SIR GALAHAD. Y good blade carves the casques of men, My tough lance thrusteth sure, The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, They reel, they roll in clanging lists, And when the tide of combat stands, Perfume and flowers fall in showers, That lightly rain from ladies' hands. How sweet are looks that ladies bend For them I battle till the end, To save from shame and thrall: But all my heart is drawn above, My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine ; I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden's hand in mine. More bounteous aspects on me beam, Me mightier transports move and thrill; So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer A virgin heart in work and will. When down the stormy crescent goes, Then by some secret shrine I ride; I hear a voice, but none are there; Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth, Sometimes on lonely mountain meres I leap on board: no helmsman steers: A gentle sound, an awful light! Three angels bear the holy Grail : My spirit beats her mortal bars, And star-like mingles with the stars. When on my goodly charger borne The cock crows ere the Christmas morn, The tempest crackles on the leads, And, ringing, springs from brand and mail; But o'er the dark a glory spreads, And gilds the driving hail. I leave the plain, I climb the height; A maiden knight to me is given Such hope, I know not fear; I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven That often meet me here. I muse on joy that will not cease, Whose odors haunt my dreams; The clouds are broken in the sky, Swells up, and shakes and falls. So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; By bridge and ford, by park and pale, All-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide, Until I find the holy Grail. SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE. 85 SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE. A FRAGMENT. IKE souls that balance joy and pain, again The maiden Spring upon the plain In crystal vapor everywhere Sometimes the linnet piped his song: |