot sadly thus she spake:
"Ah! dear my lord, this vision, what it meant,
Let be, and leave me not, for dear love's sake,
Let not these wandering dreams us from each other take.'
"Most lovely queen," said Lancelot, "every knight
Sprang forward to the high adventure's lure,
And I, who am esteemed the next in might
To Arthur's self, could ever I endure
To sit there idle? Thus a coward sure
Had I been branded, with the shames that burn."
"My lord," she cried, "thine honour is secure,
And thou wouldst break, if thou shouldst not return,
This heart with sorrow wild, and unassuaged, and stern."
184
"Peace, lady," said the knight, "and be not fond
To think that ever I could fail to go
On such a quest, in fame so far beyond
All other deeds that ever we shall know.
Yet through it all, dear queen, my love burn low
For thee shall never; be thou comforted."
So they embraced, while fast her tears did flow,
In one last passionate kiss, and forth he fled,
And left her wildly weeping on her golden bed.
Now all the Court were gathered in the hall
To watch the parting of the chosen band,
And Lancelot came down among them all,
And there in shining armour did he stand,
Gawain and Percival on either hand,
And all were sorry at their going: yet
Some deemed that Lancelot's faring from the land
Might stay a scandal, making him forget
His wrongful love in that adventure's toil and sweat.
185
And so they all rode forth; and through the fields
Fared on together those chief chosen three
To Wye's rich banks, where copious nature yields
To earth the loveliest of her treasury,
Between fair Monmouth and the narrow sea;
Then on throughout the forest dark and wide,
And crossed the silver Severn joyously,
Until at length, so well their steeds they plied,
They came to Gloucester city at the eventide.
And there they parted; and Sir Lancelot
And Percival to southward took their road,
And Gawain eastward to a verdant spot
Where folk of pastoral manners yet abode,
Nor ploughed the land for corn, nor used a goad,
Prosperous in cattle much, beyond belief;
And yet within their eyes a care they showed,
Some seated sorrow, or deep-hidden grief,
And Gawain asked of this, if he might bear relief. I
186
"Sir," said they, "who thou art we do not know,
But if, as seems, thou art of valour strong,
Rid us, we pray thee, of a grievous foe
Who vexes and has vexed our folk for long,
With ceaseless menace and with violent wrong,
With constant slaying of our herds and us,
So that our joy is dead and dumb our song:
Aid now, we pray, our fortune piteous,
And save us from our cruel foes and orgulous."
Then sware Sir Gawain, "As I live, poor souls,
Now by His holy Name whose blood I seek,
This very day the monster's carcase rolls
Down from the bulwarks whence he spoils the weak.
I succour all the feeble and the meek,
After mine oath, and seeking noble fame;
Fear not I shall accomplish what I speak,
Of Arthur's Table am I, and I claim
His friendship and his kin, and Gawain is my name."
187
Then were that simple people glad of heart,
For oft of Arthur's Table heard they told,
And knightly Gawain rode upon their part
Against the fortress of their foeman bold;
His goodly form they watched the hills enfold
Out of their sight, as onward went he still,
Until he reached the dark and frowning hold
Where that fierce robber dwelt upon a hill
Who on the helpless people worked such cruel ill.
And there Sir Gawain bade the robber cease
His pillage of the people of the land,
And give them justice, and restore them peace.
But loud he mocked at Gawain's stern command,
And quickly to his sword he put his hand,
And three full hours together there they strove,
And each was wounded with the other's brand,
But neither yielded, till Sir Gawain drove
The robber to his knees, and off his head he clove.
188
Now all the people of the land were praying
For Gawain's victory and safe return,
When he appeared again among them, saying,
" Know ye that vengeance due and justice stern
Is done on him who did your dwellings burn,
And ye are safe. But onward I must go
In seeking that for which my soul doth yearn;
Your children and your children's sons shall know
That Gawain, royal Arthur's kinsman, slew your foe."
So with good cheer and laughing happiness
They feasted their deliverer of their best,
And thought of fame rewarding battle's stress
Made Gawain's heart right merry in his breast,
And on the morrow to pursue his quest
He parted forth, nor dreamed that he could fail;
When suddenly the grace of God he blessed,
For there above him, covered with a veil
That seemed about to fall, floated the Holy Grail.
189
But when the veil fell off, the sight was dim,
And when at length the vision he descried,
No shape of that fair Vessel gladdened him,
But through the parted heaven he espied
A wreathed crown, and a keen sword beside,
But not the Vessel of the Blood divine.
"Alack ! " cried Gawain, "for the vision lied !
No honour of this holy quest is mine,
Another's is the fame, to some knight else the sign."
And with the bitter pain of that despair,
And weakness from his hurt of yesterday,
He swooned; but by the grateful people's care
Restored to life, within their land he lay
And rested for a month, and then away
To Arthur's court he rode again, and told
His sorry failure, and they all did pray
That one there might be, of those seekers bold,
Pleasing to God, and fit the Vessel to behold.
190
Now Percival and Lancelot southward went
From Gloucester city, by the Severn stream,
And saw it widening ever, to be spent
In mighty ocean, whose vast waters seem
To stretch beyond the ken of any dream;
Then turned they inland, and the glowing west
Showed them the setting sun's last parting beam,
As night was born, and toilsome day had rest,
From where they stood on high, on towering Mendip's breast.
So night descends on every lonely hill,
And over all the spreading plain below,
And all the sea beyond is calm and still,
And every noise is hushed, as soft and slow
The darkness deepens and the shadows grow,
As those two knights together ride upon
The top of Mendip, till they downward go
Beside the wells, wherein the starlight shone,
And so at midnight came to gentle Avalon.
191
And there they told a hermit in the vale
The vision they had seen at Pentecost,
The sudden beam of light, the shrouded Grail,
And all the glad amaze among them toss' d;
Whereat the holy man his forehead cross'd,
And bade them kneel at Mass upon the morrow,
Imploring God the vision be not lost,
But one might please Him, and His grace might borrow,
Lest that the vision vanished bring renewed sorrow.
And so they knelt at Mass the morrow morn,
First shriven at the holy hermit's hands,
And Percival awhile within the bourn
Of Avalon remained; but to his lands
In France Sir Lancelot went, where proudly stands
A stately castle in a lofty place,
And there he beached his ship upon the strands
That his own kin possessed, a royal race;
So in his realm in France the knight abode a space.
192
And while in his own land Sir Lancelot stayed,
. And did among his loyal people dwell,
He ruled them wisely; no man dared invade
The land with cruel war or ravage fell;
And all the people loved Sir Lancelot well,
But his own heart was torn with struggle dire,
Between the wrongful love he might not tell,
And to behold the Grail a strong desire,
A yearning wish, that flamed within him like a fire.
And once he journeyed to destroy a beast
That much destruction in the land had done,
And as he came from slaying, in the east
He caught the glamour of the rising sun,
And sudden deemed his heart's desire was won,
For 'mid the clouds that o'er the gilded ways
Of the returning orb like films were spun,
Commingled in the morning's earliest rays,
He saw the covered Grail, and cried aloud in praise.
193
But when the veil was torn aside, no form
Of that sweet Vessel lit his heart with cheer,
Only the image of the fair and warm
And loving face of guilty Guinevere,
Whereat Sir Lancelot beat his breast for fear,
And rode back home in sorrow, knowing well
The vision not for him: and many a tear
He shed, returning to the Court, to tell
How in that lofty quest sad fortune him befell.
Now Percival awhile in Avalon
Dwelt with the hermit, fasting and in prayer,
And deeply ever pondered he upon
That glorious vision in the enkindled air;
Then from that place so holy and so fair
Departing, to the Wiltshire downs he came,
And wandered o'er the rolling plain and bare
Unto a Roman city much of fame,
A towering fort it was, and Sarum hight by name.
194
And when from Sarum Percival went forth
He quickly came to peaceful Avon's side,
And followed up the stream toward the north,
A sluggish river, neither deep nor wide,
And by a ford he crossed the gentle tide,
And going thence among the clustered trees
A lovely maid he suddenly espied,
Clad in a garment reaching to her knees,
And much her innocent looks the gallant knight did please.
Her head was bare, and bare her comely feet;
And when the knight demanded gently why
She wandered thus alone, in accents sweet
She answered, that her parents dwelt hard by,
Poor labourers, in a little cottage nigh;
And then they spake of other things, as day
Declined, and only starlight filled the sky,
And then from twilight till the twilight grey,
There in the woods the knight beside the maiden lay.
195
And oh that wild and passionate embrace,
While love united feebleness and power,
Oh those sweet kisses on her lovely face,
That rapt the knight from his true self an hour,
As in a circle of the trees their bower
They clung together till the cold of dawn;
And then the rage of lust began to cower
Before the voice of shame, and conscience' scorn,
And so the knight crept forth, self-spurning and forlorn.
What words can tell the shame of Percival,
As on he went beside the Avon's flow?
What fiercest sorrow for his deepest fall,
What penitence with what despair of woe,
What hopeless grief, across his soul did blow
In sad remorse for wrong and treachery !
And faster still and faster did he go,
As seeking from himself himself to flee,
Until he found an holy house at Amesbury.
196
There to an aged priest the knight confessed
The sin that he had done, his soul to stain,
And how he had betrayed his sacred quest,
And lost the vision he had sought to attain.
"My father," said he, "can I hope again
Ever by tears to pay for this my sin,
For wrongful pleasure by repentant pain? 4'
What scourging of the flesh may I begin,
That for my fleshly fall God's pardon I may win? "
"Fear not," he said; "though thou hast done this wrong,
Within the womb of sorrow yet there lies
The seed of hope : be constant and be strong,
And from the gloom of thy despair arise.
By nobler gifts than tears in heaven's eyes
Be justified, thy seeking to renew,
That worthily thou yet mayst win the prize;
Some penance for thy sin thou first shalt do,
And then ride forth in hope, and thine high quest pursue."
197
So Percival did penance and was shriven,
And rode from Amesbury with hope elate,
And o'er the open hills his way was driven,
To rain and wind and sunshine dedicate;
And leaving Avon's flow he journeyed straight,
The turf was light and springy to his steed,
That cantered bearing well his noble freight,
And Percival exulted in the speed,
And gladly to the rushing wind his head he freed.
And so he came to the long ridge's bound,
And through the vale below his path he led,
By slender streams whose banks with trees were crown'd,
And tiny hamlets half-remembered,
Until before him he beheld the head,
High-reared and proud, of mighty Martinsell,
And to the east a shadowy forest spread,
And from the bluff that seemed the vale to quell,
Away to north he saw the rolling downland swell.
198
And ever northward still he shaped his course,
Leaving the heights along a soft decline,
And reached the tardy Kennet nigh her source,
And rode beside her soft and silvery line,
Till where the trees their branches intertwine,
Beside the stream, he saw a new-raised mound,
As for a monument and lasting sign
Of some man worthy for remembrance found,
And lo ! a white-robed band stood weeping there around.
So wondering to the new-made mound he went,
And when he asked them whose the tomb might be,
One answered, "This is Merlin's monument,
The wisest of our magic company;
Merlin is passed, Merlin is dead, and we
Have raised this mound with sad and bitter tears;
Merlin, who gave us him who made us free,
Merlin is gone, and never more appears,
To teach and guide his children, as in former years.
199
"And all we can, this monument we give,
That to all generations may be known
His fame; and ever shall his honour live
Within this earth, enduring more than stone;
And still upon the down's swift breezes blown
His name shall last for ever in the land
Where'er the seed of wisdom shall be sown;
And while this firm memorial shall stand,
Merlin's renown is sure, the father of our band."
So Percival mourned with them there a space,
For him who rescued Arthur as a child
From out the deep, and in the regal place
Set him, to overcome the heathen wild,
And gave the kingdom peace and justice mild;
And then he clomb again the rising slope
Up to the grassy downland undefiled;
And as he gazed upon the view's wide scope
Of hill on hill, the more arose his spirit's hope.
200
And when he came upon the downland's edge,
And saw below the level plain and wide,
With many a tree and farm and path and hedge,
Where men pursued their toil the hills beside,
His grand desire at last was satisfied:
The heavens were rent apart as with a gale,
And then exultant Percival descried
The vision he so long had sought to hail,
As in the Court at Pentecost, the shrouded Grail.
What words can tell the joy of Percival,
When to his eyes the vision was revealed,
Not in a riddle, as the veil did fall,
Nor darkly, nor in any part concealed,
But now the vision full content did yield,
As through a ray of heaven's clearest beam
Sight of the Grail all earthly trouble healed,
A golden Vessel, brighter than a dream,
And o'er its rim flowed forth like wine a blood-red stream.
201
And that was all; the vision fled again,
A moment seen, and vanished into light,
And Percival endured a passing pain,
As though the world had gone to endless night ;
But then the memory of that wondrous sight
Renewed the faith and courage of his soul,
So that with all his spirit's burning might
He thanked the Lord, Who brought him to his goal,
And bliss man may not utter banished all his dole.
What need to tell how Percival returned,
The joyful tale to Arthur's Court to bring,
And how the hearts of all his comrades burned
To hear the vision, and the valiant king
Spake noble words of hearty welcoming,
And Lancelot and Gawain, nought downcast,
Rejoiced with all that now the holy thing,
So many weary ages hidden fast,
To one who pleased the Lord had been revealed at last
202
And now if any should peruse this tale,
May he find half the gladness I have found
In telling of the history of the Grail,
The famous quest of Arthur's Table Round,
And (in a barren land of level ground
Still dreaming of the western English heights,
Where God doth dwell, and heavenly joys abound),
Solacing many weary days and nights
With far-off thoughts of Arthur and his valiant fights.
And so farewell. Though Arthur long is gone,
With all his fair and knightly fellowship,
Though now he sleeps in gentle Avalon,
And o'er his tomb the western waters drip,
Who once held Britain from the heathen grip,
Remember yet the weird prophetic strain
That rang of old from mighty Merlin's lip :
"He dieth not, he shall not die, though slain;
Arthur the flower of kings, Arthur shall come again."
Written in FRANCE, August, 1918.
(Begun August 4th, finished August 31st, 1918.)
203
