These to His Memory-since he held

them dear, Perchance as finding there unconsciously Some image of himself—I dedicate, I dedicate, I consecrate with tearsThese Idylls.

Before a thousand peering littlenesses,
In that herce light which beats upon a

throne,
And blackens every blot : for where is he,
Who dares foreshadow for an only son
A lovelier life, a more unstain'd, than his ?
Or how should England dreaming of his

sons Hope more for these than some inheritance Of such a life, a heart, a mind as thine, Thou noble Father of her Kings to be, Laborious for her people and her poorVoice in the rich dawn of an ampler dayFar-sighted summoner of War and Waste To fruitful strifes and rivalries of peaceSweet nature gilded by the gracious gleam Of letters, dear to Science, dear to Art, Dear to thy land and ours, a Prince

indeed, Beyond all titles, and a household name, Hereafter, thro' all times, Albert the

Good,

And indeed He seems to me Scarce other than my own ideal knight, • Who reverenced his conscience as his

king; Whose glory was, redressing human wrong; Who spake no slander, no, nor listen'd

to it; Who loved one only and who clave to

herHer-over all whose realms to their last

isle, Commingled with the gloom of imminent

war, The shadow of His loss drew like eclipse, Darkening the world. We have lost

him : he is gone : We know him now: all narrow jealousies Are silent ; and we see him as he moved, How modest, kindly, all-accomplish'd,

wise, With what sublime repression of himself, And in what limits, and how tenderly ; Not swaying to this faction or to that ; Not making his high place the lawless

perch Of wing'd ambitions, nor a vantage

ground For pleasure ; but thro' all this tract of

Break not, O woman's heart, but still

endure; Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure, Remembering all the beauty of that star Which shone so close beside Thee, that

ye made One light together, but has past and leaves The Crown a lonely splendour.

May all love, His love, unseen but felt, o'ershadow Thee, The love of all Thy sons encompass Thee, The love of all Thy daughters cherish

Thee, The love of all Thy people comfort Thee, Till God's love set Thee at his side again! LEODOGRAN, the King of Cameliard, Had one fair daughter, and none other

child; And she was fairest of all flesh on earth, Guinevere, and in her his one delight.

For many a petty king ere Arthur came Ruled in this isle, and ever waging war Each upon other, wasted all the land ; And still from time to time the heathen

host Swarmd overseas, and harried what was

left. And so there grew great tracts of wilder

ness, Wherein the beast was ever more and

more, But man was less and less, till Arthur

came. For first Aurelius lived and fought and

died, And after him King Uther fought and died, But either faild to make the kingdom

one. And after these King Arthur for a space, And thro' the puissance of his Table

Round, Drew all their petty princedoms under

Came night and day, and rooted in the

fields, And wallow'd in the gardens of the King. And ever and anon the wolf would steal The children and devour, but now and

then, Her own brood lost or dead, lent her

fierce teat To human sucklings; and the children,

housed In her foul den, there at their meat would

growl, And mock their foster-mother on four feet, Till, straighten’d, they grew up to wolf

like men, Worse than the wolves. And King

Leodogran Groan'd for the Roman legions here again, And Cæsar's eagle : then his brother king, Urien, assail'd him : last a heathen horde, Reddening the sun with smoke and earth

with blood, And on the spike that split the mother's

heart Spitting the child, brake on him, till,

amazed, He knew not whither he should turn for aid.

him,

Their king and head, and made a realm,

and reign’d.

And thus the land of Cameliard was

waste, Thick with wet woods, and many a beast

therein, And none or few to scare or chase the

beast; So that wild dog, and wolf and boar and

But--for he heard of Arthur newly

crown'a, Tho' not without an uproar made by those Who cried, 'He is not Uther's son'-the

King Sent to him, saying, 'Arise, and help us

thou ! For here between the man and beast we

die.'

And Arthur yet had done no deed of arms,

This is the son of Gorlois, not the King ; This is the son of Anton, not the King.'

But heard the call, and came : and

Guinevere Stood by the castle walls to watch him

pass; But since he neither wore on helm or

shield The golden symbol of his kinglihood, But rode a simple knight among his

knights, And many of these in richer arms than he, She saw him not, or mark'd not, if she

saw, One among many, tho' his face was bare. But Arthur, looking downward as he past, Felt the light of her eyes into his life Smite on the sudden, yet rode on, and

pitch'd His tents beside the forest. Then he

drave The heathen, after, slew the beast, and

fellid The forest, letting in the sun, and made Broad pathways for the hunter and the

knight And so return'd.

And Arthur, passing thence to battle,

felt Travail, and throes and agonies of the

life, Desiring to be join'd with Guinevere; And thinking as he rode, “Her father said That there between the man and beast

they die. Shall I not lift her from this land of beasts Up to my throne, and side by side with

me? What happiness to reign a lonely king, Vext-Oye stars that shudder over me, O earth that soundest hollow under me, Vext with waste dreams ? for saving I be

join'd To her that is the fairest under heaven, I seem as nothing in the mighty world, And cannot will my will, nor work my

work Wholly, nor make myself in mine own

realm Victor and lord. But were I join'd with

her, Then might we live together as one life, And reigning with one will in everything Have power on this dark land to lighten

it, And power on this dead world to make it

live.'

For while he linger'd there,

For whil, A doubt that ever smoulder'd in the hearts Of those great Lords and Barons of his

realm Flash'd forth and into war : for most of

these, Colleaguing with a score of petty kings, Made head against him, crying, Who

is he That he should rule us ? who hath proven

him King Uther's son? for lo ! we look at

him, And find nor face nor bearing, limbs nor

voice, Are like to those of Uther whom we

Thereafter-as he speaks who tells the

tale When Arthur reach'd a field-of-battle

bright With pitch'd pavilions of his foe, the

world Was all so clear about him, that he saw The smallest rock far on the faintest hill, And even in high day the morning star.