wind sang

[stepping down

thing

rock,

Came on the shining levels of the lake. There drew he forth the brand Excalibur,

And o'er him, drawing it, the winter

moon,

Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth

And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt:

For all the haft twinkled with diamond studs, [work Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth Of subtlest jewelry. He gazed so long That both his eyes were dazzled, as he stood,

This way and that dividing the swift mind,

In act to throw: but at the last it seem'd

Better to leave Excalibur conceal'd There in the many-knotted waterflags, That whistled stiff and dry about the marge.

So strode he back slow to the wounded king.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:

"Hast thou performed my mission which I gave?

hast heard?"

What is it thou hast seen or what [vere: And answer made the bold Sir Bedi"I heard the ripple washing in the reeds,

And the wild water lapping on the crag."

To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale:

"Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy name,

Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight: For surer sign had follow'd, either hand,

Or voice, or else a motion of the mere. This is a shameful thing for men to lie. Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again

me word."

Then went Sir Bedivere the second

time

Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere,

Counting the dewy pebbles, fix'd in thought;

But when he saw the wonder of the hilt, How curiously and strangely chased, he smote

His palms together, and he cried aloud : "And if indeed I cast the brand away, Surely a precious thing, one worthy note, [earth, Should thus be lost forever from the Which might have pleased the eyes of many men.

What good should follow this, if this were done?

What harm, undone? deep harm to disobey,

Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. Were it well to obey then, if a king demand

An act unprofitable, against himself? The King is sick, and knows not what he does.

What record, or what relic of my lord Should be to aftertime, but empty breath

And rumors of a doubt? but were this kept,

Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings, Jarms, Some one might show it at a joust of Saying, 'King Arthur's sword, Excalibur,

Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake.

Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps

Upon the hidden bases of the hills.' So might some old man speak in the aftertime

To all the people, winning reverence. But now much honor and much fame were lost.'

So spake he, clouded with his own conceit,

And hid Excalibur the second time, And so strode back slow to the wounded King.

Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily:

hast heard?"

"What is it thou hast seen? or what [vere: And answer made the bold Sir Bedi"I heard the water lapping on the crag, And the long ripple washing in the reeds."

To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath:

"Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me!

Authority forgets a dying king,

Laid widow'd of the power in his eye That bow'd the will. I see thee what thou art,

For thou, the latest left of all my knights,

In whom should meet the offices of all, Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt;

Either from lust of gold, or like a girl Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice, And the third time may prosper, get thee hence:

But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur, I will arise and slay thee with my hands."

Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and

ran,

And leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged

Among the bulrush-beds, and clutch'd the sword,

And strongly wheel'd and threw it. The great brand [moon, Made lightnings in the splendor of the And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an arch,

Shot like a streamer of the northern morn,

Seen where the moving isles of winter shock [sea. By night, with noises of the northern So flash'd and fell the brand Excalibur : But ere he dipt the surface, rose an

arm

"Now see I by thine eyes that this is done.

Speak out: what is it thou hast heard or seen? [vere: And answer made the bold Sir Bedi"Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems [saw, Should blind my purpose, for I never Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die,

Not tho' I live three lives of mortal men,

So great a miracle as yonder hilt. Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him;

But when I look'd again, behold an

arm,

Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,

That caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him [mere." Three times, and drew him under in the And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard:

My end draws nigh; 'tis time that I were gone.

Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight,

And bear me to the margin; yet I fear My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die." [rose,

So saying, from the pavement he half Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm, And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes

As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears, And would have spoken, but he found not words,

Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee,

O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands..

And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs.

But, as he walk'd, King Arthur panted hard, [bed Like one that feels a nightmare on his When all the house is mute. So sigh'd the King,

Muttering and murmuring at his ear "Quick, quick!

I fear it is too late, and I shall die." But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge,

Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walk'd, Larger than human on the frozen hills. He heard the deep behind him, and a cry [like a goad. Before. His own thought drove him Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves And barren chasms, and all to left and right

The bare blackcliff clang'd round him, as he based

His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang [heelsSharp-smitten with the dint of armed And on a sudden, lo! the level lake, And the long glories of the winter

And loosed the shatter'd casque, and chafed his hands,

And call'd him by his name, complaining loud,

And dropping bitter tears against his brow

Striped with dark blood: for all his face was white

And colorless, and like the wither'd

moon

Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east ;

sun

And all his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops [curlsOf onset; and the light and lustrous That made his forehead like a rising [parch'd west High from the dais-throne-were Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, [fringed his lips. Mix'd with the knightly growth that So like a shatter'd column lay the King;

Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest, [ment, From spur to plume a star of tourna Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged

Before the eyes of ladies and of Kings. Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedi

vere,

"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,

When every morning brought a noble chance,

And every chance brought out a noble knight.

Such times have been not since the light hath led

The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. But now the whole ROUND TABLE is dissolved [world;

Which was an image of the mighty And I, the last, go forth companionless, And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds."

Or

else we loved the man, and prized his work;

I know not: but we sitting, as I said, The cock crew loud; as at that time of year

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 Alue:

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 for ward, bore

King Arthur, like a modern gentleman Of stateliest port; and all the people cried,

At this a hundred bells began to peal, That with the sound I woke, and heard indeed

"When will you paint like this?" and I replied,

(My words were half in earnest, half in jest,)

"Tis not your work, but Love's. Love, unperceived,

A more ideal Artist he than all, Came, drew your pencil from you, made those eyes [hair Darker than darkest pansies, and that More black than ashbuds in the front of March."

Christmas morn.

and see

The Gardener's daughter: trust me, after that,

You scarce can fail to match his masterpiece."

went.

And up we rose, and on the spur we [quite Not wholly in the busy world, nor Beyond it, blooms the garden that I love.

to it

News from the humming city comes [bells; In sound of funeral or of marriage And, sitting muffled in dark leaves, you hear

The windy clanging of the minster clock;

[lies Although between it and the garden A league of grass, wash'd by a slow broad stream,

That, stirr'd with languid pulses of the oar,

Waves all its lazy lilies, and creeps on,
Barge-laden, to three arches of a bridge
Crown'd with the minster towers.
The fields between
Are dewy-fresh, browsed by deep-
udder'd kine,

And all about the large lime feathers low,

The lime a summer home of murmurous wings. [herself,

In that still place she, hoarded in Grew, seldom seen: not less among us lived

Her fame from lip to lip. Who had not heard

Of Rose, the Gardener's daughter? Where was he,