Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept. And fairest, laid his head upon her lap, 375 And loosed the shattered casque, and chafed his hands, And dropping bitter tears against his brow Striped with dark blood: for all his face was white 380 And colorless, and like the wither'd moon And all his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops 385 were parch'd with dust; Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, So like a shatter'd column lay the King; Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips. Not like that Arthur, who, with lance in rest, 390 Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere: 395 Such times have been not since the light that led 400 The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. But now the whole Round Table is dissolved And the days darken round me, and the years, 405 And slowly answered Arthur from the barge: • The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. 410 Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me? I have lived my life, and that which I have done If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer 415 Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice 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 420 Both for themselves and those who call them friend? For so the whole round earth is every way (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) – 425 430 So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, 435 Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn, But when that moan had past for evermore, Whereat he slowly turn'd and slowly clomb 440 445 Thence mark'd the black hull moving yet, and cried, He passes to be King among the dead, And after healing of his grievous wound 450 O me, be yon dark Queens in yon black boat, Who shriek'd and wail'd, the three whereat we gazed On that high day, when, clothed with living light, 455 Then from the dawn it seem'd there came, but faint As from beyond the limit of the world, Like the last echo born of a great cry, Sounds, as if some fair city were one voice 460 Around a king returning from his wars. Thereat once more he moved about, and clomb Ev'n to the highest he could climb, and saw, Straining his eyes beneath an arch of hand, Or thought he saw, the speck that bare the King, 465 Down that long water opening on the deep THE SPLENDOR FALLS. THE splendor falls on castle walls The long light shakes across the lakes, Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, 5 HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD. 303 O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, ΙΟ 15 And grow for ever and for ever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept. And fairest, laid his head upon her lap, 375 And loosed the shattered casque, and chafed his hands, And dropping bitter tears against his brow Striped with dark blood: for all his face was white 380 And colorless, and like the wither'd moon Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips. Not like that Arthur, who, with lance in rest, 385 390 Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere: Ah, my lord Arthur, whither shall I go? Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? For now I see the true old times are dead, 395 When every morning brought a noble chance, And every chance brought out a noble knight. Such times have been not since the light that led 400 The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. But now the whole Round Table is dissolved And the days darken round me, and the years, 405 And slowly answered Arthur from the barge: The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. 410 |