Rain, sun, and rain! and the free blossom blows: Sun, rain, and sun! and where is he who knows? From the great deep to the great deep he goes.'

"So Merlin, riddling, anger'd me; but thou
Fear not to give this king thine only child,
Guinevere so great bards of him will sing
Hereafter, and dark sayings from of old
Ranging and ringing thro' the minds of men,
And echo'd by old folk beside their fires
For comfort after their wage-work is done,
Speak of the king; and Merlin in our time
Hath spoken also, not in jest, and sworn,
Tho' men may wound him, that he will not die,
But pass, again to come; and then or now
Utterly smite the heathen underfoot,

Till these and all men hail him for their king."

She spake and King Leodogran rejoiced, But musing "Shall I answer yea or nay? Doubted and drowsed, nodded and slept, and saw, Dreaming, a slope of land that ever grew, Field after field, up to a height, the peak Haze-hidden, and thereon a phantom king, Now looming, and now lost; and on the slope The sword rose, the hind fell, the herd was driven, Fire glimpsed; and all the land from roof and rick In drifts of smoke before a rolling wind Stream'd to the peak, and mingled with the haze And made it thicker; while the phantom king Sent out at times a voice; and here or there Stood one who pointed toward the voice, the rest Slew on and burnt, crying, "No king of ours, No son of Uther, and no king of ours;

Till with a wink his dream was changed, the haze
Descended, and the solid earth became

As nothing, and the king stood out in heaven,
Crown'd; and Leodogran awoke, and sent
Ulfius, and Brastias, and Bedivere

Back to the court of Arthur answering yea.

Then Arthur charged his warrior whom he loved
And honor'd most, Sir Lancelot, to ride forth
And bring the Queen;

and watch'd him from the gates:

And Lancelot past away among the flowers,
(For then was latter April) and return'd
Among the flowers, in May, with Guinevere.
To whom arrived, by Dubric the high saint,
Chief of the church in Britain, and before
The stateliest of her altar-shrines, the king
That morn was married, while in stainless white,
The fair beginners of a nobler time,

And glorying in their vows and him, his knights
Stood round him, and rejoicing in his joy.
And holy Dubric spread his hands and spake,
Reign ye, and live and love, and make the world
Other, and may thy Queen be one with thee,
And all this Order of thy Table Round
Fulfil the boundless purpose of their king."

Then at the marriage feast came in from Rome,
The slowly-fading mistress of the world,
Great lords, who claim'd the tribute as of yore.
But Arthur spake, “Behold, for these have sworn
To fight my wars, and worship me their king;
The old order changeth, yielding place to new;
And we that fight for our fair father Christ,
Seeing that ye be grown too weak and old
To drive the heathen from your Roman wall,
No tribute will we pay : so those great lords
Drew back in wrath, and Arthur strove with Rome.

And Arthur and his knighthood for a space
Were all one will, and thro' that strength the king
Drew in the petty princedoms under him,
Fought, and in twelve great battles overcame
The heathen hordes, and made a realm and reign'1.

THE HOLY GRAIL.

FROM noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done

In tournament or tilt, Sir Percivale,

Whom Arthur and his knighthood call'd The Pure,

Had pass'd into the silent life of prayer,

Praise, fast, and alms; and leaving for the cowl

The helmet in an abbey far away

From Camelot, there, and not long after, died.

And one, a fellow-monk among the rest,
Ambrosius, loved him much beyond the rest,
And honor'd him, and wrought into his heart
A way by love that waken'd love within,

To answer that which came: and as they sat
Beneath a world-old yew-tree, darkening half
The cloisters, on a gustful April morn
That puffed the swaying branches into smoke
Above them, ere the summer when he died,
The monk Ambrosius questioned Percivale:

“O brother, I have seen this yew-tree smoke,
Spring after spring, for half a hundred years:
For never have I known the world without,
Nor ever strayed beyond the pale: but thee,

When first thou camest, such a courtesy
Spake thro' the limbs and in the voice, — I knew
For one of those who eat in Arthur's hall ;
For good ye are and bad, and like to coins,
Some true, some light, but every one of you
Stamp'd with the image of the king; and now
Tell me, what drove thee from the Table Round,
My brother? was it earthly passion crost?"

66

Nay," said the knight; "for no such passion mine. But the sweet vision of the Holy Grail

Drove me from all vain-glories, rivalries,
And earthly heats that spring and sparkle out
Among us in the jousts, while women watch

Who wins, who falls; and waste the spiritual strength
Within us, better offer'd up to Heaven."

To whom the monk: "The Holy Grail! — I trust We are green in Heaven's eyes; but here too much We moulder, as to things without I mean,

Yet one of your own knights, a guest of ours,

Told us of this in our refectory,

But spake with such a sadness and so low

We heard not half of what he said. What is it?
The phantom of a cup that comes and goes ?"

Nay, monk! what phantom?" answered Percivale. "The cup, the cup itself, from which our Lord Drank at the last sad supper with his own. This, from the blessed land of Aromat After the day of darkness, when the dead Went wandering o'er Moriah, the good saint, Arimathæan Joseph, journeying brought To Glastonbury, where the winter thorn Blossoms at Christmas, mindful of our Lord. And there awhile it bode; and if a man Could touch or see it, he was heal'd at once, By faith, of all his ills; but then the times Grew to such evil that the. Holy cup

Was caught away to Heaven and disappear'd."

To whom the monk: "From our old books I know That Joseph came of old to Glastonbury,

And there the heathen Prince, Arviragus,
Gave him an isle of marsh whereon to build,
And there he built with wattles from the marsh
A little lonely church in days of yore,

For so they say, these books of ours, but seem
Mute of this miracle, far as I have read.
But who first saw the holy thing to-day ? "

"A woman,” answered Percivale,
66 a nun,
And one no further off in blood from me
Than sister; and if ever holy maid
With knees of adoration wore the stone,
A holy maid; tho' never maiden glow'd,
But that was in her earlier maidenhood,
With such a fervent flame of human love,
Which being rudely blunted glanced and shot
Only to holy things: to prayer and praise
She gave herself, to fast and alms; and yet,
Nun as she was, the scandal of the Court,
Sin against Arthur and the Table Round,
And the strange sound of an adulterous race
Across the iron grating of her cell

Beat, and she pray'd and fasted all the more.

"And he to whom she told her sins, or what
Her all but utter whiteness held for sin,
A man wellnigh a hundred winters old,
Spake often with her of the Holy Grail,

A legend handed down thro' five or six,

And each of these a hundred winters old,

From our Lord's time: and when King Arthur made His Table Round, and all men's hearts became

Clean for a season, surely he had thought

That now the Holy Grail would come again;

But sin broke out. Ah, Christ, that it would come,

And heal the world of all their wickedness!

6

O Father!' asked the maiden, might it come

To me by prayer and fasting?'

Nay,' said he,

'I know not, for thy heart is pure as snow.’