.15' IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 u I 111 I lil 12.5 I3j6 14.0 i25 ngu 1^1 12.0 1.8 1.6 150mm «P >> / 6^. /j /IPPLIED^ IM4GE . Inc .i^g 1653 East Main Street .SSS -^ Rochester, NY 14609 USA ss-^ Phone: 716/482-0300 '^='.==5 Fax: 716/288-5989 1993, Applied Image, Inc.. All Right* Reeeived ^ «^ ^q^ (maaning "COIM- TINUED"). or tha symbol V (moaning "END"), whichavar applias. Mapa, platas. charts, ate. may ba fiimad at diffarant raduction ratios. Thoaa too larga to ba antiraly included in ona axpoaura ara fiimad baginning in tha uppar laft hand comar. laft to right and top to bottom, as many framaa as raquirad. Tha following diagrama illustrata tha mathod: L'axampiaira ftlmA fut raproduit r^lca A ia gAnArosit* da: D.B. Wtldon Library Univartity of Waitarn Ontario • Las imagas suivantos ont «ti raproduitas avoc la plus grand soin. compta tanu da la condition at da ia nattat« da l'axampiaira film*, at an conformit* avac las conditions du contrat da filmaga. Laa axampiairas originaux dont la couvartura an papiar aat ImprimAa sont filmAs w commandant por la pramiar plat at 9n larminant soit par la darnlAra paga qui comporta una amprainta d'impraasion ou d'iiiustration. soit par la sacond plat, salon la caa. Tous las autras axamplairas originaux sont fiimAs an commandant par la pramiAra paga qui comporta una rmprainta d'impratision ou d'iiiustration at mn tarminant par ia ivnikf paga qui comporta una taila amprainta. Un das tiymboias suivants apparaftra sur la darniAra imaga da chaqua mieroficha, salon la cas: la symbols -^> signifia "A SUIVRE". la aymboia ▼ signifia "FIN". Laa cartaa. planchas. tablaaux. ate. pauvant Afa filmte A dao taux da rAduction dif f Arants. Lorsqua la document ast trap grand pour Atra raproduit •n un saui ciichA. ii ast fiimA A partir da I'angla supAriaur gaucha. da gaucha A drcite, at da haut mn baa. •n pranant ia nombra d'imagaa nAcassaira. Laa diagrammas suivanti illusuant la mAthoda. D 32 X 1 2 3 4 5 6 oiv "r^^,, i ^0t \i '•A^ / yp^'S' i <^:^i^ A >ih, iF'tc- *'•""•'« o/« /.«.,,,•,„„, ,,,^,,,.^ ""*'»""" fo/h..j{„„,,^ SELECT POEMS OF TENNYSON wrni INTRODUCTION AND NOTES w Frederick Henry Sykes, M.A., Ph.D., FKIXOW OF THE JOHNS HOI-KINS UNIVRR8ITV.' ^orottta THR W. T nApTn .^>^,,_ . 1894 \JSieAiiY (LTD.) ir Enfcred ncoordlnir to Aot r.t n .. Minister Of AKr,o,Utu;e,r;?i;:";v"?'^^^^ »"« office of the ■• f m PREFACE. This edition of Sc'lett Poaiiw nt t , • . an .1.1 .o .„„ ,u,,y ,„ n^:z:j^zzi^'::^ " inations of Ontario in 180-. Ti. »,. . ^ "luu nt oxain- to make possible fortho , P'^«««»t volume endeavours i.aKe possible for those wlu. use it the thorotigh studv of U .. onlj. „hen w„ have .triven with gm,. p„;.,.y ,v2hL example, ,„„, .fc, CXir^l^nr'T ' ""-• .'"' opin bns that are mmf^ » " " ^'''""arly the critical intellectual u'ber' T '"*'"^^^ "^ '"^"^^^ '^^^^^^^ killin'the io:"'l^r!'!:^:,*« ^« ^--* -cl sto.^ away, must,~if rightly u*6d' be 3 '"'', ^'^''''^^'^y «* P-'o^^- They » uy used, be used only as suggestions of deeper IV PREFACE. truth and beauty th«< critics, and.which we t.r'''' *^«'"^^lves to the tr«- . ^eei- not learn by Je ^^'"^ *^«'' ^'^ts, mustfind 1 The article Zi % ""^ to the trained n'Ust find and P«"dix, which ^SS. the early le kindness of °^ the manu. 3 alloHHd the 0' thanks to •i" literature ; ■ ot burden ; ork that has i^im, he can Od; Table of contknts. InTJIODUCTION PAGE Tennyson's Life n iv g l ix poetry, p. xvii. ^ ^'""^ characteristics of his Text OP Poems: '" The Holy Grail . ThePolt"' "*^"" ^*'"**"" ^*^'"*' The Lady of Shalott The Lotos- Eaters. . TAc Day-Dream . . Morted: Arthur The Brook . . The Voyage Commentary . . The Arthurian Legend n in . cj " " oftheKinff."D ^W ^rn! ^i\^^^' Source of •• idylls as a Sorie? p Uq Vh S*" 'P^rail," p. 118 ; ThellvTs P- l?o; a W,Vs':n''r.L"/°'*^«T-- "IW "Idylls 1 88 45 48 5l> Go 82 95 104 111 m the Allegory, pp. i53"i'S.^'^«^"f'PlW. Camelot pp. 128. 1357 199 -in Ar\i.^ ^V.*''?ory in the Grail, theRoundTabe n iflq ^"f f^". PP. 158, 188; i^theaateof^fePTh;i'Ct'"^^6^"""•^^ ''' ^*" Frameworkof t.he»ra»7 p 13'/' 4^^:iZsi\^^!' ^^"'^' ''''■ Te-^-n and Ta^.« •ennyaon'g co,..ception of the Grail n 107 Notes to The Hah. n^„:, '' P' ^^^• 2'Ac //o/y G!^„j7 128 ^^BLE OF CONTEXTS. JVnf! r ^?^'''''*--^«'«^» . ■' •• •• ••217 Notes o^.,,,^,^,,^ •• .. .. ., .. ^<^^^^ to The Brook .. '• '■ •• •• .. 251 ^^tes to The Fopage . .' \ / ' '■ •• •• •• .. 270 Appendices: " " • •• •• 28a Appendix I. : Some of t ^ "- infinite Pata ^itlT" "'*•• '"""-«% Appendix „.: p„e„,, roX^Wri""" - - ' "^ '• •• •• 294 ^.4„ ^&St^ ita .. 231 212 .. 217 • 225 .. 242 251 •• 270 28a ustrating •• ..287 ■ • • • 294 INTRODUCTION INTRODUCTION. TENNYSON : HIS LIFE. So'otwT'"" .^ '""'■ " ™^ ""''• ^-^^ village in ™toT^f rt?' '*'""'*" "" "'"'^ 'oad climbing up to Tetford and the high wold ; below it the brook slip pmg down past many a thorp off to the North Sea Z ™iand>bout dotted With sheep, misty hiUs afar off- such « Somersby. As you come into the village by°Ie ^ only one house of importance. It is a large rambling two-^tory house With tiled roof and white waU, stand n| am,dst elms and poplars, and overlooking from itslwe wmdowsaquiet secluded lawn, edgrf wit! yews rSl st r. r^ ^'''^""' '"'■"■y^o". vicar of GrimTby Bag Enderby, and Somersby. He was a just, Zter; «.«n, bnt a man of many accomplishment, fond ot mus^ a mathematician, linguist, and artist. If rather a harf man, even in bargains, any hardness in his na u« was «mpensated for by the tenderness of his wife, daughteTo the ™ar of the neighbouring town of Louth. .ue rectory was large, but it was none too large for the chaldren that came to fill it-five daughters, aTds^ve^ sons of whom tl. »u. ""A. ^ Ifenny,„„. ?C '""'.f^' ''°™ An^us. 6, ,809 „ „ boys learn . "''y "■»s bookish ■ ' "■"" Alfred ~ With biani ts'rX'eh':' ''"^^ ^-'- his" , t ''=-:Cvr„nr'"-"S''°4f*-" Poe'ry«^\7''««■•s' money ^*V*: ''«''->» ot age ":r^o~?^ror:^^^^^^^ passionate dsv„f- """y*""! himself tell<, 1 . obildhood wtr.r '^"^ "■»' Poits^^ h"' ^" "■' into thai. ^"^ news of p., "''^ssed him even in ■"jxon Was dead "' t *i, --ei/htrth-/'*'^^^^^^^^^^^^ ««d the - aw. ^ ' *^^"^« °^ J^ne wlh "^^ ' ^"^° ^^e As the\',7^J^« ^^"^ -^^- ^'^*— ercreation <>^Holywel[Girr*^''^^^^^«^^otheviIia. . terraced rooks ha! I '^°' ^^^t nature w;!l^'"''^°°^ were sent to thnr^°'^^^^««^beaut7 sl^'''' '^' ^® fframmar-school of t^ ^' ®*'" ^^ter thev ^"^^' W these days INTRODUCTION, ^^ nothing of note is recorded, except perhaps a weakness in anthmetic and a tendency to reverie that made the future poet to his surprise often late for lessons as the following. Leaving Louth at the age of eleven, he was for eight years home in Somersby, studying ^ith nitors, reading and writing prodigiously, goLg'iiTto Horncastle for music and to meet one who afterwards Then there were the winter evenings spent by the family m music and reading ; the long tramps over'the Za!, twil^ht '?.'" Tf ' ^'"'""^ ""'^^ the stars or in th; Uuhght-'.he would sit on a gate gawmin' about him," of tt fenlJ ""'^^'^ Mablethorpein full view '.stretched wide and wild the waste enormous marsh. ' and of the ' Wild wave in the wide North-sea Green-gHmmering towards the summit.' How all this pervades Tennyson's poetry • how it streams back to him in memory,-the ' ridged wolds -the sand-built ridge,' the 'lowly cottage,' ' The woods that belt the grey hill side The seven elms, the poplars four ' That stand beside my father's door And chiefly from the brook that loves To purl o'er matted cre^s, and ribbed sand. Or dimple in the dark of rushv coves.' mind SThf "T T"^' '" *^^ «"«^^P«ble tenacious weTunTo'r?-/" '''' ''^ '''''' son Frederick went up to Cambridge, leaving Charles and Alfred to »« "'^lOOPOTIox. ""d poetry n °"'°'' «> «odi„ ;^J^«i, under the «al T"" «°«iety of k^^ ^°^ever '^r- -"- ^^^^^^^^ 7^0 would dron in? /"^^^""^ aioud h "^ ^^^""^e oj poems of tjiir;;;;};^: — - — ^a^^am, '"'-•on pp. a INTRODUCTION. jUi luxuriance of imagination yet control over it, power of entering into ideal characters and moods, picturesque de- lineation of objects, holding them fused in strong emotion, variety of lyrical measures, responsive to every changing feeling ; elevation, so)>erness, impressiveness of thought. The tone and manner were new, provoking opposition and challenging and receiving criticism. The criticism is long dead ; but the voice lieing authentic lived on, winniiig adherents. In 1830 .here was an exciting page of romance when Tennyson, Hallam,and some other Apostles went to Spain to join in the movement against Spanish despotism. Their movement was quixotic, and came to nothing as far as Spanish liberty was concerned ; but it did much to cement the friendship of Tennyson and Hallam. This friendship grew closer even when the poet, on his father's death in 1831, withdrew from Cambridge to his home. Hallam and Spedding and Garden would go down to join the family group in Somersby. What sweet life those lines of Tennyson recalls, when thinking most of Hallam he wrote, 'O bUss, when all in cJrt-le drawn About Idni. heart and ear were fed To hear him, a* lie lay and read , The Tuscan poets on the lawn: Or in the all-Kolden afternoon A guest, or happy sister, sunj?. Or here she brought the harp and flung A ballad to the brightening moon.' In 1831 the bond of friendship was made still stronger by Hallam's engagement to the poet's sister Emily. Poems of 1882. The following vfiar when Hallam wsr.t up to London and the study of the law, Tennyson remaiu- e4 i» Somersby working on big gecpp^ yplume, ^bis xfv ;"'■ »"«>, too ,*: ^'''' '° '•' «" evor 1 " '^"■'•""l gift •*» £»^<«.A.„fe.;"»"> work .. e;„,tC ■*" "'■»«« of cl, '"' "»«' either M T '" ^°"''»n. a..d L "■'■ *""« r; '"' =^»»4 ov '° ^""^ '■» "eefsr' '-,.^"o„,„„:« :> »m4 ."r""""- ""o Ctrl?*"--" «-i e ^^as kept in tn,, u "^^ ^i^nes «« ^'*^i OarirJ. Poems Of 1840 . "" ^" *°"ch witl, ff- nil, aj5^ g^ INTRODUCTION. ^^ Break and other poems of sustained power and sweetness, of nch pictorial art, of lofty faith in humanity and in human progress. • It was received with instant favour conquering even the critics, and establishing deep and sound the foundations of his fame. Two pictures of him at this time are given by his two friends, Carlyle and his wife. Jane Welsh Carlyle's is womanly : "A very handsome man, and a whole-hearted one, with something of the gipsy in his api)earance, which for me is j^rfoctly charming." But how the poet lives in the portrait Carlyle sent Emerson ! "A great shock of rough, dusty-musty hair ; bright, laughing, hazel eyes ; massive aquiline face, most massive yet most delicate ; of sallow brown complexion, almost Indian-looking ; clothes cynically loose, free and easy ; smokes infinite tobacco. His voice is musically metallic-fit for loud laughter and piercing wail, or all that may lie between ; speech and speculation free and plenteous ; I do not meet, in these late decades, such company over a pipe." The Laureateshlp. Little by little Tennyson's circle of friends increased, embracing even men of political promin- ence like Gladstone. It was therefore not difficult to secure him a pension which set him free from anxiety about money. In 1847 The Princess was published. In I80O, onthedeatli of Wordsworth, Tennyson, not without some hard feelings of the envious, received the laurel The same year after a quiet growth of ten years in the poet's mind, In Memai-iam was issued, commemorating in a series of elegies, the loss of Arthur Hallam. The third ev»mt of this remarkable year was the poet's u.arr!.°.gr. to his Lincolnshire irieud of early days. Miss Sellwood. They settled in Twickenham, but removed thi-ee years later to Farringford, in the Isle of Wight '»i -"'«'. Four ::■ '"?'" -'"•". cwLr'".""' "»•' ^-me "'"'fe group of Z ."""" "> Engl,I-f f ' *'»*. T.„„y. 5' '•" from Zse 'r^'"'*''*'«"-Co^ ";™^' '«""» '««2 .• C;, Z' '■*' C'«A 188*' Jr '■/<"•'«<'> 187f :r ■"- -""^ o/:r "-< i^i'^iT;-'^"*' ''W ««« came upon .. ' ""< ^*« '""Z^"" ne^ home '^'•«*"'-«- To his "^•-^'^ the story of ''''• Jn J869 the ; S"fiey, hence. °°^ h'« title of ^ ^« had befo,^ •" °^ 1869 that ^nysons heard =hhehadJon« '^°t« in a phrase, and helping to make the charm of natnre a greater part in the life of ordinary men. When Hoibrook m Cranfm-d comes upon an old cedar, he quotes, " The cedar 8i,rend8 his dnrk-(?reeu layers of shade. " '♦Capital term- layers! Wonderful man!... When I saw the review of his poems in Blackwood, I. . .walked seven miles and ordered them. Now, what colour are ash-hllds 1T1 May^li A_.1Jr.i.i . -r .. ,. . _ „ .J.J. jyyj. ;;naj ^ g^jij — this young man comes and tells me. Black as ash-buds in March. And I ve lived all my life in the country." xviii ^^TnODUCTlON. As the voice of iii« „ "trerance to tho fj,-, , h^ven, of all writpr« ^-i. , , «" f «""« h„,„,„ „,,rj*; »>-' bo added some not succeeded in ^'^'^^"^^'^Jiyfeltth^Tfi ^^'■- Tennyson', f ° ^'"""'^ from J/fp. . T '^ *^e ,^"™--.-a„„.3w:ar:;rr,r; INTRODUCTION. xix iteThTrT'""' 1 '''r^'^~'^-^^^^-tslrls.na women Ike he Gardener^s daughter and Dora, humoi.)us shie^vd The nobility of hi« ...oral to..o. Love with Tennyson is not the Byron e passion, but the lovely influence that pe fumes the spr.ngtime of life, strengthens the soul in a 1 good and unselfish deeds, and crowns human life in iniio"" able marrmge with the greatest of human blessings This concepfon of love meets us in its different phases through- out Tennyson's work-in the Ll.Hs oj the Kin,, i„ the Enghsh Klylls, in Maud, in 77,« Princes.. This noble and sane v,ew of love goes hand in hand with other noble emotions The heroism of the British soldier, the valo of theBnt,sh sailor, the vital passion for knowledge fo w.se freedom, and for hun.an progress, with hutted o gieed of hypocrisy, and of inaction. These are so,ne moral aspects of his work that api>eal most strong,; to Enghsh people, and make the spiritual blessing of his poetry not less than the intellectual blessing Artistic excellence. In the matter of form and expres- sion Tennyson's place in literat.ue is uni.iue. No other wr.ter in English approaches him in conscious artistic excellence. The story of his work is one of constant revi- sion guided by an exquisite sense of perfection in thought and language. Naturally simple and direct in his view of ^^fe. and gifted with the finest ear for musical cadence, rennyson s work, as a lyric poet of the simpler en.otions of l.fe, IS perfect. This simplicity and directness, it must be said, guided the choice and general treatment of all his subjects In details, however, whenever the subject admitted it he was not simple and direct, but elaborate and ornate. Revision after revision brought a polished XX INTRODUCTION. perfection that em I expression &na «f ^ f^®^ *^^ *^^ resource., ^t u '»'•"«« year,; but thZ 1^! ""u" "* ^W" «hape vo-ces what i, pema„e« ,^2 "'""'' °' ""^ 'x»''J' C «'ng U^Iuminating the wildest «lf '^*' -^^a^spere's light- delighting to recaU the-pastorttl, ^""^ "' ««« nen -he« the charm „, the purit^r't""'"^ " "« ^">^T; ess pervasive than the tone^f Tl'!'""^ "''""•"-is .o the h„n,a„ spirit that do^ina.^ ^ ^^^ «■"' ^'-eth in es of rhetorical ^ce those jewels >"eht imitative peaking people «t rather than e fullest repre- • Sonie of his 'fe shift shape "8 poetry that man lite that I bead-roll of intuition into spere's light- ossing sea of ^'hich reveals sea; where of wise men the present ; nature is no strength in THE HOLY GRAH. From noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done In tournament or tilt, Sir Percivale, Whom Arthur and his knighthood call'd The Pure, Hr.d 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 honour'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 pufTd the swaying branches into smoke ^^^o\'Q them, ere the summer when he died, The monk Ambrosius question'd Percivale : " B ^"E HOLY GKAIL. 'O brother, I have <;«.„ .u- Spring after sDrin7f t' V ' ^'"""•'^ ™*=. For nLr IteT?' ""' ''"'""^'' ^^"'^^ Nor ever in, K™ *' ™'-''' ""hout, ♦^nen first thou earnest— such 5, ^« Spa.a sweet vision or.h;^;°:r ''^'»"^- Drove «e from a,, vaing,ories,riva,ri And earthly heat<5 n,of • ^^diries, Among us L tie '"""^ ""■ ^P^*'« °« W.0 Is :ho r^'" :'"' """''" ^'-^O "'*'» "^"o falls ; and wa<5fA fi,« • • Within u, beuer offer'd l^Tn^^^'"^ ^'-^h To whom the monk • « tk^ tt , We are green in He!" n's Jye b ! . "" '~' '"'^' -. .ider-as to thing: sr;:r°""'^ p:::;z;::rX---- . ^ut spake with cu-h - - - u.n « saaness and so low THE HOLY GRAIL. , We heard not half of what he said. What is it ? The phantom of a cup that comes and goes ?' ' Nay, monk ! what phantom ?' answer'd 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 Arimathaean 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 ' /ith 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 ?' '^^E HOLY GRAIL. • 'A woman,' answer'd PercivalP *o And one no further off in bZdf ""' Than sister ■ and \f . ^ ""^ "^^ Withtn \"'^'^^^^'- holy maid ^"h knees ofadoration wore the stone A ho V mairf • fi,«. scone, ymaid, tho' never maiden glow'd She gave he.eSkrrr<'^™« Nun as she w^ I '"'• ^""^ y^t- isne was, the scandal of the Court S'n agamst Arthur and the Table R. A«dthestn„,geso„„dofa„l,tf • -cross the iron grating orherT""^ '^'^• ^-t, and she prayd and fasted all the »„. A legend handed down thro' fiJo^Ti^' That now leHorGt''''''"'""^''' Butsinbroko^'^lr™"'"--^^"; ' ^«a<. it would come, THE HOLY GRAIL. And heal the world of all their wickedness ! "O Father !" ask'd the maiden, "might it come To me by prayer and fasting?" " Nay," said he, " I know not, for thy heart is pure as snow." And so she pray'd and fasted, till the sun Shone, and the wind blew, thro' her, and I thought She might have risen and floated when I saw her. ' For on a day she sent to speak with me. And when she came to speak, behold her eyes Beyond my knowing of them, beautiful. Beyond all knowing of them, wonderful. Beautiful in the light of holiness. And " O my brother Percivale," she said, " Sweet brother, I have seen the Holy Grail : For, waked at dead of night, I heard a sound As of a silver horn from o'er the hills Blown, and I thought, ' It is not Arthur's use To hunt by moonlight ;' and the slender sound As from a distance beyond distance grew Con. iig upon me— O never harp nor horn. Nor aught we blow with breath, or touch with hand, Was like that music as it came ; and then Stream'd thro' my cell a cold and silver beam. And down the long beam stole the Holy Grail, Rose-red with beatings in it. a^ if alive, Till all the white walls of my cell were dyed THE HOLY CRAiL. Wrt,„s,co,o„s leaping „„,,,„^„. And then ,he music faded, and the r v. P«t. and .he beam decay'd al r So "ow the Holy Thing is here agaif Among u^ brother, fast thou ,00 f„d„ And ten thy brother k„igh,s to^ ? '^"^' That so perchance the vSt "'""•' P'^>'' % thee and ,k„ " "'^J' ''= ^^ ee and those, and all the world be healU" 'Then leaving ,he pale n„n, i ^.y^ „, ... -o all men; and myself fast J T ""' Always and „, ** *"<• P^y'd- --d'anTpr:.!::::;---. -p-ntofth^worr^rb? My sisteA ' ^^^ "hen he heard '---^..fhe::trrrr '«'«- or brother none had he., but „,.. THE HOLY GRAIL. . Call'd him a son of Lancelot, and some said Begotten by enchantment— chatterers they, Like birds of passage piping up and down, That gape for flies— we know not whence they come ; For when was Lancelot wanderingly lewd ? * But she, the wan sweet maiden, shore away Clean from her forehead all that wealth of hair Which made a silken mat-work for her feet ; And out of this she plaited broad and long A strong sword-belt, and wove with silver thread And crimson in the belt a strange device, A crimson grail within a silver beam ; And saw the bright boy-knight, and bound it on him, Saying, " My knight, my love, my knight of heaven, O thou, my love, whose love is one with mine, I, maiden, round thee, maiden, bind my belt. Go forth, for thou shalt see what I have seen, And break thro' all, till one will crown thee king Far in the spiritual city :" and as she spake She sent the deathless passion in her eyes Thro' him, and made him hers, and laid her mind On him, and he believed in her belief. ' Then came a year of miracle : O brother, In our great hall there stood a vacant chair, 8 ^»E HOLY GRAIL. FashWd by Merlin ere he past away And carven with strange fi.„res • on J'- "I'he figures, like a serpent ^ '" '"^ °"^ Of i^ff. • se^^Pent, ran a scroll And Merlin call'd it «Ti,o o- ^-•lousrorgoodaLin^^"^^^^ "Noniancouldsitbutheshru'dr . "''' And once bv mJc,^ "^ '""'^ Wmself." nee by misadvertence Merlin sat Jn hjs own chair on^ And rend.„g, and a blast, and overhead Thunder, and in the .hinder was act AnddrrsrrrT*^''^™''^^^- Anovarcover'dwfth!l "°''''™' A-"one.i;j:iv:r:rs B«ever,.„,H.behe,dH.r:r:r^- As in a gloor, and all the in.VK., .J — O— v« nxOSe, THE HOLY GRAIL. vc^ and out I ad. us," he said, himself;" le, m, pass, II, chair. eard n day: •ail And staring each at other like dumb men Stood, till I found i. voice and sware a vow. ' I sware a vow before them all, that I, Because I had not seen the Grail, would ride A twelvemonth and a day in quest of it, • Until I found and saw it, as the nun My sister saw it ; and Galahad sware the vow. And good Sir Bors, our Lancelot's cousin, sware, And Lancelot sware, and many among the knights, And Gawain sware, and louder than the rest.' Then spake the monk Ambrosius, asking him, ' What said the King ? Did Arthur take the vow ? ' 'Nay, for my lord,' said Percivale, 'the King, Was not in hall : for early that same day, Scaped thro' a cavern from a bandit hold, An outraged maiden sprang into the hall Crying on help : for all her shining hair Was smear'd with earth, and either milky arm Red-rert with hooks of bramble, and all she wore Torn as a sail that leaves the rope is torn In tempest : so the King arose and went To smoke the scandalous hive of those wild bees That made such honey in his realm. Howbeit Some little of this marvel he too saw, lO rfB aoLv GRAIt. ro darken under Camelo,; whence ir^ I-ok'd up, calling aloud, «iT2l ^u "* Tower after ,o„er, spire beyond U' in ine second men are slaying beasf. And on .he third are warriors, el::: And on the fourth are men w.ViT • * -dovera,,„„es..uerrlr"^"'"- ^'"""""■"■^"'"y Merlin, with a crown And peak'd wings pointed to the North™ s,. And eastward fronts the statue andT -^^.h the Wings are n,ade:;rr:i THE IIOL Y GRAIL. At sunrise till the people in far fields, Wasted so often by the heathen hordes, Behold it, crying, " We have still a King." ' And, brother, had you known our hall within. Broader and higher than any in all the lands ! Where twelve great windows blazon Arthur's wars, And all the light that falls upon the board Streams thro' the twelve great battles of our King. Nay, one there is, and at the eastern end, Wealthy with wandering lines of mount and mere, Where Arthur finds the brand Excalibur. And also one to the west, and counter to it, And blank : and who shall blazon it ? when and how? — O there, perchance, when all our v/ars are done, The brand Excalibur will be cast away. * So to this hall full quickly rode the King, In horror lest the work by Merlin wrought. Dreamlike, should on the sudden vanish, wrapt In unremorseful folds of rolling fire. And in he rode, and up I glanced, and saw The golden dragon sparkling over all : And many of those who burnt the hold, their arms Hack'd, and their foreheads grimed with smoke, and sear'd. II li ^^S ffozy GJi^j^^ FolWd, and in among briahf fo. ^ull of the vision ^ ^^^' °"^s, Spake triT '''''■■ '"'^'^"^^^ King P to me, being nearest, "Percivale » owmg, and some protesting), .,hat is this?" Darken; and "WoeT ^' ^°"^ '» ^^'»» said he, ^ea, yea," " Art thou so bold and ha THE HOLY GRAIL. 13 * Then Galahad on the sudden, and in a voice Shrilling along the hall to Arthur, call'd, " But I, Sir Arthur, saw the Holy Grail, I saw the Holy Grail and heard a cry — * O Galahad, and O Galahad, follow me.' " '"Ah, Galahad, Galahad," said the King, "for' such As thou art is the vision, not for these. Thy holy nun and thou have seen a sign — Holier is none, my Percivale, than she — A sign to maim this Order which I made. But ye, that follow but the leader's bell " (Brother,. the King was hard upon his knights) " Taliessin is our fullest throat of song. And one hath sung and all the dumb will sing. Lancelot is Lancelot, and hath overborne Five knights at once, and every younger knight, Unproven, holds himself as Lancelot, Till overborne by one, he learns — and ye. What are ye ? Galahads ?— no, nor Percivales " (For thus it pleased the King to range me close After Sir Galahad) ; " nay," said he, " but men With strength and will to right the wrong'd, of power To lay the sudden heads of violence flat, i».nigiits that in twelve great battles spiash'd and dyed H "^^^ ffOLY GRAIL, The strong White Horse in hJc Lost in ,u ^ """"^ wandering fires ^ost in the quagmire! Man v of Return no more • ye thinkiT''"' '"' "^°^'' Too dark a nron.1, T ''"'^ ""^^^^ Rejoicmgin that Order which he mad^' * So when the sun broke nevf fv« All the great tabl^ .f ! ""^ ""^^^ ground, ^^^^^"^^e of our Arthur closer! And clash'd in such n .^ And almost bu„. fte ba„i Ji„ [^7^^, Shoutmg, "Sir Galahad and S.VP,*' — - Ci-_. vale THE HOL V GRAIL. IS t'4i' * But when the next day brake from under ground— O brother, had you known our Camelot, Built by old kings, age after age, so old The King himself had fears that it would fall, So strange, and rich, and dim ; for where the roofs Totter'd toward each other in the sky, Met foreheads all along the street of those ^" Who watch'd us pass; and lower, and where the long yU tUj itk^ Rich galleries, lady-laden, weigh'd the necks ^*,^*«^ Of dragons clinging to the crazy walls, ^ "^ ^"^ Thicker than drops from thunder, showers of flowers Fell as we past ; and men and boys astride On wyvern, lion, dragon, griffin, swan, At all the corners, named us each by name, Calling "God speed !" but in the ways below The knights and ladies wept, and rich and poor Wept, and the King himself could hardly speak For grief, and all in middle street the Queen, Who rode by Lancelot, wail'd and shriek'd aloud, " This madness has come on us for our sins." So to the Gate of the three Queens we catne. Where Arthur's wars are render'd mystically, And thence departed every one his way. 'And I was lifted up in heart, and thought nf oil n"' 1-*- -1 — s, • ., ,. -A '-■: ...z jTij xaic-oiiwTrn prowess m ine lists, **■ How my strong lance had beaten down the knights. '^ THE HOLY GH AIL. So many and famous names • anH n. TT^ , , "rtjiics, , and never vet Had heaven appear'd so blue, nor earth T For all my blood danced in me ° nd . "■'"'' ^i'": Should light npon.heZ7oL^' ThZirr "' '"' ™'""S of our King, j p™ T '•" ™"''' '■°"°" ™"deri„g firef I ^r'"'^'"'"™^ gloom across my mind ^..C^.^.y. Then every evil word I had spoken once " And eve.y evil .hough. I had thought of 'old And eveo- evil deed I ever did Awoke and cried, "This Ques.'is no. for .hee" Atone, and ,„ a land of sand and thorns. And I was thirsty even unto death; And r, too, cried, "This Quest is not for thee." Wo'uM slaTme"''' ?" "''^" ^ *»«»' "y thirst -'aydeverba!ku;;;Xi;:r"''^ W«e apple-trees, and apples by the brook F^^n,andon.heUwns. "I wm,es. here," l=a>d, I am not worthy of the Quest :■' Bu even whib I drank the brook, and ate o-Qv «i^p.c., aii tiiese things at once THE HOLY GRAIL. 17 Fell into dust, and I was left alone, And thirsting, in a land of sand and thorns. ' And then behold a woman at a door Spinning ; and fair the house whereby she sat. And kind the woman's eyes and innocent. And all her bearing gracious ; and she rose fi iA^t#*v.jK^U/ . Opening her arms to meet me, as who should say, '♦vCc^/^, cC^Y/**^^ "Rest here;" but when I touch'd her, lo ! she, too, Fell into dust and nothing, and the house Became no better than a broken shed. And in it a dead babe ; and also this Fell into dust, and I was left alone. * And on I rode, and greater was my thirst. Then flash'd a yellow gleam across the world, Av*'- And where it smote the plowshare in the field. The plowman left his plowing, and fell down JBefore it ; where it glitter'd on her pail, The milkmaid left her milking, and fell down Before it, and I knew not why, but thought " The sun is rising," tho' the sun had risen. Then was I ware of one that on me moved In golden armour with a crown of gold About a casque all jewels ; and his horse In golden armour iewell'd everywhere ; And on the splendour came, flashing me blind ; n c I8 ^«B HOLY aSAlL. And .eem-d to me the Lord of all the world, Be.„gsohug, But when I thought he ™e;„. Tocrushme,mov,ngonme,Io.he,too, Opendh«™,.o embrace me as he came, ^"f."Pl7™^nd.ouch>dhim,andhe,.o;, Fell mto dust, and I was left alone And wearying in a land of sand and thorns. And on the top, a city wall'dMhe spires " Pnckdw.thinctedible pinnacles into heaven And by the gateway stirr'd a crowd; and thl Cned to me climbing,.. Welcome, ^ercivaT Ind"lT"?"'*""P"^^'-°"g-«'" 71^ j^ ca^ No man, nor any voice And ,.,, t ^ d^.~/u.^^ T,„ ., , . ^ ^- And thence I past ' 7/ ^" *™ " ""nous city, and I saw Ihat man had once dwelt there; but there I fo„„d Only one man of an exceeding age ;;Where is that goodly company," said I, That so cned out upon me?" and he had We anv voice to answer, and yet gasp-d. Whence and what art thou?" ■^r.A T , ;eU into .use, and.. app^^^^^^^^ Was left alone once .^^^^ Lo, If I find the Holy Grail itself And touch it it will cn,mble into dust " 1 THE HOLY GRAIL. * And thence I 6xo\ c into a lowly vale, Low as the hill was high, and where the vale Was lowest, found a chapel, and thereby A holy hermit in a hermitage, To whom I told my phantoms, and he said : 19 '"Oson thou hast not true humility, ^^ The highest virtue, mother of them all ; For when the Lord of all things made Himself Naked of glory for His mortal change, ♦Take thou my robe,' she said, 'for all is thine,' And all her form shone forth with sudden light So that the angels were amazed, and she . y FoUow'd Him down, and like a flying star yt"" ' '^U f^y^ Led on the gray-hair'd wisdom of the east; /".. ..,, i^. But her thou hast not known : for what is this Thou thoughtest of thy prowess and thy sins? Thou hast not lost thyself to save thyself As Galahad " When the hermit made an end, In silver armour suddenly Galahad shone Before us, and against the chapel door Laid lance, and enter'd, and we knelt in prayer. And there the hermit slaked my burning thirst, And at the sacring of the mass I saw The holy elements alone ; but he, "Saw vp no morA? T Cln\r\^nA o«,^ 4.v~ r* ;i j^ — „.v — . 1, v^aiaiit4.u, aa.\t nic vjiiui, The Holy Grail, descend upon the shrine : 20 THE HOLY GRAIL. I saw the fiery face as of a child ^i^.^^-r-Sa}}'''^ ''"°*^ itself into the bread, and went ,^ And hither am I come ; and never yet Hath what thy sister taught me first to see This Holy Thing, fail'd from my side, nor come Cover'd, but moving with me night and day, Fainter by day, but always in the night Blood-red, and sliding down the bhcken'd marsh Blood-red, and on the naked mountain top Blood-red, and vi the sleeping mere below Blood-red. And in the strength of this I rode Shattermg all evil customs everywhere. And past thro' Pagan realms, and made them mine And clash'd with Pagan hordes, and bore them down And broke thro' all, and in the strength of this Come victor. But my time is hard at hand, And hence I go ; and one will crown me king Far m the spiritual city; and come thou-, too, For thou Shalt see the vision when I go." ' While thus he spake, his eye, dwelling on mine. Drew me, with power upon me, till I grew One with him, to believe as he believed. Then, when the day began to wane, we went. "^J^ere rose a hill that none but man could clin^K Scarr'd with a hundred wintry water-courses- ^ THE HOLY GRAIL. 21 Storm at the top, and when we gain'd it, storm Round us and death ; for every moment glanced His silver arms and gloom'd : so quick und thick The lightnings here and there to left and right Struck, till the dry old trunks about us, dead, . Yea, rotten with a hundred years of death, Sprang into fire : and at the base we found On either hand, as far as eye could see, A great black sv.amp and of an evil smell, Part black, part whiten'd with the bones of men, Not to be crost, save that some ancient king Had built a way, where, link'd with many a bridge, A thousand piers ran into the great Sea. And Galahad fled along them bridge by bridge, And every bridge as quickly as he crost Sprang into fire and vanish'd, tho' I yearn'd To follow ; and thrice above him all the heavens Open'd and blazed with thunder such as seem'd Shoutings of all the sons of God : and first At once I saw him far on the great Sea, In silver-shining armour starry-clear ; And o'er his head the Holy Vessel hung Clothed in white samite or a luminous cloud. And with exceeding swiftness ran the boat, If boat it were — I saw not whence it came. xxiiu TTxicu liic ucavcus upca u uilu uiuzcu uguiil Roaring, I saw him like a silver star — 22 THE HOLY GRAIL. And had he set the sail, or had the boat Become a living creature clad with wings? And o'er his head the Holy Vessel hung Redder than any rose, a joy to me, For now I knew the veil had been withdrawn. Then in a moment when they blazed again Opening, I saw the least of little stars Down on the waste, and straight beyond the star I saw the spiritual city and all her spires And gateways in » glory like one pearl- No larger, tho' the goal of all the saints- Strike from the sea; and from the star there shot A rose-red sparkle to the city, and there Dwelt, and I knew it was the Holy Grail, Which never eyes on earth again shall see. Then fell the floods of heaven drowning the deep. And how my feet recrost the deathful ridge No memory in me lives ; but that I touch'd The chapel-doors at dawn I know; and thence Taking my war-horse from the holy man. Glad that no phantom vext me more, return'd To whence I came, the gate of Arthur's wars.' ' O brother,' ask'd Ambrosius,— ' for in sooth These ancient books-and they would win thee-teem. Only I find not there this Holy Grail. With miracles and marvels like to these, / THE HOL Y GRAIL. 23 ir ot Not all unlike ; which oftentime I read, Who read but on my breviary with ease, Till my head swims ; and then go forth and pass Down to the little thorpe that lies so close, And almost plaster'd like a martin's nest To these old walls — and mingle with our folk ; And knowing every honest face of theirs As well as ever shepherd knew his sheep, And every homely secret in their hearts, Delight myself with gossip and old wives. And ills and aches, and teethings, lyings-in, And mirth<^ul sayings, children of the place. That have no meaning half a league away : Or luUijig random squabbles when they rise, Chafferings and chatterings at the market-cross. Rejoice, small man, in this small world of mine, Yea, even in their hens and in their eggs — O brother, saving this Sir Galahad, Came ye on none but phantoms in your quest, No man, no woman ?' eem, Then Sir Percivale : ' All men, to one so bound by such a vow, And women were as phantoms. O, my brother. Why wilt thou shame me to confess to thee How far I falter 'd from my quest and vow ? For after I had lain so many nights. •♦ THE HOLY GRAIL. A bedmate of the snail and eft and snake, In grass and burdock, I was changed to wan And meagre, and the vision had not come; And then I chanced upon a goodly town With one great dwelling in the middle of it ; Thither I made, and there was I disarm'd By maidens each as fair as any flower ; But when they led me into hall, behold, The Princess of that castle was the one, Brother, and that one only, who had ever Made my heart leap ; for when I moved of old A slender page about her father's hall, And she a slender maiden, all my heart Went after her with longing : yet we twain Had never kiss'd a kiss, or vow'd a vow. And now I ca^e upon her once again. And one had wedded her, and he was dead, And all his land and wealth and state were hers. And while I tarrieu, every day she set A banquet richer than the day before By me; for all her longing and her will Was toward me as of old; til' one fair morn, I walking to and fro beside a stream That flash'd across her orchard underneath Her castle-walls, she stole upon my walk, And calling me the greatest of all knights, .Embraced me, and so kiss'd me the first time, THE HOL V GRAIL. n And gave herself and all her wealth to me. Then I remember'd Arthur's warning word, That most of us would follow wandering fires, And the Quest faded in my heart. Anon, The heads of all her people drew to me, With supplication both of knees and tongue : ** We have heard of thee : thou art our greatest knight, Our Lady says it, and we well believe : Wed thou our Lady, and rule over us, And thou shalt be as Arthur in our land." O me, my brother ! but one night my vow Burnt me within, so that I rose and fled. But wail'd and wept, and hated mine own self, And ev'n.the Holy Quest, and all but her; Then after I was join'd with Galahad Cared not for her, nor anything upon earth.' Then said the monk, 'Poor men, when yule is cold, Must be content to sit by little fires. And this am I, so that ye care for me Ever so little ; yea, and blest be Heaven That brought thee here to this poor house of ours Where all the brethren are so hard, to warm My cold heart with a friend : but O the pity xu iiiiu uiiiie uv.a iirbi luvc uiiuc muic — lu xiuiu, Hold her a wealthy bride within thine arms, 26 ' THE HOLY GRAIL. Or all but hold, and then-cast her aside, Foregoing all her sweetness, like a weed. For we that want the warmth of double life, We that are plagued with dreams of something sweet Beyond all sweetness in a life so rich,— Ah, blessed Lord, I speak too earthlywise. Seeing I never stray'd beyond the cell, But live like an old badger in his earth. With earth about him everywhere, despite AH fast and penance. Saw ye none beside, None of your knights?' *Yeaso,'said Percivale: 'One night my pathway swerving east, I saw The pelican on the casque of our Sir Bors All in the middle of the rising moon : And toward him spurr'd, and hail'd him, and he me And each made joy of either ; then he ask'd "Where is he? hast thou seen him-Lancelot ?- Once," Said good Sir Bors, "he dash'd across me-mad And maddening what he rode : and when I cried, * Ridest thou then so hotly on a quest So holy,' Lancelot shouted, 'Stay me not ! I have been the sluggard, and I ride apace, For now there is a lion in the way.' So vanish 'd." sweet e: me. t?— THE HOLY GRAIL. -jy * Then Sir Bors had ridden on Softly, and sorrowing for our Lancelot, Because his former madness, once the talk And scandal of our table, had return'd ; For Lancelot's kith and kin so worship him That ill to him is ill to them ; to Bors Beyond the rest : he well had been content Not to have seen, so Lancelot might have seen. The Holy Cup of healing ; and, indeed, Being so clouded with his grief and love. Small heart was his after the Holy Quest : If God would send the vision, well : if not, The Quest and he were in the hands of Heaven. 'And then, with small adventure met. Sir Bors Rode to the lonest tract of all the realm. And found a people there among their crags, Our race and blood, a remnant that were left Paynim amid their circles, and the stones They pitch up st/aight to heaven : and their wise men Were strong in that old magic which can trace a^T^'^Cc^ ^y The wandering of the stars, and scoff 'd at him ^ And this high Quest as at a simple thing : Told him he foUow'd—almost Arthur's words— A mocking fire : " what other fire than he Whereby the blood beats, and the blossom blows, 38 ' THE HOLY GRAIL. And the sea rolls, and all the world is warm'd ?" And when his answer chafed them, the rough crowd, Hearing he had a difference with their priests, Seized him, and bound and plunged him into a cell Of great piled stones ; and lying bounden there In darkness thro' innumerable hours He heard the hollow-ringing heaven sweep Over him till by miracle— what else?— Heavy as it was, a great stone sHpt and fell, Such as no wind cduld move : and thro' the gap Glimmer'd the streaming scud : then came a night Still as the day was loud; and thro' the gap The seven clear stars of Arthur's Table Round— For, brother, so one night, because they roll Thro' such a round in heaven, we named the stars, Rejoicing in ourselves and in our King— And these, like bright eyes of familiar friends, In on him shone : "And then to me, to me," Said good Sir Bors, " beyond all hopes of mine, Who scarce had pray'd or ask'd it for myself— Across the seven clear stars— O grace to mc— In colour like the fingers of a hand Before a burning taper, the sweet Grail Glided and past, and close upon it peal'd A sharp quick thunder." Afterwards, a maid, VVho kept our holy faith among her kin In secret, entering, loosed and let him go.' THE HOLY GRAIL. 29 To whom the monk : * And I remember now That pelican on the casque : Sir Bors it was Who spake so low and sadly at our board ; And mighty reverent at our grace was he : -A square-set man and honest ; and his eyes, An out-door si; a of all the warmth within, Smiled with his lips — a smile beneath a cloud, ^ But heaven had meant it for a sunny one : Ay, ay. ' Bors, who else ? But when ye reach'd The csy, >:und ye all your knights return'd, Or was there sooth in Arthur's prophecy, Tell me, and what said each, and what the King?' Then answer'd Percivale : * And that can T, Brother, and truly ; since the living words Of so great men as Lancelot and our King Pass not from door to door and out again. But sit within the house. O, when we reach'd The city, our horses stumbling as they trode On heaps of ruin, hornless unicorns, Crack'd basilisks, and splinter'd cockatrices. And shatter'd talbots, which had left the stones Raw, that they fell from, brought us to the hall. ' And there sat Arthur on the dais-throne, *-.-.. w.-«..^ --u-^^.- !ti«vf. g\-fiiv Out ts|Jvii tilt Oucau Wasted and worn, and but a tithe of them, 30 JHE HOLY GRAIL. And those that had not, stood before the King, Who, when he saw me, rose, and bad me hail, ' Saying, "A welfare in thine eye reproves Our fear of some disastrous chance for thee On hill, or plain, at sea, or flooding ford. So fierce a gale made havoc here of late Among the strange devices of our kings ; Yea, shook this newer, stronger hall of ours. And from the statue Merlin moulded for us Half-wrench'd a golden wing; but now-the Quest This vision—hast thou seen the Holy Cup, That Joseph brought of old to Glastonbury?" ' So when I told him all thyself hast heard, Ambrosius, and my fresh but fixt resolve To pass away into the quiet life, He answer'd not, but, sharply turning, ask'd Of Gawain, "Gawain, was this Quest for thee?" '"Nay, lord," said Gawain, "not for such as I Therefore I communed with a saintly man. Who made me sure the Quest was not for me ; For I was much awearied of the Quest : But found a silk pavilion in a field, And merry maidens in it ; and then this gale ' Tore my pavilion from the tenting-pin, And blew mv mAi-rw vnn\A n -t THE HOLY GRAIL. With all discomfort ; yea, and but for this, My twelvemonth and a day were pleasant to me." ' He ceased ; and Arthur tum'd to whom at first He saw not, for Sir Bors, on entering, push'd Athwart the throng to Lancelot, caught his hand, Held it, and there, half-hidden by him, stood, Until the King espied him, saying to him, " Hail, Bors ! if ever loyal man and true Could see it, thou hast seen the Grail;" and Bors, " Ask me not, for I may not speak of it : I saw it ;" and the tears were in his eyes. 31 'Then there remain'd but Lancelot, for the rest Spake but of sundry perils in the storm ; Perhaps, like him of Cana in Holy Writ, Our Arthur kept his best until the last ; "Thou, too, my Lancelot," ask'd the King, "my friend. Our mightiest, hath this Quest avail'd for thee ?" •"Our mightiest!" answer'd Lancelot, with a groan; "O King!"— and when he paused, methought I spied A dying fire of madness in his eyes — "O King, my friend, if friend cf thine I be, Happier are those that welter in their sin, Swine in the mud, that cannot see for slime, Slime of the ditch : but in me lived a sin 32 . THE HOLY GRAIL. So strange, of such a kind, that all of pure, Noble, and knightly in me twined and clung Round that one sin, until the wholesome flower And poisonous grew together, each as each, Not to be pluck'd asunder; and when thy knights Sware, I sware with them only in the hope That could I touch or see the Holy Grail They might be pluck'd asunder. Then I spake To one most holy saint, who wept and said. That save they^ could be pluck'd asunder, all My quest were but in vain ; to w^om I vow'd That I would work according as he will'd. And forth I went, and while I yearn'd and strove To tear the twain asunder in my heart, My madness came upon me as of old, And whipt me into waste fields far away; There was I beaten down by little men, ' Mean knights, to whom the moving of my sword And shadow of my spear had been enow To scare them from me once; and then I came All in my folly to the naked shore, Wide flats, where nothing but coarse grasses grew ; But such a blast, my King, began to blow, So loud a blast along the shore and sea, Ye could not hear the waters for the blast, Tho' heapt in mounds and ridges all the sea e like a cataract, and all the sand THE HOLY GRAIL. Swept like a river, and the clouded heavens Were shaken with the motion and the sound. And blackening in the sea-foam sway'd a boat, Half-swallow'd in it, anchored with a chain; And in my madness to mysel^ I said, ' I will embark and I will lose myself. And in the great sea wash away my sin.' I burst the chain, I sprang into the boat. Seven days I drove along the dreary deep, And with me drove the moon and all the stars; And the wind fell, and on the seventh night I heard the shingle grinding in the surge. And felt the boat shock earth, and looking up, Behold, the enchanted towers of Carbonek, A castle like a rock upon a rock, With chasm-like portals open to the sea. And steps that met the breaker ! there was none Stood near it but a lion on each side That kept the entry, and the moon was full. Then from the boat I leapt, and up the stairs. There drew my sword. With sudden-flaring manes Those two great beasts rose upright like a man, Each gript a shoulder, and I stood between ; And, when I would have smitten them, heard a voice, ' Doubt not, go forward ; if thou doubt, the beasts Will tear thee piecemeal' Then with violence II 33 34 THE HOLY GRAIL, The sword was dash'd from out my hand, and fell. And up into the sounding hall I past ; But nothing in the sounding hall I saw, No bench nor table, painting on the wall Or shield of knight ; only the rounded moon Thro' the tall oriel on the rolling sea. But always in the quiet house I heard, Clear as a lark, high o'er me as a lark, A sweet voice singing in the topmost towei- To the eastward : up I climb'd a thousand steps With pain : as in a dream I seem'd to climb For ever : at the last I reach 'd a door, A light was in the crannies, and I heard, 'Glory and joy and honour to our Lord And to the Holy Vessel of the Grail' Then in my madness I essay'd the door ; It gave j and thro' a stormy glare, a heat As from a seventimes-heated furnace, I, Blasted and burnt, and blinded as I was. With such a fierceness that I swoon'd away — O, yet mcthought I saw the Holy Grail, AH pallM in crimson samite, and around Great angels, awful shapes, and wings and eyes. And but for all my madness and my sin. And then my swooning, I had sworn I saw That which I saw ; but what I saw was veil'd And coverd ; and this Quest was not for me."' d fell. eps THE HOLY GRAIL. 'So speaking, and here ceasing, Lancelot left The hall long silent, till Sir Gawain— nay, Brother, I need not tell thee foolish words,— A reckless and irreverent knight was he, Now bolden'd by the silence of his King,— Well, I will tell thee: "O King, my liege," he said, "Hath Gawain fail'd in any quest of thine? When have I stinted stroke in foughten field ? But as for thine, my good friend Percivale, Thy holy nun and thou have driven men mad. Yea, made our mightiest madder than our least. But by mine eyes and by mine ears I swear, I will be deafer than the blue-eyed cat. And thrice as blind as any noonday owl. To holy virgins in their ecstasies. Henceforward," 35 IS. '"Deafer," said the blameless King, " Gawain, and blinder unto holy things Hope not to make thyself by idle vows. Being too blind to have desire to see. But if indeed there came a sign from heaven. Blessed are Bors, Lancelot and Percivale, For these have seen according to their sight For every fiery prophet in old times. And all the sacred madness of the bard, 3« THE HOL y GRAIL. \Vhen God made music thro' them, could but speak His music by the framework and the chord ; And as ye saw it ye have spoken truth. * " Nay— but thou errest, Lancelot : never yet Could all of true and noble in knight and man Twine round one sin, whatever it might be, With such a closeness, but apart there grew, Save that he were the swine thou spakest of. Some root of knighfhood and pure nobleness ; Whereto see thou, that it may bear its flower. '"And spake I not too truly, O my knights ? Was I too dark a prophet when I said To those who went upon the Holy Quest, That most of them would follow wandering fires, Lost in the quagmire ?— lost to me and gone. And left me gazing at a barren board, And a lean Order — scarce return'd a tithe — And out of those to whom the vision came My greatest hardly will believe he saw ; Another hath beheld it afar off, And leaving human wrongs to right themselves, Cares but to pass into the silent life. And one hath had the vision face to face. And now his chair desires him here in vain. However they may crown him otherwhere. THE HOL Y GRAIL. 37 '"And some among you held, that if the King Had seen the sight he would have sworn the vow : Not easily, seeing that the King must guard That which he rules, and is but as the hind To whom a space of land is given to plow. Who may not wander from the allotted field Before his work be done ; but, being done, Let visions of the night or of the day Come, as they will ; and many a time they come, Until this earth he walks on seems not earth. This light that strikes his eyeball is not light, Th's air that smites his forehead is not air But vision — yea, his very hand and foot — In moments when he feels he cannot die. And knows himself no vision to himself, Nor the high God a vision, nor that One Who rose again : ye have seen what ye have s^en." 'So spake the King : I knew not all he meant.' -eV- ^ C*^- 1^-\^ \J <■- f RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS. When the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free In the silken sail of infancy, The tide of time flow'd back with me, The forward-flowing tide of time ; And many a sheeny summer-morn, Adown the Tigris I was borne, By Bagdat's shrines of fretted gold, High-walled gardens green and old ; True Mussulman was I and sworn, For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Anight my shallop, rustling thro' The low and bloomed foliage, drove The fragrant, glistening deeps, and clove The citron-shadows in the blue : By garden porches on the brim, The costly doors flung open wide, RECOLLECTIONS OF ARABIAN NIGHTS. 39 Gold glittering thro' lamplight dim, And broider'd sofus on each side : In sooth it was a goodly time, For it was in the gold< u pnn e Of good Haroun i.lr-'schid, Often where clear-stemm'd platans guard The outlet, did I turn away The boat-head down a broad canal From the main river sluiced, where all The sloping of the moon-lit sward Was damask-work, and deep inlay Of braided blooms unmown, which crept Adown to where the water slept. A goodly place, a goodly time, For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. A motion from the river won Ridged the smooth 1 vel, bearing on My shallop thro' the star-strown calm, Until another night in night I enter'd, from the clearer light, Imbower'd vaults of pillar'd palm. Imprisoning sweets,fwhich, as they clomb Heavenward, were stay'd beneath the dome 40 RECOLLECTIONS OF Of hollow boughs.— A goodly time, For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Still onward ; and the clear canal Is rounded to as clear a lake. From the green rivage many a fall Of diamond rillets musical, Thro' little cifystal arches low Down from the central fountain's flow Fall'n silver-chiming, seemed to shake The sparkling flints beneath the prow. A goodly place, a goodly time, For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Above thro' many a bowery turn A walk with vary-colour'd shells Wander'd engrain'd. On either side All round about the fragrant marge From fluted vase, ai; 1 brazen urn In order, eastern flowers large. Some dropping low their crimson bells Half-cloocd, and others studded wide With disks and tiars, fed the time Witi. odour in the golden prime Of good Haroun Akaschid. \ t THE ARABIAN NIGHTS. Far off, and where the lemon grove In closest coverture upsprung, The living airs of middle night Died round the bulbul as he sung ; Not he : but something which possess'd The darkness of the wo.' M, delight, Life, anguish, death, immortal love, Ceasing not, mingled, unrepress'd, Apart from place, withholding time. But flattering the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. 41 Black the garden-bowers and grots Sliimber'd : the solemn palms were ranged Above, unwoo'd of summer wind : A sudden splendour from behind Flush'd all the leaves with rich gold-green, And, flowing rapidly between Their interspaces, counterchanged The level lake with diamond-plots Of dark and bright. A lovely time, For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Dark-blue the deep sphere overhead. Distinct with vivid stars inlaid. Grew darker from that under-flame : 42 RECOLLECTIONS OF So, leaping lightly from the boat, With silver anchor left afloat, In marvel whence that glory came Upon me, as?n sleep I sank In cool soft turf upon the bank, Entranced with that place and time, So worthy of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Thence thro' the garden I was drawn— A realm of pleasance, many a mound. And many a shadow-chequer'd lawn Full of the city's stilly sound. And deep myrrh-thickets blowing round The stately cedar, tamarisks, Thick rosaries of scented thorn. Tall orient shrubs, and obelisks Graven with emblems of the time, In honour of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. With dazed vision unawares From the long alley's latticed shade Emerged, I came upon the great Pavilion of the Caliphat. Right to the carven cedarn doors. Flung inward over spangled floors, THE ARABIAN NIGHTS. Broad-based flights of marble stairs Ran up with golden balustrade, After the fashion of the time, And humour of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. 43 The fourscore windows all alight A? with the quintessence of flame, A million tapers flaring bright From twisted silvers look'd to shame The hollow-vaulted dark,* and stream'd Upon the mooned domes aloof In inmost Bagdat, till thgje seem'd Hundreds of crescents on the roof Of night new-risen, that marvellous time To celebrate the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Then stole I up, and trancedly Gazed on the Persian girl alone, Serene with argent-lidded eyes Amorous, and lashes like to rays Of darkness, and a brow of pearl Tressed with redolent ebony, In many a dark delicious curl, Flowing beneath her rose-hued zone ; f. 44 RECOLLECTIONS OF ARABIAN NIGHTS. The sweetest lady of the time, Well worthy of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Six columns, three on either side. Pure silver, underpropt a rich Throne of the massive ore, from which Down-droop'd, in many a floating fold, E .garlande<^ and diaper'd With inwrought flowers, a cloth of gold. Thereon, his deep eye laughter-stirr'd With merriment of kingly pride. Sole star of all that place and time, I saw him-in his golden prime. The Good Haroun Alraschid. THE POET. The poet in a golden xlime was born, With golden stars above ; -^l-c-*-^ Dower' d with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love. He saw thro' life and death, thro' good and ill, ■He saw thro' his own soul. /k-<*^^'<^ ^-^ The marvel of the everlasting win, An open scroll, Before him lay : with echoing feet he threaded The secretest walks of fame : The viewless arrows of his thoughts were headed And wing'd with flame, Like Indian reeds blown from his silver tongue. And of so fierce a flight, ' From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung, Filling with light 46 ' THE POET. And vagrant melodies the winds which bors Them earthward tiU they lit Then, like the arrow-seeds of the iieid flower, The fruitful wit Cleaning. t<;ok root, and springing forth anew Wa^ere cT ihey leli, behold, Like to the ojother plant in semblance, grew A flower all gold. And bravely furnish'd all abroad to fling The winged shafts of truth, To throng with stately blooms the breathing spring Of Hope and Youth. " So many minds did gird their orbs with beams, Tho' one did fling the fire. Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many dreams Of high desire. Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the world Like one great garden show'd, And thro' the w. ths of floating dark upciiri'^ Rare Si ...se flow'd. 'Y-^^ ^//^. THE POET. 47 And Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise Her beautiful bold brow, When rites and forms before his burning eyes Melted like snow. There was no blood upon her maiden robes Sunn'd by those orient skies ; But round about the circles of the globes Of her keen eyes And in her raiment's hem was traced in flame Wisdom, a name to shake All evil dreams of power — a sacred name. And when she spake. Her words did gather thunder as they ran. And as the lightning to the thunder Which follows it, riving the spirit of man. Making earth wonder, So was their r neam nyto her words. No sword Of wrath her right arm whirl'd, But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word She shook the world. C't,^ rfi'. y d^-*-^^ m >i^Ce- ^«,il£S "-**.€^e.-i^. ■»**-»«^ ^ ^*»-e«.*^«»»»* t \ true, The Lady o 5haioit But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, THE LADY OF SHALOTT, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, went to Camelot : Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed ; • I am half sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott 5i PART III. A Bow-SHor from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the kaves, And lamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red^ross Knight for ever kneel J ^>cMc^^^ Q ^ 6t,^u^ To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote blialott. The gernmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot ^T-Hu iiom iiis ulazor'd "r iiuiic slung A mighty silver bugle hung, I Sa THE LADY OF SHALOTT. And as he rode his armour rung, Beside remote Shalott. Ail in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the ^itarry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over still Shalott. His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd ; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trodc ; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal mirror, * Tirra lirra,' by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the rt-om, She saw the water lily bloom. She saw th - helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelo THE LADY OF SHALOTT. Out flew the web and floated wide ; The mirror crack'd from side to side ; 'The curse is come upon me,' cried 'J'he J^idy of Shalott. 53 PART IV. In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot ; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And round about the prow she wrote T/ie Lady of Shalott. And down the river's dim expanse Like some bold seer in a trance. Seeing all his own mischance — With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay ; The broad stream bore her far away, The Udy of Shalott. 54 tHE LADY OF SHALOTT. Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right— The leaves upon her falling light- Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot : And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott. Heard a carol, mournful, holy. Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly. And her eyes were darken'd wholly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side. Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Der.d-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. THE LADY OF SHALOTT. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame, And round the prow they read her name, 2Vie Lady of Shalott, Who is this ? and what is here ? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer ; And they cross'd themselves for fear, All the knights at Camelot : But Lancelot mused a little space ; He said, ' She has a lovely face ; God in his mercy lend her grace. The Lady of Shalott.' 55 X,. ^t I , i land, on. n em. 5ke, )ke, THE LOTOS- EATERS, ^ Stood sunset-flush'd : and, dew'd with showery drops, Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse. ' The charmed sunset Hnger'd low adown In the red West : thro' mountain clefts the dale Was seen far inland, and the yellow down Border'd with palm, and many a winding vale And meadow, set with slender galingale ; A land where all things always seem'd the same ! And round about the keel with faces pale, Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, The n^Id-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came. Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave To each, but whoso did receive of them. And taste, to him the mshing of the wave Far far away did seen: .. mourn and rave On alien shores ; and if his fellow spake, His voice was thin, as voices from the grave; And deep asleep he seem'd, yet all awake. And music in his ears his beating heart did make They sat them down upon the yellow sand. Between the sun and moon upon the shore ; And .sweet it was to drenm nf Fofh'^-l^-ri Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore 58 THE LOTOS- EATERS. Most weary seem'd the sea, weary the oar, Weary the wandering fields of barren foam. Then some one said, 'We will return no more;' And all at once they sang, * Our island home Is far beyond the wave ; we will no longer roam.' CHORIC SONG. There is swe^t maisic here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass ; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies. Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes ; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro' the moss the ivies creep. And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep. And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. II. Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness, And utterly consumed with sharp distress, vriiile all things else have rest from weariness ? THE LOTOS- EA TEA'S. 59 All things have rest : why should we toil alone, We only toil, who are the first of things, And make perpetual moan, Sjtill from one sorrow to another thrown : Nor ever fold our wings, And cease from wanderings, ^ Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm ; Nor harken what the inner spirit sings, ' T here is no joy but ca lm ! ' Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things ? the III. Lo ! in the middle of the wood, The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud With winds upon the branch, and there Grows green and broad, and takes no care, Sun-steep'd at noon, and in the moon Nightly dew-fed ; and turning yellow Falls, and floats adown the air. Lo ! sweeten'd with the summer light, The full-juiced appl,-, waxing over-mellow, Drops in a silent autujm uight. All its allotted ien-th ci days, The flower ripens in its place, Ripens and f^des, and falls, and hath no toil Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil. 6o THE LOTOS- EATERS. IV. Hateful is the dark-blue sky, Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea. Death is the end of life ; ah, why Should life all labour be ? Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, And in a little while our lips are dumb. Let us alone. What is it that will last ? All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. Let us alone. What pleasure can we have To war with evil ? Is there any peace In ever climbing up the climbing wave ? All things have rest, and rjpen toward the grave In silence; ripen, fall and cease : Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful case. How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, With half-shut eyes ever to seem Falling asleep in a half-dream ! To dream and dream, like yonder amber light. Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height; To hear each other's whisper'd speech ; 'ht^/^tJl^ Eating the Lotos day by day, THE LOTOS- EATERS. 6i To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, And tender curving lines of creamy spray ; To lend our hearts and spirits wholly To the influence of mild-minded melancholy ; To muse and brood and live again in memory, With those old faces of our infancy Heap'd over with a mound of grass, Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass ! VI. ve imful ;am. ight; Dear is the memory of our wedded lives, And dear the last embraces of our wives And their warm tears : but all hath suffer'd change U^/^, For sui£ly now our household hearths are cold : Our sons inherit us : our looks are strange : And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy. Or else the island princes over-bold Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings Before them of the ten years' war in Troy, And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things. Is there confusion in the little isle ? Let what is broken so remain. The Gods are hard to reconcile : 'Tis hard to settle order once again. There is confusion worse than death, 1 rouble on trouble, pain on pain, 63 THE LOrOS- EATERS. Long labour unto aged breath, Sore task to hearts worn out by many wars And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars. VII. But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly, How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly) With half-dropt eyelid still. Beneath a heaven Hark and holy. To watch the long bright river drawing slowly His waters from the purple hill-^ To hear the dewy echoes calling From cave to cave thro' the thick-twined vine— To watch the emerald-colour'd water falling Thro' many a wov'n acanthus-wi^ath divinej Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine, Only to hear were sweet, stretch'd out beneath the pine. VIII. i The Lotos blooms below the barren peak : The Lotos blows by every winding creek : All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone : Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos- dust is blown. .^ THE LOTOS- EATERS. 63 We have had enough of action, and of motion we, Roll'd to starboard, roU'd to larboard, when the surge was seething free. Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam- fountains in the sea. Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind^ In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl'd Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curl'd Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world : Where they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands, Blight and famine, j^lague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands, Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, and praying hands. But they smile, they, find a music centred in a doleful song *■ » Steaming up, a lamentation andan ancient tale of wrong Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are strong • Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil, harvest Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and il. wine and oil S!«$w ^4 THE LOTOS- EATERS. Till they perish and they suffer— some, 'tis whisper'd— down in hell Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell, Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel. Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the c^ shore ^^. Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar ; Oh rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more. sr'd — dwell, I, the wave nore. 1^ THE DAY-DREAM. PROLOGUE. O Lady Flora, let me speak : A pleasant hour has passed away While, dreaming on your damask cheek, The dewy sister-eyelids lay. As by the lattice you reclined, I went thro' many wayward moods To see you dreaming— and, behind, A summer crisp with shining woods. And I too dream'd, until at last Across my fancy, brooding warm, The reflex of a legend past, And loosely settled into form. And would you have the thought I had. And see the vision that I saw, Then take the broidery-frame, and add A crimson to the- quaint Macaw, And I will tell it. Turn your face, Nor look with that too-earnest eye— The rhymes are dazzled from their place, And order'd words asunder fly. " F IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /^ *V *; V 1.0 1.1 Utiles iti u III 13.6 III u 140 1.25 i 1.4 ■ 2.0 I 1.8 1.6 150mm — 6' >JPPLIED^ IIVMGE . Inc ^5 1653 East Main Street JSS^ ^ Rochester, NY 14609 USA j^TJSi Phone; 716/482-0300 ^='-SS=s Fax: 716/288-5989 1993, AppNM Image, Inc., All Rights Rasarvad ^een his knees, half-drain'd ; and there The wrinkled steward at his task, The maid-of-honour blooming fair ; The page has caught her hand in his : Her lips are sever'd as to speak : His own are pouted to a kiss : The blush is fix'd upon her cheek. V. Till all the hundred summers pass, The beams, that thro' the Oriel shine, Make prisms in every carven glass, .T.nu beaker briiam'd with noble wine. 68 THE DAY- DREAM. Each baron at the banquet sleeps, Grave faces gather'd in a ring. His state the king reposing keeps. He must have been a jovial king, VI. All round a hedge upshoots, and shows At distance like a little vs-ood ; Thorns, iv^es, woodbine, mistletoes, And grapes with bunches red as blood ; All creeping plants, a wall of green Close-matted, bur and brake and briar. And glimpsing over these, just seen, High up, the topmost palace spire. VII. When will the hundred summers die. And thought and time be born again. And newer knowledge, drawing nigh, Bring truth that sways the soul of men ? Here all things in their place remain, As all were order'd, ages since. Come, Care and Pleasure, Hope and Pain, And bring the fated faiiy Prince. THE DAY DREAM, THE SLEEPING REAUTY. I. Year after year unto her feet, She lying on her couch alone, Across the purple coverlet, The maiden's jet-black hair has grown, Oo either side her tranced form Forth streaming from a braid of pearl : The slumbrous light is rich and warm. And moves not on t!. 2 rounded curl. II. The silk star-broider'd coverlid Unto her limbs Hself doth mould languidly ever ; and, amid Her full black ringlets downward roU'd, Glows forth each softly-shadow'd arm With bracelets of the diamond bright ; Her constant beauty doth inform ..•HSIIIV33 mm luvc, uiiu uay wun ngni. fo THE DAY' DUE AM. IIL She sleeps : her breathinfi[s are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart. She sleeps : on either hand upswells The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest : She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest rUE DAY- DREAM, 71 THE ARRIVAL. Ai-L precious things, discover'd late, To those that seek them issue forth ; For love in sequel works with fate, And draws the veil from hidden worth. He. travels far from other skies— His mantle glitters on the rocks — A fairy Prince, with joyful eyes, And lighter-footed than the fox. II. The bodies and the bones of those That strove in other days to pass, Are wither'd in the thorny close, Or scatter'd blanching on the grass. He gazes on the silent dead : * They perish'd in their daring deeds.' This proverb flashes thro' his head, 'The many fail : the one succeeds.' 7a THEDAYDREAAf, III. He comes, scarce knowing what he seeks : He breaks the hedge : he enters there : The colour flies into his cheeks : He trusts to light on something fair ; For all his life the charm did talk About his path, and hover near With words of promise in his walk, And whi^r'd voices at his ear. IV. More close and close his footsteps wind : The Magic Music in his heart Beats quick and quicker, till he find The quiet chamber far apart. His spirit flutters like a lark. He stoops— to kiss her— on his knee. • Love, if thy tresses be so dark, How dark those hidden eyes must be !' 7 HE DAY- DREAM. n THE REVIVAL. I. A TOUCH, a kiss I the charm was snapt. There rose a noise of striking clocks, And feet that ran, and doors that clapt, And barking dogs, and crowing cocks ; A filler light illumined all, A breeze thro' all the garden swept, A sudden hubbub shook the hall, And sixty feet the fountain leapt. ir. The hedge broke in, the banner blew, The butler drank, the steward scrawl'd. The fire shot up, the martin flew. The parrot scream'd, the peacock squall'd. The maid and page renew'd their strife. The palace bang'd, and buzz'd and clackt. And all the long-pent stream of life Dasli'u downward in a cataract 74 THEDAYDREAAf, III. And last with these the king awoke, And in his chair himself uprear'd, And yawn'd, and rubb'd his face, and spoke, ' By holy rood, a royal beard ! How say you ? we have slept, my lords. My beard has grown into my laj).' The barons swore, with many words, Twas but tin after-dinner's nap. IV. 'Pardy,' retum'd the king, «but still My joints are somewhat stiff or so. My lord, and shall we pass the bill I mention'd half an hour ago?' The chancellor, -sedate and vain, In courteous words retum'd reply : But dallied with his golden chain, And, smiling, put the question by. THR DA Y DREAM n kc, THE DEPARTURE. I. And on her lover's arm she leant, And round her waist she felt it fold, And far across the hills they went In that new world which is the old : Across the hills, and far away Beyond their utmost purple rim, And deep into the dying day The happy princess follow'd him. ir. ' I'd sleep another hundred years, O love, for such another kiss;' 'O wake for ever, love,' she hears, 'O love, 'twas such as this and this.' And o'er them many a .sliding star. And many a merry wind was borne. And, stream'd thro' many a golden bar, 'i'he twilight meitcd into morn. 7« THE DAY DREAM. III. ' O eyes long laid in happy sleep ! ' * O happy sleep, that lightly fled \ ' ' O happy kiss, that woke thy sleep ! ' • O love, thy kiss would wake the dead ! ' And o'er them many a flowing range Of vapour buoy'd the crescent-bark, And, rapt thro' many a rosy change, The twilight died into the dark. ' IV. 'A hundred summers ! can it be? And whither goest thou, teil me where?' •O seek my father's court with me. For there are greater wonders there.' And o'er the hills, and far away Beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, across the day, Thro' all the world she follow'd him. THE DAY'DREAAf. n II' MORAL. )» I. So, I^dy Flora, take my lay, And if you find no moral there, Go, look in any glass and say, What moral is in being fair. Oh, to what uses shall we put The wildweed-flower that simply blowf? And is there any moral shut Within the bosom of the rose ? II. But any man that walks the mead, In bud or blade, or bloom, may find, According as his humours lead, A meaning suited to his mind. And liberal applications lie In Art like Nature, dearest friend ; So 'twere to cramp its use, if I Should hook it to some useful end. 7« THE DAY- DREAM. L'ENVOI. I. You shake ^our head. A random string Your finer female sense offends. Well— were it not a pleasant thing To fall asleep with all one's friends; To pass with all our social ties To silence from the paths of men j And every hundred years to rise And learn the world, and sleep again; To sleep thro' terms of mighty wars, And wake on science grown to more, On secrets of the brain, the stars, As wild as aught of fairy lore ; And all that else the years will show, The Poet-forms of stronger hours, The vast Republics that may grow. The Federations and the Powers • Titanic forces taking birth In divers seasons, divers ri!m«>e . THE DAY-DREAM. For we are Ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times. 79 II. So sleeping, so aroused from sleep Thro' sunny decads new and '-trange, Or gay quinquenniads would we xeap The flower and quintessence of change. 111. Ah, yet would I— and would I might I So much your eyes my fancy take- Be still the first to leap to light That 1 might kiss those eyes awake ! For, am I right, or am I wrong, To choose your own^you did not care ; You'd have my moral from the song, And I will take my pleasure there : And, am I right or am I wrong. My fancy, ranging thro' and thro', To search a meaning for the song, Perforce will still revert to you ; Nor finds a closer truth than this All-graceful head, so richly curl'd. And evermore a costly kiss The prelude to some brighter world. 8o THE DAY DREAM. IV. For since the time when Adam first Embraced his Eve in happy hour, And every bird of Eden burst In carol, every bud to flower. What eyes, like thine, have waken'd hopes, What lips, like thine, so sweetly join'd ? Where on the double rosebud droops The fulntess of the pensive mind ; Which all too dearly self-involved. Yet sleeps a dreamless sleep to me ; A sleep by kisses undissolved, That lets thee neither hear nor see : But break it. In the name of wife. And in the rights that name may give, Are clasp'd the moral of thy life, And that for which I care to live. \n THE DAY-DREAM. 8i es, EPILOGUE. So, Lady Flora, take my lay, And, if you find a meaning there, O whisper to your glass, and say, •What wonder, if he thinks me fair?» What wonder I was all unwise. To shape the song for your delight Like long-tail'd birds of Paradise That float thro' Heaven, and cannot light? Or old-world trains, upheld at court By Cupid-boys of blooming hue— But take it— earnest wed with sport, And either sacred unto you. II MORTE D'ARTHUR. So all day long the noise of battle roll'd Among the- mountains by the winter sea; Until King Arthur's table, man by man, Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their Lord, King Arthur : then, because his wound was deep, The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him. Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights. And bore him to a chapel nigh the field, A broken chancel with a broken cross, That stood on a dark strait of barren land. On one side lay the Ocean, and on one Lay a great water, and the moon was full. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : 'The sequel of to-day unsolders all us..iL The goodliest fellowship of famous knightff Whereof this world holds record. '^>uch a sleep They sleep— the men I loved. I think that we bhal. never more, at any future time MORTE D'ARTHUR. deep, ep ve Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds, Walking about the gardens and the halls Of Camelot, as in the days that were. I perish by this people which I made,— Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again To rule once more— but let what will be, be, I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm That without help I cannot last till morn.^ Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, Which was my pride : for thou rememberest how In those old days, one summer noon, an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake. Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, Holdfng the sword— and how I row'd across And took it, and have worn it, like a king : And, wheresoever I am sung or told In aftertime, this also shall be known : But now delay not : take Excalibur, And fling him far into the middle mere : Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word' To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere : 'It is not meet. Sir King, to leave thee thus,. Aidless, alone, and smitten thro' the helm. A little thing may harm a wounded man. Yet I thy hest will all perform at full, Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word.' 83 \ H MORTE D'ARTHUR. So saying, from the ruin'd shrine he stept And in the moon athwart the place of tombs, Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men. Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down By zig-zag paths, and juts of pointed rock, Came on the shining levels of the lake. There drewj he forth the brand Excalibur, And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon, E *ening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt : For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks. Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work Of subtlest jewellery. 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 perform'd my mission which I gave? What is it thou hast seen ? or what hast heard ?' )t )S, ig down 85 )rth t: /e? MO/ITE D'ARTHUR. And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : ' 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 As thou art lief and dear, and do the thing I bad-thee, watch, and lightly bring 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, Should thus be lost for ever from the earth. 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, f 86 MORTE D'ARTHUK. 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 rumours of a doubt? but were this kept, Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings. Some one might show it at a joust of arms, Saying, " Kin^ 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 honour 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 : 'What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?' And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : ' I heard the water lapping on the crag, And the long ripple washing in the reeds.' MORTE D' ARTHUR. g^ 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 whoia 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. Vet, for a man may fail in duty twice, And the third time may prosper, get ihee 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 Andstronglywheel'dandthrewit. The great brand Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an Irch Shot hke a streamer of the northern morn. Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night, with noises of the northern sea. So flash'd and fell the brand Excalibur : But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm d 88 RIORTE D'ARTHUR. Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, And caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him Three times, and drew him under in the mere. And lightly went the other to the King. Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker breath ; • Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. Speak out : what is it thou hast heard, or seen?' And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 'Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems Should blind my purpose, for I never saw, 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 j 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 Three times, and drew him under in the mere.' 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.' MORTE D' ARTHUR. | So saying, from the pavement he half rose, 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. Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed When all the house is mute. So sigh'd the King, Muttering and murmuring at his ear, ' Quick, quick J 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 Before. His own thought drove him, like a goad. Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves And barren chasms, and all to left and right The bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels— And on a sudden, lo I the level lake, And the long glories of the winter moon. •• MORTE D'ARl,^ UR, Then saw they how there hove a dusky bai^e, Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, Beneath them ; and descending they were'warc That all the decks were dense with stately forms Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream-by these Three Queens with crowns of gold-and from them rose A cry that shiver'd to the tingling stars, And, as it were one voice, an agony Of lamentation, like a wind, that shrills All night in a waste land, where no one comes, Or hath come, since the making of the world. ' Then murmur'd Arthur, 'Place me in the barge,' And to the barge they came. There those three Queens Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept. But she, that rose the tallest of them all And fairest, laid his head upon her lap, Atv'I 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 colourless, and like the wither'd moon Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east ; And ai. \is weaves and cuisses dash'd with drops Of ont-t V ... he M-ht and lustrous curls— That m^tde h'. iv.^ehead liV. a rising sun High frcr.-) iht iais-throne— were parch'd with dust ; irosc eens nds, A/OATE ITARTHUR. Or, clotted into jioints and hanging loose, Mix'd ^ul. the knightly growth that fringed his lips. So like a shatter'd column lay the King; Not like that Arthur who. with lance in rest, From spur to plume a star of tournament, Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged Before the eyes of ladies and of kings. 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, When every morning brojght a noble chance, And evfery chance brought out a noble knight. Such times have been not since the light that led The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. 3c.m^^ But now the whole round table is dissolved '' \Vhich was an imaged of the mighty world ; And I, the last, go forth companionless. And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds.' ' 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. Comfort ihyscif : what comfort is m me ? 91 .^ 92 t MORTE D'ARTHUR. God^ I have lived my life, and that which I have done May He within Himself make pure ! but thou If thou shouldst never see my face again Pray for my souL |More things are wrou'ght by prayer Than h. woria dr^s of. ^Vherefore, 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 Both for themselvefe and those who call them friend p For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God' But now farewell. I am going a long waj "' With these thou seest— if indeed I go— (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) To the island-valley of Avilion ; Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard-lawns And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.' So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan 1 hat, fluting a wild carol ere her death Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes'the flood With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir 2^.HJv..« ne ' prayer ' voice - end? m MOJirE D'ARTHUR. 93 Revolving many memories, till the hull Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn, And on the mere the wailing died away. Here ended Hall, and our last light, tlial long Had wink'd and threaten'd darkness, flared and fell <^^ At which the Parson, sent to sleep with sound. And waked with silence, grunted 'Good !' but' we Sat rapt : it was the tone with which he read- Perhaps some modern touches here and there Redeem'd it from the charge of nothingness- Or else we loved the man, and prized his work ; r 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 flue : 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 forward, bore King Arthur, like a modern gentleman Of stateliest port; and all the people cried, 94 MORTE D' ARTHUR. •Arthur is come again : he cannot die.' Then those that stood upon the hills behind Repeated— ' Come again, and thrice as fair;' And, further inland, voices echo'd— 'Come With all good things, and war shall be no more.' At this a hundred bells began to peal, That with the sound I woke, and heard indeed The clear church-bells ring in the Christmas-morn. THE BROOK. )rn. Here by this brook, we parted ; I to the East And he for Italy-too late~too late • One whom the strong sons of the world despise; For lucky rhymes to him were scrip and share " And mellow metres more than cent for cent • Nor could he understand how money breeds^ Thought it a dead thing; yet himself could maTce The thmg that is not as the thing that is O had he lived! In our schoolbooks we say, Of those that held their heads above the crowd, They flourish'd then or then ; but life in him Could scarce be said to flourish, only touch'd On such a time as goes before the leaf, When all the wood stands in a mist of'green And nothing perfect : yet ihe brook he loved For which, in branding summers of Bengal Or ev'n the sweet half-English Neilgherry air I panted, seems, as I re-listen to it, Prattling the primrose fancies of the hnv To me that loved him ; for 'O brook,' he says, 96 THE BROOK. * O babbling brook,' says Edmund in his rhyme, 'Whence come you?' and the brook, why not? replies. I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. ' By thirty hills I huri^ down, Or ^lip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town. And half a hundred bridges. Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river. For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. ' Poor lad, he died at Florence, quite worn out, Travelling to Naples. There is Darnley bridge, It has more ivy \ there the river ; and there Stands Philip's farm where brook and river meet. I chatter over stony ways. In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow. And many a fairy foreland set W !tn WiliOW-Wccu and mallow. ^me. y not? THE BROOK. I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river. For men may come and men may go, out I go on for ever. 97 lUt, neet. ' But Philip chatter'd more than brook or bird • Old Philip ; all about the fields you caught His weary daylong chirping, like the dry High-elbow'd grigs that leap in summer grass. I wind about, and in and out, J With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout. And here and there a grayling', , And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel, And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, ■out I go on for ever. • O darling Katie Willows, his one child I A maiden of our century, yet most meek • A daughter of our meadows, yet not coarse ; S^traight, but as lissome as a hazel wand • Her eyes a bashful azure, and her hair ' In gloss and hue the chestnut, when the shell divides threefold to show the fruit within II H 98 THE BROOK. ' Sweet Katie, once I did her a good turn, Her and her far-off cousin and betrothed, James Willows, of one name and heart with her. For here I came, twenty years back — the week Before I parted wih poor Edmund; crost By that old bridge which, half in ruins then, Still makes a hoary eyebrow for the gleam Beyond it, where the waters marry — crost, Whistling a random bar of Bonny Doon, And push'd at Philip's garden-gate. The gate, Half-parted from a weak and scolding hinge. Stuck; and he clamour'd from a casement, "Run" To Katie somewhere in the walks below, "Run, Katie !" Katie never ran : she moved To meet me, winding under woodbine bowers, A little flutter'd, with her eyelids down, Fresh apple-blossom, blushing for a boon. •What was it? less of sentiment than sense Had Katie ; not illiterate ; nor of those Who dabbling in the fount of fictive tears, And nursed by mealy-mouth'd philanthropies. Divorce the Feeling from her mate the Deed. 'She told me. She and James had quarrell'd. Why? What cause of quarrel ? None, she said, no cause : THE BROOK. 99 James had no cause : but when I prest the cause, I learnt that James had flickering jealousies Which anger'd her. AVho anger'd James ? I said. But Katie snatch'd her eyes at once from mine, And sketching with her slender pointed foot Some figure like a wizard pentagram On garden gravel, let my query pass Unclaim'd, in flushing silence, till I ask'd If James were coming. " Coming every day," She answer'd, « ever longing to explain. But evermore her father came across With some long-winded tale, and broke him short; And James departed vext with him and her." How could I help her ? " Would I-was it wrong?" (Claspt hands and that petitionary grace Of sweet seventeen subdued me ere she spoke) " O would I take her father for one hour, For one haif-hour, and let him talk to me !" An^ -iven while she spoke, I saw where James Made toward us, like a wader in the surf, Beyond the brook, waist-deep in meadow-sweet. 'O Katie, what I suffer'd for your sake ! For in I went, and call'd old Philip out To show the farm : full willingly he rose : He led me thro' the short sweet-smelling lanes Of his wheat-suburb, babbling as he went 100 THE BROOK. He praised his land, his horses, his machines ; He praised his ploughs, his cows, his hogs, his dogs; He praised his hens, his geese, his guinea-hens ; His pigeons, who in session on their roofs Approved him, bowing at their own deserts : Then from the plaintive mother's teat he took Her blind and shuddering puppies, naming each, And naming those, his friends, for whom they were : Then crost the, common into Darnley chase To show Sir Arthur's deer. In copse and fern Twinkled the innumerable ear and tail. Then, seated on a serpent-rooted beech, He pointed out a pasturing colt, and said : "That was the four-year-old I sold the Squire." And there he told a long long-winded tale Of how the Squire had seen the colt at grass, And how it was the thing his daughter wish'd, And how he sent the bailiff to the farm To learn the price, and what the price he ask'd, And how the bailiff swore that he was mad, But he stood firm ; and so the matter hung; He gave them line : and five days after that He met the bailiff at the Golden Fleece, Who then and there had offer'd something more. But he stood firm ; and so the matter hung; He knew the man ; the colt would fetch its price ; -i_ -j-,,c i..v.a une . suiu iiu-,v uy cnance at last THE BROOK. (It might be May or April, he forgot, The last of April or the first of May) He found the bailiff riding by the farm. And, talking from the point, he drew him in. And there he mellow'd all his heart with ale,' Until they closed a bargain, hand in hand. ' •Then, while I breathed in sight of haven, he, Poor fellow, could he help it > recommenced. And ran thro' all the coltish chronicle, Wild Will, Black Bess, Tantivy, Tallyho, Reform, White Rose, Bellerophon, the Jilt, Arbaces, and Phenomenon, and the rest, Till, not to die a listener, I arose, And with me Philip, talking still; and so We turn'd our foreheads from the falling sun, And following our own shadows thrice as long As when they follow'd us from Philip's door, Arrived, and found the sun of sweet content Re-risen in Katie's eyes, and all* things well. I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I slide by hazel covers ; I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows ; I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows. lOX 102 THE BROOK. I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses ; I linger by my shingly bars ; I loiter round my cresses ; And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. Yc3, men may come and go ; and these are gone, All gone. My dearest brother, Edmund, sleeps, Not by the well-known stream and rustic spire, But unfamiliar Arno, and the dome Of Brunelleschi ; sleeps in peace : and he. Poor Philip, of all his lavish waste of words Remains the lean P. W. on his tomb : I scraped the lichen from it : Katie walks By the long wash of Australasian seas Far off, and holds her head to other stars. And breathes in April-autumns. All are gone.' So Lawrence Aylmer, seated on a stile In the long hedge, and rolling in his mind Old waifs of rhyme, an* bowing o'er the brook A tonsured head in middle age forlorn. Mused, and was mute. On a sudden a low breath Of tender air made tremble in the hedge The fragile bindweed-bells and briony rings ; And he look'd ud. There stonH n maiHon «oo,. THE BROOK'. 103 ;one, jps, e, ne.' Ic reath »ij Waiting to pass. In much amaze he stared On eyes a bashful azure, and on hair In gloss and hue the chestnut, when the shell Divides threefold to show the fruit within : Then, wondering, ask'd her 'Are you from the farm?' 'Yes'answer'dshe. ' Pray stay a little : pardon me^ What do they call you?' « Katie.' 'That were strange. What surname?' 'Willows.' 'No!' 'That is my name.' • Indeed ! ' and here he look'd so self-perplext, That Katie laugh'd, and laughing blush'd, till he Laugh'd also, but as one before he wakes, Who feels a glimmering strangeness in his dream. Then looking at her; 'Too happy, fresh and fair, Too fresh and fair in our sad world's best bloom, To be the ghost of one who bore your name About these meadows, twenty years ago.' ' HV>veyou not heard?' saidKatie, 'we came back. We bought the farm we tenanted before. Am I so like her? so they said on board. Sir, if you knew her in her English days, My mother, as it seems you did, the days That most she loves to talk of, come with me. My brother James is in the harvest-field : But she— you will be welcome— O, come in !' THE VOYAGE. We left behind the painted buoy That tosses at the harbour-mouth ; And madly danced our hearts with joy, As fast we fleeted to the South : How fresh was every sight and sound On open main or winding shore I We knew the merry world was round, And we might sail for evermore. II. Warm broke the breeze against the brow. Dry sang the tackle, sang the sail : The Lady's-head upon the prow Caught the shrill salt, and sheer'd the gale. The broad seas swell'd to meet the keel. And swept behind ; so quick the run, We felt the good ship shake and reel, >::\.%,iii u lu uun iiiio me aun i THE VOYAGE. III. How oft we saw the Sun retire, And burn the threshold of the night, Fall from his Ocean-lane of fire, And sleep beneath his pillar 'd light ! How oft the purple-skirted robe Of twilight slowly downward drawn, As thro' the slumber of the globe Again we dash'd into the dawn ! 105 ( le. IV. New stars all night above the brim Of waters lighten'd into view; They climb'd as quickly, for the rim Changed every moment as we flew. Far ran the naked moon across The houseless ocean's heaving field, Or flying shone, the silver boss Of her own halo's dusky shield ; V. The peaky islet shifted shapes. High towns on hills were dimly seen, We past lone linpR nf ^r.^\. ., •■'vrimciii UilpeS And dewy Northern meadows green. io6 THE VOYAGE. We came to warmer waves, and deep Across the boundless east we drove, Where those long swells of breaker sweep The nutmeg rocks and isles of clove. VL By peaks that flamed, or, all in shade, Gloom'd tne low coast and quivering brine With ashy rains, that spreading made Fantastic plume or sable pine ; By sands and steaming flats, and floods Of mighty mouth, we scudded fast. And hills and scarlet-mingled woods Glow'd for a moment as we past. VII. O hundred shores of happy climes, How swiftly stream'd ye by the bark ! At times the whole sea burn'd, at times With wakes of fire we tore the dark j At times a carven craft would shoot From havens hid in fairy bowers. With naked limbs and flowers and fruit, But we nor paused for fruit nor flowers. g THE VOYAGE. VIII. For one fair Vision ever fled Down the waste waters day and night, And still we follow'd where she led, In hope to gain upon her flight. Her face was evermore unseen, And fixt upon the far sea-line ; But each man murmur'd, 'O my Queen, I follow till I make thee mine.' 107 IX. And now we lost her, now she gleam'd Like Fancy made of golden air. Now nearer to the prow she seem'd Like Virtue firm, like Knowledge fair, Now high on waves that idly burst Like Heavenly Hope she crown'd the sea And now, the bloodless point reversed, She bore the blade of Liberty. X And only one among us— him We pleS^d not~he was seldom pleased He saw not far : his eyes were dim : But ours he swore were all diseased »o8 THE VOYAGE. * A ship of fools,' he shriek'd in spite, * A ship of fools,' he sneer'd and wept. And overboard one stormy night He cast his body, and on we swept XI. And never sail of ours was furl'd, Nor anchor dropt at eve or morn ; We lov'd the 'glories of the world, But laws of nature were our scorn. For blasts would rise and rave and cease, But whence were those that drove the sail Across the whirlwind's heart of peace, And to and thro' the counter gale ? XII. Again to colder climes we came, For still we follow'd where she led : Now mate is blind and captain lame. And half the crew are sick or dead, But, blind or lame or sick or sound, We follow that which flies before : We know the merry world is round, And we may sail for evermore. sail NOTES T» SELECT POEMS OF TENNYSON, c r NOTES. THE HOLY GBAIL. [Chief Anthorltlest— G. Parl<» 1 itn-^n*,.„^ j> l«>»;HLIttl<,Iale, «,,„„, „ i„^ r,„„s„„., «„„, o/°S,,V„ IM-' THE AETHURIAN LEGEND. The mythological Arthur and the historical Arthur -It has become certain, thanks chiefly to the researches of Pro fessor Rhys, that behind the Arthurian story, ,:„ which t^^ stdl hnger undeniable evidences, can be traced the ou lines of a very considerable Celtic heathen mythologr. Vaguely Tt L true but still visible in this heathen myll^logy fp" ^r he chief pei^ons of the Arthurian legend : Arthur 5X71^ of ploughing ; his wife Gwenhwyvar, goddess of the twiLht Medrawd^ god of the shades, who carries off Gwenhwyvar and IS warred on by Arthur. With Arthur wn,« .2ZT^ ar.TTT'^' t'"""'' ^'°''^ ^*^«"S^h was thri"cei;;reased fit noon (Malory, Morte DartJuXr, iv. 18) while Merlin M J^ 112 NOTES. din, Mordanjo3, 'of the sea-fort,' perhaps points to an older divinity of light who disappears in the western waves. One of Arthur's exploits is bringing off the cauldron of Hades, V ;.ich according to Celtic legend had wonderful properties of feeding any company however large, though it would not cook for a coward, and of restoring to life dead bodies thrown into it. Similarly Bran's head and the poisoned spear that killed him had magical properties, the former giving food to all who wished to partake. The obscurity and confusion into which this ancient mythology fell are due to two causes,— the advent of Christianity and the triumphant invasion^ of the English. The one deposed the old divinities, degrading them to the rank of something less than divine, yet more than human ; the other set the Welsh poets aglow in patriotic praise of their war-leaders. One of these war-leaders in the years of struggle against the English invaders (450-510) was called Arthur. Fiction has so completely taken possession of the figure of Arthur that it is almost impossible to discern what historic truth still exists in the mass of fabulous details that have clustered around the British king. Either in South Britain or in North Britain or as Comes Britannice, holding "a roving commission to defend the province wherever his presence might be called for, "-for scholars are not agreed as to the scene of his exploits— Arthur, bom towards the end of the fifth century, seems to have been for years a great military leader, opposJTig the heathen invaders, defeating them in twelve successive battles, and falling himself at Camlan in Cornwall, in battle against his rebellious kinsman Modre«l. Even in these details we seem to see traces of the mythological Arthur with whom the war-leader was soon confounded. And only by the supposition of this association of the exploits of the old Celtic god and the new Celtic hero can we explain the exceeding fame and renown of the later Arthur. The legendary Arthur.— Leaving out Welsh sources, there 18 no written record of Arthur till several centunV., af <-«r hi- death. When his name for the first time occurs, he appear-. to an older ^aves. One . of Hades, roperties of Id not cook ies thrown spear that ing food to fusion into luses, — the sion^^of the iding them more than 1 patriotic lers in the 0-510) was issession of to di'^cem ous details ir in South K, holding erever his 1 agreed as the end of it military them in ]!amlan in I Modre<3. thologioal Jed. And jxploits of cplafn the "ces, there ? after his 5 appears, THE HOLY GRAIL. jjg as we said above, only as the successful leader of hk «„r • twelve great battles. This is in th« //// » "''*'°" "' to Nennius, whalived in hi i ! '" J^rxtonum ascribed Meanwhile LwevefceittB^V^ *^^ eighth century, the subject of loT'and 1 ^"*"'^,^"^ '^^^ °^ ^is %ure as great deids of yoraco^Za^:^^^^^^^^^ '^ "^'^^'^'^^ ^- position befoi/the TcTiT ^ *^^ ignominy of their' Normans con"uetd..^:ttdT"r.^^^ ""' """ "^^^ *'« . interest in the numbeAX^^r 'V'''"^ ^ ^"'^^^ «^ ^^^^P in the fascinatinrn^vX of th?"r 1*'' ^"*"^ ^'^^^^^ -'^ What was needed rSrtiath?'^"^"''"^*'^'^ might become availablffoV tt cXv^^^^^^^^ ^t '"''*'"'^^ aeo.rey,^a ^^ r^l^uTh^r Setr) ^^;^^ bishop of St. Asaph, in 1154. ^^^ucester), who died, «.d tradition heLunrit' ItT'^TI^'^'^ *» '"S'""' make, '-slation oTa^^M^riint ^T.l\S°Sr "^ ™ns to hi, fancy w„™ ahl.l ,1, * ' ^""'"^ S"™ "-e xttii^y, wove about the meagre menfiVm r.* tvt tbroagh hl^t .Ima^; Ze« a t'/r'"'*;" '• ^"-- the English from Britain.^hroZul T 'S" t "^Ti""' Ouanhun^. i<,ZZt^l^X ^ :"' IXrl"""'^'' defeats and Slavs Morlro-lLK- i. Artuur returning 0«>«»y s book « an opoch-„,aking wort Seized upon by 114 NO TBS. the Anglo-Normans it was made tho basis of numerous v'orkfl in prose and verse of which those by Geoffrey Gaimar (1145) and the Guernseyman Wace (1155), who first mentions the TaUe Bonde^ are the most important. The work of Wace, which was a Brut, or history of the British kings as descended from Brutus cf Troy, calls for especial nota For writing in French, at a timo when French literature and civilization were beginning to doMiiia to western Europe, Wace gave universal currency to the story of Geoffrey and a poetical form— tho four-stress couplet— that served as a model to almost all the romances derived from it. It is from Wace that our own Layamon writes his Brut, the first Arthurian poem in the English language (1205, 1275). Meanwhile the native songs of the Welsh bards were like- wise passing into French, either directly or through English versions. Marie de France, who lived at the court of Kenry II. of England, is the author of some fifteen of the most charming poems of old French literature, all based on Celtic lays. Trist(r)an(m), the prince of war, hunting, and song, emerges from the bardic sources as early as 1150-1170 as the hero of exploits as fascinating as Arthur's, which were related in Anglo-French by B6roul and Thomas. Even in the earliest French account Tristan, who had originally nothing to do with Arthur, is joined to the number of Arthur's knights. This happens likewise with Gawain, who, originally the hero of independent exploits, is brought by the poets, swayed by the magic of Arthur's name, into the circle of the Round Table. Similarly Percivale (also in Welsh, Peredur), the hero of the Grail legend, seeks knighthood at the hands of Arthur and makes the king's court the starting point of his adventures. This accretion of originally independent stories around a com- mon centre is, while not new in literature, one of the most interesting features of the Arthurian cycle. The Graal Legend.— As we are specially concerned with -- — c? — — — ^..—ij, ... lo iicucosaij- lur u3 LLi pause lor & moment to consider the earlier versions of the story. We have THE HOLY GRAIL. 115 rous v'orksi mar (1145) mtions the the British or especial 1 literature m Europe, Bfrey and a as a model rom Wace Arthurian were like- fh English i of Kenry the most on Celtic and song, L70 as the jre related be earliest ing to do I knighcs. Y the hero waved by he Round I, the hero )£ Arthur Iventures. tid a com- the most Tied with luse for a We have already seen that in Welsh mythology mention is made of certain objects with talisnianio properties-a magic cauldron Brdn'rf head and lance, etc. It would appear that in one early poem we can distinguish, however disguised and dimly appre- hended, the original Celtic basis. The French version of Chretien de Troies (1190) relates how Percivale, brought up in Ignorance of chivalry, wins from his unwilling mother pe^^- mission to go to Arthur's court. In a castle of the Eich Fisher where his adventures lead him, attendants bring before him a marvellous bleeding Ijjnce and a shining ' ' rjraai:' When he tells of these marvels in Arthur's court, he is reproached for not asking their meaning. Gawain goes forth to seek the bleeding lance and to learn its meaning. Percivale for five years does knightly service, but one Good Friday he is con- victed of forgetfulness of God in riding armed on that holy day. He hastens to a hermit who shrives him from this sin and discovers to hir^ that another sin, that of leaving his mother to die alone, prevented him from learning the meaning of the tahsmanic lance and graal. Percivale, now, once more rides forth on the quest. This story of Chretien is unfinished and 13 remarkably like the Welsh story in the Mabinogi of Peredur ah Evrawc, found in the Red Book of Hergest a MS of the latter part of the fourteenth century, published and translated by Lady Chariotte Guest in 1838. About the time of Chretien's poem, there appear the first accounts of A new LEGEND at once to be incorporated with the (apparently) Welsh tale of Chretien and the Mabinogion, One of these accounts, found between the work of the French poet and one of his contmuators is as follows :-Joseph of Arimatheea, a fnend of Pilate, had caught in a vessel the blood of Christ when His side was pierced on the cross, and had given bui-ial to Chnsts body. He reverenced the vessel (grail) so much that the Jews threw him into prison, from which he was deUvered by the Lord. Coming to England with the Grail, he was .miraculously supplied with food by the holy vessel. On hi8 death he begged that the Grail might ever remain with Ma 116 NOTES. descendants, of whom were the Eich Fisher and Poroivale. In the work of another French poet, Robert of Boron, towards the end of the twelfth century, v o have the full flow of the legend of the Grail merged inseparably with the story of Percivale, the whole pervaded with a distinctively mystic and Christian tone. This association of the Grail legend with the most sacred Christian mysteries naturally affected the hero of the story. It was felt that only a chaste and stainless knight should achieve the grail, so that in the Que.te du saint graal the saintly Galahad displaces the knightly Percivale. Mean- while, too, the Arthurian court was fully established, and into the quest weredrawnihe chief Arthurian heroes, whoseachieve- ment of the grail was made dependent upon their purity and spiritual strength. These changes-Galahad as hero, the various Arthurian knights taking part in the quest, the grail as the test of purity-complete the medieval development of the legend. From this time on the story of the GraU is virtu- ally as we all know it to-day. It is impossible to mention here the many French versions that more or less closely followed Boron's. It is likewise impossible to enumerate the host of Arthurian romances Ihat growmg from a French centre, filled the literature of Europe from Italy to Iceland. Nor has there been any sign of death and decay in the personages of tlie poetical Arthurian world. Keeping only to English literature, we have the figure of Arthur a favorite popular theme of our old ballad literature. The Mia- fortunea of Arthur is one of the earliest of Elizabethan dramas. Spenser drew his inspiration and the material of his Faerie Queen from the Arthurian poems. Milton in his earlier days planned an epic poem to embrace "What resounds In fablp and romance of Uther's son, Begirt with British and Armoric knights. " When theEomantic Eevival of the closing years of the eigh- teenth century arose, the interest in mediffival literature and life which accompanied it and in part caused it, could not poa- { THE HOLY GRAIL. ,17 modern s^SLadon o^^ *' ''' ""'^"^ ''^^'^'^'^ '^^ ' was keenly sensh ve to thn I ^"T"* '''™'- Woniswo.th and wins from omT r ^.^"" ^' ^^'^ ^'^ ^«™^"«o Poetry una wins from old tradition the story of Arterml an,1 Vli 1 This was in 1815. In 1832 Alfm^ V ^'^'^^ ""^ ±^hdure. LadyofShalott an/sHll . Tennyson published The working over oi 'he old r"""^ • "'^ ''^'^°P^"^ ^^^^"btle spiritofhrace whlh? T """■'""' ^'^'^ the new poetical /devotion^:rl^h:rln t::^^^^^^^^^^^ '^n^--^^' ^°-- stretch of his po.cicara tv tT Th! h'"' *'' "''^'^^^^'^' everyone breathed its infltre'no doubt brttmL; ''^ ^'^ was chiefly owing the inspiration n^^t Tennyson A tremendous and marvellous body of literature ty,« = i of centuries of human Hf^ aii • "™^*'^ure, the solace work of an old monk In ' t. ^'°'''"^' "'^"'"^"y- "'^^^ °^ the poor boX monaslVof Zt Zw "^'^ •" *.'^ ^"^^^ "^ ^ of Arthur and his courtT ^^"'"'^ '"^"«''^^*^ '^' e^lones THE SOUECES OP -THE IDYLLS OF THE KING"- TENNYSON'S USE OP HIS MATEEIAL. / ^General Sources.-Of the vast bodv of A.fK„„. L rennyson used in the main two works tb7;./" a •'^"' ^^^"^^ Md AroTJ^s. Morte parthur of Sir Thomas Malory. • This later work, com- pleted in 1470, was drawn from many French sourcea, some of wliioh aro long lost, and is of the very greatest importance in English literature. For it is not only a mineof Arthurian story to which our poets have always had recourse, but also a work of very great genius, exhibiting everywhere a plastic power that moulded the varying and various accounts into a consistent whole, and a feeling for style that has infused the prose nar- rative with animation, grace, i)oetry, and at times with a simple and tragic feeling, so that it has become "a possession for all time." > Tennyson used the greatest freedom in treating his material. Wiiile in the main we must recognize the essential traits of Arthurian character and story, we must see as well that the poet infused the whole with nineteenth-century thought and feeling, created new characters or deepened the shades on old, cut away or developed or invented details and episodes, and, greatest change of all, has, especially in the later idylls, priven to the old story the connotation of a s\ mbolio image of the life of the Soul. In short, the Idylls must stand as original poems, not as transcriptions or rehandlings. This is especially true of the Holy Grail. Source of the "Holy Grail."— Tennyson takes the theme from Malory, who writes from one of the rehandlings of the Quevte mentioned above (p. 116). While Tennyson gets many of his incidents and much of his description from Malory, ' ' nowhere else in the Idylls has he departed so widely from his model Much of the incident is due to him, and replaces with advantage the nauseous disquisitions upon chastity which occupy so large a space in the Queate. The artist's instinct •The best cheap edition published Is edited by Sir Edwaid Strachey in the Globe edition, Macmillan & Co., and shiould im- read witli tlie Idylis. Extracts, sufficient for comparative study of these Selections, are con- tahied in" Malory's History of King Arthur and the Quesi of the Holy Gran," edited iu v .■ vauMsioi aeries by Jb^ruest Knyg. Xlie W. J. Gaffe Co., Toronto. ^ 'ork, com- 9, some of irtance in rian story a work of ower that :onsi3tent prose nur- )s with a >os3ession material, traits of . that the ught and « on old, ides, and, lis, given 3f the life il poems, ally true le theme j8 of the its many Malory, from his tees with y which instinct rachey In he Idylls. , are con- theHoly . J. Gage THE HOLY GRAIL. ,,9 mher than the scholar's respect for the oldest form of story, led passir.r2H "^' '7f r "" ^''^^ '""'- ^ith an interest that passing shadow, Galahad, wholly faik to evoke. Nor as mav easUy be soon, is the fundamental conception of the tweTft J century romance (.-.., the virtue of renouncing theVoTw ^^ favor of sp,ntual ecstasy) to the Laureate's tasfe. Arthur s hltt art;' • ^"'/"^r^ ^"-^- are ^ractl, :„! sZks when^. fi :T"'''^"- ^^^^*^ *^'« "blameless King" Cll" Tlll^^rl?''^''^ *^""'^ "^^ -hole fantastic business. -Alfred Nutt, Legend of the Holy Grail, p. 244, „. -THE IDYLLS , A SERIES. Tennyson's interest in the Arthurian story covers almost the whole period of his literary life. The Lai, otZllT published as early as 1882, The E,ic i2rteJlrl^^^^^^^^^ -hUe the latest idyll, Ualin and Balan, dates in 1^6 and t'; •'S la!t t> vr'"^ '° ''^-P-'"'ing of ArtHr remarks: nectJwfth th T ' '''''' °' '^^ P^">«' '' *'«r« «on- aacnor s. To the completion of this early proiect tho «n«f Wo^hrdtatf r ^^.^^n'^--" asslduoX ^d t L'al wen"o^d«r t ^'"'" '^' "'^'^^^ '^^"^^ «' *he idylls as a well-rounded achievement. To appreciate the part taken bv by the founding of hi. Round'Tahir '" ^l 7''''''^ ^""' hood • to narr..fJ^ . *°^®' ^^®'' * turbulcnt knight- ivood , to narrate separate episodes in the lives of his knightsT 120 NOTES. of his counsellor, Merlin, and of his queen, Guinevere ; to tell the progress of the forces of evil set working by the guilty love of Lancelot for the queen, which, little by little gaining strength, at last bring about the dismemberment of the court, the rebellion of Modred, and the death of Arthur. The Idylls in Detail.— The idylls in detail are as follows. The date affixed shows the time at which the poet filled in each part of the design. The Coming of Arthur (1869). The events in the coronation of Arthur are described ; how he delivered King Leodogran from the heathen and >wedded his lovely daughter Guinevere ; and how he established his realm against the assaults of Bome and the heathen. Gareth and Lynette (1872). Some years had passed when Gareth, son of Lot of Orkney, tiring of home, came to Arthur's court to serve a year at his mother's command in the king's kitchen. When knights are being despatched to redress wrongs throughout the kingdom, Gareth demands a quest, that of answering the entreaty of the Lady Lyonors, grievously beset in her castl& He obtains the boon, and following Lynette, who had brought her sister's entreaty to the king, successively overcomes the three knights who hold Lyonors in restraint. With each victory the smell of kitchen-vassalage, ' which has clung about Gareth, grows less and less apparent to the high-spirited Lynette, so that >■ He that told the tale in olden times Says that Sir Gareth wedded Lyonors, But he, that told it later, saya Lynette.' Enid (1859), divided after the first edition into the Marriage of Geraint and Geraint and Enid. In the former the prince of Devon, Geraint, had wandered abroad with Guinevere. A stranger knight passed them and because of an , insult done the queen by the knight's follower, a dwarf, Geraint set off in swift pursuit to avenge her. The knight goes to his fortress, but Geraint passes into a ruined castle near by, where dwells old Yniol, dispossessed of his lands by his uepheW of the THE HOLY GRAIL. 121 fortress, Edym There he obtains arms, there he sees and loves the beautiful Enid. On her behalf, as ^vell as to avenge WtT' • "T^"' ^^'" ^" *^" *«^"«y f«^ *^« sparrow- hawk, the prize of beauty, sendinghim to the queen toexpiate tt.'" 5*m^ '*°'''^'"- ^" great splendorGeraintand Enid are wedded. They had lived in the court but a year or two when rumors of theguiltyloveofLancelotandthequeen began L J"^"l r""'- ^^''^^''^' '^^^'"S '«r »^i« life's purity, deparb^i with her to Devon, where he lived a gay but slothful lira The noble Enid lamenting his inaction awakens in her husband s mind suspicions of her fidelity. He determines to put her to the most extreme tests. Geraint and Enid. He clothes her in the meanest di^s, lays on her heavy commands, exposes her to the dissolute" advances of an old suitor, Limours, and to the violence of Earl Doorm Her sweet faithfulness through all these tests wins again Ge^aint's trust ; they return to court, and then again to Devon, where after years Geraint ' Crown 'd A happy life with a fair de'atii, and fell Against the heathen of the Northern Sea In battle, fighting for the blameless ki.ig.' Balinand Balan (1886). The brothers Balin and Balan held a fountain challenging all, till overcome by Arthur. tToLl P r T^l"""^ *° ^"^ *"^'^*«' Balan was sent to quell Pellam's demon-son, Garlon. Balin remaining at court was the unhappy witness of the love of Lancelot and the queen both of whom he had utterly reverenced, and dashed away furiously on wild adventure. Coming to Pellam's castle, he slew Garlon and escaped to the forest. There he was found by Vivien whose serpent-like hints rouse him to madness at the thought of Lancelot and the queen. He defaces his shield, shrieking with passion. At the cry Balan appears, thinking he was the demon-like Garlon; the two fail to recognize each other, fight, and are both mnrfnli^ ■.„^„^j«.i mrhnandVimen (as Vivien, 1869). The woman of the Harlot mind, Vivien, after spreading corruption in Arthur's NOTES. court and tempting even the King, spent her art on Merlin, with whom she fled to the Breton forest of Broceliande. There with the subtle beauty of her person and the venom of her tongue, that 'left not even Lancelot brave, nor Galahad clean,' she brought the sage magician under her charm, till • In the hollow oak he lay as dead, And lost to life and use and name and fam«.' Lancelot and Elaine (as Elaine, 1859). — Eight years had Lancelot won the diamond prize of the tournament. The ninth year, fancying the queen wishes him to stay with her, he makes excuse to Artht^r for not Jousting. But she bids him go as one unknown, and leaving his own shield with the lord of Astolat, in the care of his daughter Elaine, ho with a blank shield departs to the tournament. He wins the prize of the lists, but is desperately wounded, and hastens away with- out the prize. Gawain, sent by Arthur with the prize to seek out the unknown knight, leaves the diamond with Elaine, whose favour Lancelot had borne in the lists. She finds the wounded knight, nurses him to lifat But that ' The shackles of an old love straiten 'd him, His honour rooted in dishonour stood,' he might have loved her, but now he could not Elaine dies of her unrequited love. Her body, placed in a barge, floats into Camelot. She was buried like a queen, mourned by all, but most by Lancelot. The Holy Grail (1869).— Here we find the crisis ixi Arthvir's fortunes, for dissolution is inevitable, when the knights dis- perse r:n objects not the king's. Into the cell of the holy maid, sister of the knight Percivale, came the scandal of the court, and she by prayer and fasting besought Christ for a sight of the Holy Grail and for a sinless world. Then indeed she saw the grail, and Percivale learning of this prayed and fasted, and with him many others. It was a year of miracle Once in the banquet-hall Galahad sat in Merlin's ~J, all swore, none having seen it but Galahad, to seek the Grail. j THE HOL y GRAIL. ,03 And Arthur returning saw in these vows and in that vision a r.« -^ f ' ?^^' '^ P""""^^- ®''*^«« a «the of the knights ^turned from the wonderful quest : Galahad was lost to eafth Perczvale left the sword for the cowl ; only the W saThis ^-P-ons^u.^. .,,, to the "Toun^ament of To^Sf "^ C^rleon. He T ,er, wins for her the prize of the tourna- ment, serves h.x .a.thfuUy ; but for his love and service he re Pelll"^ *'r °'" ^"' °°"^«"^P* °' *^« haughrprince ■ Pel eas allows Gawain to mediate between them, but learn; that Gawazn has betrayed him for his own pleas Jre,andZ Ettare is impure. The treachery of the kni^hf fZ • purity of Ettare, drive Pelleas to f^^L ^7.1^ -IT ^^t ^'r "^r "^^' on^;t leartefui :S f^^l/r ff """^ Guinevere; then to Camelot. to dash against Lancelot crying " I pass to blast and blaze the crime of Lancelotand thequeen." Lancelot overthrows and parfon! hxn., but knows that for himself and the queen theevild^is The Last Tournament (1871). In the North, rebellion was defying the king when the last tournament waLheW atCaZ seemed a mockery now of Arthur's court, where half-obedience instrani T^on the tourney prize, the same Tristram of Lvon IT f ° f ^.I-^^' q--- to Mark of Cor^waT Now h" brings her the prize of jewels, and the two talk, sing love ani are happy till a shadow rises behind them a^d MaVkTeaves LThS f'rr w" '"'^^"- '^^^ "-^h-- rebellion, tr while had fallen before the king, but Arthur returning home found th«n noon 'a K. j_..,-_ , "i""»g iiome, ♦v.« * 1 ' V'^" """^ '"'"''■ ""'^ empLy, and oniv Uaffonet the fool, whimpering, -I shall never make theo snfilo agaTn '' 124 NOTES. Ghiinevere (1859). —For Guinevere had fled tha court Mod- red, the traitor, long had spied upon her. Once Lancelot had surprised him watching, and cast him down like a worm. Fear and remorse had hegun to torment the queen, and she bade Lancelot fly the court. But ever he delayed, till at last, at their final meeting, Modred came upon them with his creatures, and the worst was Known. Guinevere fled to sanc- tuary among the nuns of Almesbury ; Lancelot to his castle, to be vainly besieged by the king ; Modred, leagued with the English invaders usurped the realm of Arthur. A t Almesbury Guinevere and Arthur meet, where too late the queen feels the greatness of the king, bnd where he in his nobleness of heart for- gives her; where, too, after years of good deeds and pure life she dies Abbess of the convent. The Passing of Arthur, first written as the Morie d? Arthur, enclosed in the poem entitled The Epic (1842> Casting away the setting, the poet gave considerable expansions to the Morte d' Arthur, and published it as the Passing of Arthur (1869),— Arthur pursued Modred to the utmost bounds of Lyonnesse, and there gave him battle. The fight was long and bitter.' Man by man Arthur's Table fell about their lord, and of the rebel army only Modred remained. Modred the King slew, but was himself mortally wounded. He bade bis knight. Sir Bedivere, cast Excalibur into the neighbouring lake. The sword was caught and drawn down by a mystic arm in the mere, and the king knew his work was done. He was borne to the lake, where a dusky barge and threequeens received him. And Bedivere, climbing the highest crag saw the black hull grow less and less, and vanish into light. The Idylls have a Dedication to the Prince Consoi't (1862) and an Envoy to the Queen (1872). The THE HOLY GRAIL. 135 THE MEANING OP THE TERM " IDYLL " AS APPLIED TO " THE IDYLLS OF THE KING."* It is obvious from the preceding account of -The Idylls" that we have to do with a series of poems in which theTJm br^dth and fulness of treatment, and^he attirut of tl^ T^ sonages show all the characteristics of epToTo^t^ WW picture Greekidylhcpoetry.asinTheoc'ritus, wasnotmerelv pastoral poetiy, as the words to-day suffsest. MvVl.ni hfe on theshady hillside, in the streets un£f the su^ormofn' "i^:^^ «^^-entof pas.ion, such :e:tVh:Ter; J • tr 2"^ ''""°"°'°^"^- Th-"biectswe JXuT dyn^ts thrTtT"\r^ ^""^^ chan.ceeri.edth; ayns was their style: they were =' little pictures" of human life, presenting one simple theme in a brief and hi^hl^ wrought form by the aid of the most delica teld grSji touches The Greeks, especially of Alexandria had^g'wn ired of long epics ; if the subject had to be hero c let uf have turesque touches and not long, for 'a big book is a bi^ nmV ance. So arose the ' ' epic idyll . " So too among English readers of this century, long epics like ^^^Fa^r^e Queen ov Paradise Lost were out of fasHo^ To wntean epic poem that would be rea^, one had to breakup the old epic moulds, and invent or kdopt a new fashion Tennyson was early a disciple of Theocritus, and thlinfltn^ of.he Greek can be traced throughout all Ws idylirfTtrr ';eft^mfrom tbe Song of Daphnis, The Lotos-Eaters is ch4^ *8ymond«(, The Greek Poets a 9ia e w ^ « I — 136 NOTES. with landscape effects from the Hylaa already mentioned. Equally characteristic i his" indebtedness in pastoral idylls like The Gardener's Daughter, Edwin Morris, The Brook, The Miller's Daur/hter, though here the poet is representing, not antique life, but the life of to^lay. In poems such as these "Tennyson revived the true idyllic purpose, adopting the form mainly as a structure in which to exhibit, with equal naturalness and beauty, the scenery, thought, manners, of his own country and time." Tennyson's first effort in Arthurian poetry was not conceived as idyllic. The Morte d' Arthur was published under the title The Epic ; it alono Was saved among other books that were consigned to the flames, being but 'fainv Homeric -Hshoes, nothing worth ' ; its style is epic in character, Ihough, as has been noticed, the speech of the departing Arthur is semi- idyllic. For all that "The Idylls " were not executed as an epic poem. The fancy of the poet was drawn from time to time to the most fascinating parts of the Arthurian story, ' and these different episodes were wrought into highly-finished pictures, without reference at first to any unity of aim. But these pictures insensibly grew till at last they presented the f u'l epic theme of Arthur, yet still not in an epic form. For The Idylls remain a series of highly-wrought pictures— the action of one incident does not, as in the true epic, merge into the action of another, nor can we trace in consistent development throughout the various poems the fortunes of the chief per- sonages of the action. Implicit in the stories is the Epic of Arthur, but the execution gives us "The Idylls of the King." Are they true idylls in a Theocritean sense ? "We have, " says Mahaffy, "among the idylls of Theocritus epic poem's, both in subject and style, such as the meeting of Pollux and Amycus in combat, which are as like in character to Lord Tennyson's idylls as possible for poems of twenty centuries apart." f lentioned. >ral idyll 9 rook, The iting, not L as these 3ting the ith equal 3rs, of his conceived the title ihat were c 'Hihoes, lough, as c is semi- ted as an I time to .n story, r-finished im. But idthefu'l For The 18 action into the )lopment ihief per- } Epic of a King." e have, " 5 poems, llux and to Lord centuries T//E HOL Y GKAIU THE "IDYLLS" AS AN ALLEGORY. 127 \ It must be firmly held that any attempt to give a close allegoncaUnterpretation to the W/, n.ust be unsuccessful we see diverse types of men and women, governed by thegood and bad impulses of their natures, acting their paL in^^ ftnTsredltT"'"'^^^ furnished tne story and essential details. V/e can see in tln^ no preconceived doctrine worked out in elaboraTsymb 1 ^ to :astxfy us in regarding the UylU as an allegory pure Z Emd V^v.en, Elazne, and Ouinevere, can fairly fii^d any sure traces of allegory in tho.e pictures of human lifl They stand on the letter of the text, and their moralTmport grows, as m the highest art it must grow, out of our sympathy , wxth what zs.loyely in huma«natur: and human acZn ' Bu^ t was evident in the idylls from The Passing of JZur on that IS from 1869, that Tennyson had changihis conceptS of the story. The straggle of an ideal hero agist an evU n^hir its' r ' fir '''''''' '""^ ^-^"^^ °^ *'^ h-an ^u fo rnh^ I T"" "'" "'''"^^ ^°^- ^^*h^r is no longei^son to Uther, but mysteriously wafted to the shores of eartff^ marn^ in the senses to Guinevere ; heis crowned in the pr^I Nmv«M A , ^''^^^^Ptt'^'s old Imperfect tftle, Ne v-old aud shadoiL'ing Sense at u-ar with Soul natlier than that gray Icing, whoso name, a ghost Streams like a cloud, man-shaped, fron. .nou^rin-peak And cleaves to cairn and cromlnnh uhii . .,„ u.l ^^^' Of Geoffrey's book, or him of Malleor's. one """ Touch'dby the adulterous finger of a time That hover'd between war and wantonness, * And crownings and dethronements.' 128 NOTES. One cannot escape from these words of the poet. They show that to him the story of Arthur was the old story, but now new with a spiritual strength and meaning foreign to the old story, and Arthur himself not the king, tainted bv the vices of Geof- frey's time or Malory's, but rather the boul, the Spiritual Ideals, the Conscience of Man warring against, and warred against by, the evil of the world. Fortunately, however, the poet found himself bound to the plain course of the old narra- tive and was in the main committed to it before his allegorical scheme was matured. The result is that there is on.y an im- perfect blending of the romance and the allegory. In The Holy Grail, where thb story is almost wholly invented by the poet, the allegory naturally is supreme, and the whole poem rests its meaning and power on its splendid symbolism. Else- where, however, even in the later idylls, the romantic story is supreme, and so fascinates the imagination of the poet and of his readers that the allegory fade^ away before human life so artistically, so wonderfully portrayed. Indeed the intrusion of the allegory can fairly be regarded as an artistic mistake, impeding, where it crops up, the natural progress of the story and dulling our interest in the humanity of its personages. On the whole, therefore, The Idylls are the tragedy of Arthur, the growth and downfall of his power through the sin of his wife and the superstition of his knights ; but in part the story shadows forth a -cond story, the struggle of the Soul that strives to attain uie goal of its ideals and remain true to its divine mission of ruling the faculties of man. In The Holy Grail alone is the poem a tissue of allegory. The symbolism in The Grail and the slight allegorical touches in iYiQ Morte d' Arthur are commented on in the Notes. NOTBS. 1> !• — The Holy Grail. The word * grail ' occurs in various forms in Middle English, graal, grayle, etc These all go back to O.lj'r. graal, greil, grasal ; these in turn to the Late IHE HOL Y GRAIL. 129 "L^t.gradahB, grasale, a corruption of crateUa, diminutive of the Lat crater (meaning a large bowl or vase in .vhich wine and water were mixed before serving to guests). Ancient writers treat it either as the flat vessel for holding food, « the holy dish wherein I ate the lamb on Sher-thursday ' (Malory xvii, 20),_or as the cup in the Last Supper (see note 3, 4). The association of the Welsh magic cauldron with the Christ mn vessel, and of Bran, lord of the under-world, confused with Bron, legendary hero of the conversion of Wales, with Joseph of Anmathiea, the legendary hero of the conversion of En- land, IS referred to, pp. 112, 115f. The proi)ertie3 of the Grail are properties originally material, bringing food to all who bu- hold it^(see note 3, 9) and healing all wounds (cf. "The Holy «rail, 8, IB) ; but it soon acquired under Christian influence great spiritual power as well. , It separates the pure from the nnpure, affording the former the greatest spiritual delight With some writers it is the symbol of ascetic longing and its attainment is possible only to .he ascetically pure; with others It IS the symbol of the noblest efforts of human aspira- tion and love. » f*^"- PERCIVALE AND AxMBROSIUS. 1, 2.-noiseful arras. ' Noisy ' as contrasted with the 'silent hfe of prayer, 'also suggesting the fame of the bearer whose deeds are ' noised ' abroad. 1, 2 -prowess (i^rou^'cs*). Valour, bravery. (The word is formed from the O. Pr. adj. prou{Vv. preux), taliant.) 1, 3.-tournaraent or tilt. Strictly the ' tilt ' was the exer- cise of charging with lance on an opponent or a mark; the 3oust (just) involved the single combat of two knights on horseback ; the ' tournament ' required several combatants on each side, all engaged at once. V. ^' ^T5'■/*.'■"''*'*• ^^"'^ ^"^ W«l^h Peredur, the original hero of the Grail legend, as his name shows, Celtic ver %2 IIT companion (=Percivale) ; or Welsh per, dish, redur, contracted to edur, companion (Peredur). As such he appea,^ 130 NOTES. in such early versions as those of Chr6tion de Troies and Wolfram von Eschonbach (see p. 115). In later stories as in Malory, the hero of the Grail is Gali.bfid, son to Lancelot and Elaine, daughter of King Pellam. Percivalo meets us but little in the other idylls : — •So Arthur bad the meek Sir Perclvale. —Lancelot and Elaine. ' A sober man Is Perdvale and pure ; For, look upon bis face !-but If be slnn'd, The sin that practice burns into the blood, And not the one dark horror which brings remorse, Will brand us after of whose fold we be I —Merlin and Vivien. Note carefully how Tennyson while following Malory, is attracted towards the knightly and human Percivale rather than to the unhuman Galahad, and unconsciously reinstates Percivale in the chief place. 1, 5.— silent life... alms. Cf. "Sir Percivale yielded him to an hermitage out of the city, and took a religious clothing. " Malory, xvii, 22. It was no unusual thing for the Christian warrior in his last years to renounce the world and enter a monastery. The ' silent ' life, since sUence except on stated occasions was a principal duty of a monk. 1, 6. —cowl. The hood of the dress of Western monks, here symbolic of the monastic life. 1, 8.— Camelot. The geography of the original Arthurian localities is a vast ground of disputation, one party holding to South and West Britain, the other to Cambria and South Scotland. So far as Tennyson is concerned, we need trouble ourselves but little, as he makes no attempt to give local colouring to his scenes. ' ' There is not one touch of the real world in all tho scenery that Tennyson invents in his poem. It belongs throughout to that country which eye has »ot seen nor ear heard, but which the heart of man has imagined. It is more than invented landscape. It often breathes the s^.j^s^.^rs vt uiio xttii J- iunus, una oi xnose oreaijuii wluch open THE HOL Y GKAIL, 131 the spaceless realms beyond our senses. "-Stopford Brooke p. 256. ' Camelot, 'that is Winchester' (Malory), was the southern capital of Arthur's kingdom. Tennyson imagines it on the Ihames, apparently, judging from Lancelot and Elaine, above vv. ?«M,"^^^°''' Astolat, which Malory however, associated with^ Gilford' ('now in English called Gilford') (Guildford) (xviii 8). Strachey gives in his Introduction interesting' local legends of Queen-Camel, Somersetshire, where the visitor 13 shown Arthur's Bridge, Arthur's Well, Arthur's Causeway and the circle of Arthur's Eound Tabla Various scones and traditions of the Arthurian story in Wales form an interesting book by Wu-t Sikes, British Goblins: Welsh Folk-Lore, etc The 'abbey far away from Camelot ' is roughly located by Tennyson m Pelleas and Ettare. Pelleas riding madly from Ettaresca.ue 'for half the night' reaches the abbey 'where Percivalewas cowl'd.' Ettare's castle, since she was lost in the Forest of Dean (above the Severn, in the west corner of Gloucestershire), when journeying to the jousts at Carieon (on the Usk m Monmouthshire, Wales), must have lain some short distance east of the Forest. 1, 10.- Ambrosias. A character not in MUory, but made necessary when Tennyson imagines Percivale as narrator of the story. 1, 10. -beyond the rest. Note a favourite device of the poet 8— a musical echo of the preceding line. 1, 11.— wrought. A poetic archaism. ' Wrought ' is only ametathesized form of 'worked,' A. 8. worhte, wrohte. 1, 12.— love that waken'd love. Cf. 1. John 4. 19. 1, 14. -world-old. This intensi ve use of ' world ' = ' exceed- ingly, reaching back into the ages ' is a happy stroke and thoroughly English. In Anglo-Saxon we have weorld-eaU, exceedingly old. ' 1, i4.-yew-tree. . .puffed. . .into smoke. The yew is an evergreen tree with rough, thick trunk and dense, jlart?.".ii=.-re Its long life and sombre colour have made it a favourite t£ 182 NOTES. for planting in the neighbourhood of churches and oloistew. So 1 aturally the poet describes the yew near the grave of Hallam {In Memoriam, ii., quoted in the Appendix). The phenomenon of the smoking yew-tree is noted by the poet elsewhere in that poem : •Old warder of tlieno burled bones, And answering now my random stroke With fruitful elond and Uvhm smoke, Dark yew, that firraspest at the stones, ' etc, —In MemoHam, xxxix. These verses, says Bayne, have an interest as illustrating Tennyson's minute attention to natural facts-an attention almost too minute to ^o followed by ordinary observers, p. 518. The explanation is : " The stamen-bearing flowers of the yew are covered with an abundant yellow pollen, which the wind disperses. Each flowor sends up its little puff of sulphur- coloured smoke. Thus the pistil-bearing flowers which, like small acorns, grow apart from tlie stamen-boaring ones, receive the pollen. This smok^ig of tho yew, which belongs more to March than April, seized on Tennyson's observing fancy." Stopford Brooke, p. 832, n. 1, 15.— cloisters. Tlie cloister (Fr. cloistre, L. clauntrum, enclosure) is an arched way or covered walk running round tho walls of parts of monastic and collegiate buildings. It usually has a wall on one side, and on the other a series of arcades with^ piers and columns, or an open colonnade, sur- rounding an interior grassj' court. 2. 1.— pale. The bounds of the monastery. (Fr. jtal, L. pains, stake.) 2, 6.— thro'. The pQet often inclines towards a phonetic spelling. Cf. ' crost, ' 2, 12 ; ' prest,' 12, 2, etc. 2, 7. —Arthur's hall. The courtesy of Arthur's knights was proverbial. Yniol says to Geraint :— •by your state And presence might have guess d you one of those That ent In Arthur's hall at Camelot.' — The !/■« rrif.gi'. «/ Gerr.int. THE HOLY GKAIt.. ,33 The hall i, d«,oriM in Th.lUydrM, p. lor Bound wa,g^erbVmh,;rP;"° *" '•'"°'7' "■« I'"''''' With thn T»n. r . ''''%'h'or aiimevero, to Arthur one hundred and foCi^^^^ urXur^iJ^iltT number of kniirht<» fivr>o,^f *i * ^rtnur fumHed the ■«u, (se. note It' m7, „ td "1°°;° ^ ' ji' ""^^■''«° •"=-■- the world «i,^ifi„d by right"?x ; 2, T \"^ ^'""'' '' .lascribethofaU-O.do'roftho&TuW: -5'°" "■" ^'*'"" ■ A Blorio,,, con,p„„y. ,i,e ,„,,„. ^, H Dreaic the heathen and uphold the Christ To speak no slander, no, t.or »,«,e„ to it lo honour his oh„ won! as if his God's ro lead sweet lives in purest chastity To love one maiden only, cleave to her And worship her by years of noble deeds until they won her —Oitinevere. This synbolism of the Tablo and the world, he repeats • • 't"!"!:,*!"! .^^°>« KouND Table is dissolved "" "siag^G 01 tiie mighty world. —Morted' Arthur, p. 91, 1. 16. 134 NOTES. 2, 16.— heats that spring: and sparkle. A favourite com- panson with Tennyson to indicate a temporary passion. Cf. " Some heat of difference sparkled out." —Aylmer's Field. Notice how well the metaphor suggests wasted passion, by the sparks from the iorge, of which nothing comes as against the passion for spiritual good. It would be better, thought the knight, to turn men's desire of praise, their devotion to women, their longing to excel, towards things more worthy and more lasting '.han victory in the jousts. 2, 17.— jousts. See note 1, 8. 2, 18. —spiritual. Note the slurring of unaccented syllables. The Frame-'fVorkiof " The Holy GraiV'— The Idyll takes the form of a dialogue, in which Ambrosius is the questioner and Percivale the narrator of the story. This enables the poet to impart a greater air of veri-similitude to the recital of mir- aculous occurrences than he might have felt able to do if he had told the tale himself. "— Littledale, p. 2 I9f. " The frame- work of the tale could not be better conceived. Sir Perci- vale who has known the great world tells the story to Am- brosius, a simple brother of the monastery who knows nothing but his village. This invention enables Tennyson constantly to contrast the exalted with the simple type of mmd, the earth-loving with the heaven-loving soul. Again, we hear in the remarks of Ambrosius the same views as those which Arthur held concerning th,. Quest, given, not in the high words of tho^ing, but in the simple thoughts of the uneducated monk who loved the Jaily life of men. This was a a happy thought of the artist. It leads up to and doubles the force of Arthur's view of the matter-that is, Tennyson's de- cision of the whole question. An inner unity is also given to the story and its various episodes, which otherwise would be too unconnected, by the.r being knit up into the one tale of Percivale. We r. /er lose the image of the quiet war-worn knight, sitting with Ambrosius in the cloister. Even the „ — _ ... T.nao i -^civuu. ico great aciveufcuieb and ante com- 5sion. Ct on, by the gainst the ought the votion to 'e worthy- syllables, iyll takes Luestioner s the poet al of mir- » do if he he frame- ir Perci- T to Am- o knows ?ennyscn type of Again, as those )t in the bs of the lis was a ibles the Jon's de- given to pould be J tale of ar-worn !ven the ires and THE HOLY GRAIL. - ,35 fnd^trfir'''"'™' ''' "'^ °' ^^"^^^°*' *h« Pi^t'^red hall and the fierce vision of the Grail that went through it the ndeof Percivale, the passing of Galahad, the wiW voyaV^^^ Lancelot are all brought into the still ;nclosure whe^e the two peaceful figures sit in the sun/'-StopfordBrookl, Tssi THE HOLY GEA.L. 2, 21— green in heaven's eyes Cf. Ps 37 v^ tv,-, -u . o, .piritua, lite and vigou". i„ the s^t! hlen 'Lf^ »tory notmg especially p. 29. He was 'sorrowing to7l^r Lan« o,, ^eauee his former madness had nsturned"^ p 27 coLit,:'^;i?„pa"°"ra:rr; ;- -"--^^ -<> , 3. 8.-whaiWr:T 'wr:iry ruT'ofiiitir' byh s addnissmg his brother-monk as 'monk ' and byoh^ lenging his word ' phantom.' ^ "'" •vl' t'"*^?' '■'*""-'"""> 'i'sparts frcm Malory (see note 1 1 1 lamb h,^ been lalit otrisrtr/"'''' "" ■"""' Wal, this Jew b>4h1 the dish to Hlt^ '"- "hrisfs wref 'res':""* 1™"'^ *--^»^-™gritts Lat sLLw^r'otr «*- "» O-" - the cup o, the these ^m^'L^'^r' f""^'"*"' «">»■> 'or following e^ was, no doubt, to render the story more intelligibl^ 136 NOTES. pel haps more credible, certainly spiritually stronger by associ- ating it with t^e mystery of the Sacrament, in which our century believes, rather than with a forgotten superstition. 8, 6. — land of Aroraat. Tennyson's poetical form of Ari- mathsea. It is the town (not a land), Eamleh, twenty miles north-west of Jerusalem, The Hebrew Eamathaim was given in the Septuagint as Armathaim, in the Greek Testament as Arimathsea. This was the native place of the "rich man," the " honour- able counsellor" (Mark 15 43), the "good man and just"' (Luke 23. 60), the "disciple of Jesus" (John 19. 88), who buried Christ's body. and. about whom the mediaeval legend naturally grew. ' 3, 7.— day of darkness. See Luke 28. 44, 45. 3, 7.— dead Went wandering. See Matt. 27. 52, 53. 8, 8.— Moriah. The mount on Avhich stands the Temple of Jerusalem.- 3, n.— Arimathaean Joseph. The story of Joseph has been partly given in notes 3, 4 and 3, (>. The legend further nar- rates how he was imprisoned by the Jews, miraculously fed by the Grail, and how, when deliveretl by Christ, he took rliip for England to christianize that island. Along with the Grail, as . we learn in Balin and Balan, he brought ' Thorns of the crown and shivers Of the cross. And therewithal (for tluis he told us) brouglit By lioJy .Joseph hitlier, tliat same spear \Vhere\vith tii ■ Roman pierced the side of Christ.' The first church which, according to tradition, Joseph found- ed in England, was built at Glastonbury in (10 a.d., and there he was buried. 3. 10.— winter thorn Blossoms. "A variety of hawthorn which puts forth leaves and flowers about Christmastide. This variety in said to have originated at Glastonbury Abbey, and the original thorn was believed to have been the staff with which .Tosej^h of Arimathsea aided his steps in his wanderinira from the Holy Land to Glastonbury. " (Ogilvy, quoted by THE HOL Y GRAIL. 137 Littledale), and which he stuck in the ground when ho Htopped to take rest on tho hill-top. ^' The original tree was LS dunng thecn.1 wars, but grafts from It still flourish in tS neighbouring gardens." th!'riv;7^'*''°"''r^' ^^«^*y-fi-« "'"e^ «• ^'. of Bath, on the river Brue in Somersetshire. The abbey, now i„ ruins once occupied sixty acres and at the dissolution of the monas- tradition, Kx„g Arthur and his queen Guinevere were buried r n ' ,"'^ J^*'^* ««P»ltus inclytusEex Arthurus in insula Avallonia, was found under a stone seven feet below he su' rin"d"T't!"^°"*'^^^ ^^"-^^^^-^ ^" oaken coffin co" Daanrng dust and bones.' This disinterment took place bv o«ierofHenryII. (Cka^nUr.,. Enc,.) However, thel^ has no Historic value. ^ iT^i ^.t" ~^.°^' . ' ^«'"^i"«'^ ' ' a^o-Je' ' Tennyson generally used the strong form, but tho weak verb transitively- * Like the tendercst-hearted maid That ever bided tryst at villapo siile.' —Merlin and Vivien, Veriia7^°- hf r: ■ I how thin t\nd clear, And i.Sihjaer •: iarcf, f ii'her going J O swveS; ni^H fm. u-.on tlirt' and soar Tlie I'ov is ..; EIflaj)f! I'aintly blowing 1 Bloi/, i(>i : s ]i,:ar the 3)urplc glens replying ; BIuw, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 5, 18.— To hunt b^ moonlight. Yet legend has bleivl )d Arthur with tlie Bj>ectral Huntsman. Gervase of Tilbua-j (1212) sa\ '1 that in the woods of Britain the foresters tell that on alternate days, about noon or at midnight when the moon is full and shining, they often see an array of hunters with dogs and sound of horns, who, in answer to the enquirers, i>a V that they are of the household and fellowship of Arthur (from Strachey's Introduction). 5, 18.— The slender sound. Thisisas the sound of the bugle ' thin and clear ' in the quotation in note 5, 16. 5, 19. —distance beyond distance. From a place far beyond what we call distance — hence an incredible, an infinite distance. 5,21. — aught. . .hand. A characteristic expansion of the preceding line. 5, 23.— a cold and silver beam. Cf. the narrative of the appearance of the Grail to the Round Table, p. 8. 5, 25. — beatings in it. A Tennysonian touch, in harmony with his interpretation of the Grail as the sacramental cup. See 3, 4. 6, 2.— faded, .decay'd. ..died. This metaphorio ust words not ordinarily applied to colours, gives fine variety u expression. The Vision of Percivc ' Sister. — ^* She sees the \. ;;. tijid sees it through nor own Ligh-wroughfc and delicate p. .-'rlon. It comes attended by such music as an ethereal ear mff?litl>«3.ir THE HOLY GRAIL, ^41 through her cei?7hew7"'' f !^t"^'^*'^^'^^l «*r«-«^« n. +V, • , ? ' ^"^"^ ^°^ ^^"ch it Steals is silver-cnl,l as the maxden's heart sees it : but the Grail is rose rj in t h :z^:ts ".:' ^ '^^^"^ '^^'*' -^ *^« "h"e -1 s Wen • Tt is Ihl "^-^ 'T '°'°'^^- ^^^ *° «-rth, ecstatic to neaven , it is the vision of a mystic maiden's passionate puritv And the vex.es are fitted to the vision." Z^iorTlZ^^^^ GALAHAD. 6 16. -Galahad. AcconJing to Malory fxi. 2^ Oai«T,o^ that there shoZ b.^, ° °' •'°'°P'' "' Arimath»a, Shafapere, ^ '*'"'™ ^"S""'. So in ' I have « nilnd prejage, me such thrift • —Xerdiant of Ytnict, 1. 1 176. ^« V u» NOTES. many battles, finally becoming king of Sairas in the spiritual plaoe. In Sarras he sees the Qrail, receives the Saviour in his bodily form and thus achieves the quest. There he dies and there his body is buried by Bors and by Percivale, who then becomes a monk (xvii 22, 28.) Tennyson's early lyric Sir Odlahad, quoted in the Appendix, shows the early hold the figure of this virgin Christian knight had on his imagination. The side of human life that he represents and Tennyson's estimate of it are commented on below. 6, 18.— dubb'd him knight. 'Dubb' is lit 'to strike,' but with particular reference to the slight blow in the shoul- der (or rarely the c^heek) with the flat of the sword, which concluded the ceremony of investure. 7, 1. — Lancelot— Lancelot, in Malory, was the son of King Ban of Ben wick (Brittany) and of the lineage of Joseph of Arimatheea. In iufancy he was the nursling of the Lady of the Lake, hence his name Lancelot of the Laka In previous Idylls of the series, Lancelot played an important part. He fought side by side with Arthur for King Leodogran and the two, ' For each had warded either in the fight, Sware on the field of death a deathless love. ' To Lancelot, the knight most loved and honoured, was given the charge of bringing Guinevere from her father's court to Arthur — a fatal embassy, for at first she thought him, as we learn later, the king himself, and they loved. Suspicions of this love awoke and spread in the Court They were the reason of the cruel trials that Geraint laid on Enid ; the fatal truth in them brought about the death of Balin and Balan ; they made a flagrant story when Vivien related them to Merlin ; and the fatal love itself stood in the way of Lancelot loving Elaine, and caused her death. But so far there was no proof, and the loyal mind of Arthur knew nothing, suspected nothing of this love. So matters were at the time of the coming of theGraiL r_ i.i._ ,._!., All ■««• n... XU but: suusmS Oi. tuc ra iicgvxj-, ixLauuaxi.uui oaoiLo lu xuxjuuujr 1.- th» place of Lancelot with that of the Imagination, ''or if it THE HOLY GKAIL. ,^ o'^rSlCm ' '""^■""'^ '^■"■»™-"«. » «.e i«e rapid Sight in pui„iT,SS„r«weTlV'" '"'"""'"^ ""'' 7, 4.-thej come „ .""' ""^ """"'"'ovi'n characteristics. «i»g people fckr: to oou't ,V '"^"««r.,,. whoaretri- 'heir time i„ ^^^ <, slurn-of "r" ""*• '^'"''S* love was. he 'loved but one onlv ' an. f' ?^ '"*"' "^ '^^<^ man.' his brother could weU ad/;.s, h "" u' ^^^'^ '^ ^^^^ noblest praise ever eive^to an 'ran!!^ ^'^ *'^ ^^^^^^ «^ *he n;;^'^daX!Xi^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ christian .„,,.ts; a„. thou were never matched of earthW l„^ ^."'''i*'*' *"«•■« ^^ou liest that courtliest knight that ever ba e Sd ^^hn^'"' ' '^"' "^«» ^^^^^^ *he thy lover (friend) that ever bestS 'l~ Tu' ^^"^ *'•"««' ^'lend lover Of a slnfm ,„an that ever love^fv^a?.'^^^^^^^^^ '''"" ''^"-^ "''^ ''•»««* ™^»thatever8trakewlthswo,7anrhTJ i*''^""'^^^ qi'trrs.Tr i^a 'hi'- '-^°'°'^' •'^'»'»'. - sword The gi^,; „s ^ or tltT'^'T" "'^ '="«'"' maiden, daughter of a IdJ oT o„l ? 'm ".'' ""'^ " "'"^"^ SirdleL Percivale's sister fv ho wkhT 7 u ""^ "'* "'e on the ship, then " otTrf aj f '"*"■ "'' Bo« were we«seen,fy^ughtS, Uto';"^ .♦"" 7 ^'■"'^ "'>'■='' set (oil precious stones, ...|a rich w^'' T"* T" """ ""^ seid she, hei« is a gird: tnat oTJl?^ ^°'''- ^"^ '"*. Andwit,e ™„ tL g™rt;roM^-r:*".','''-«"'- my nazT, wuich I loved well whor, T ''""'^ "^'^ "''^^« "^ BuUs..nasX^ttha:'rXZ:;r----a. r 144 NOTES. clipped off my hair and made this girdle in the name of Gofl. Then went tho gentlewoman and set if y-r '" ..• irdle of the sword and then she girt him about the middle witn the sword : — ' Now reck I not though I die, for now I hold me one of the blp'^f-ed maidens of the world, which hath made the worthiest ':night of the world. Damsel, said Galahad, ye have dont- so much that I shall be your knight all the days of my life' (xvii. 1). The changes Tennyson makes are signifccint. The girding on of tho sword is no longer a sepa- rate episode, but is brought close to the ceremony of the knighting of Galahad. Thus without marring the unity of the story, a picturesque addition is made. Yet more striking is the spiritualizing', of the story. The poe> seizes on the incident for its spiritual import. It becomes to him a symbol of a sort of consecration to the work of the Church Militant, a laying on of hp.nds, a coni -mation of religious belief that is to lead Galahad surely to the Heavenly City. 7, 14.— my knight, my love. The spiritual ecstasy that uses the language of earth for a passion without anyli g of earth in it is wonderfully depicted m St. Agnes' Eve, quoted in the Appendix. 7, 16.— round thee, naiden. This se of 'riaiden' as applied to a man may bt , ustra^ed by ^ similar use of ' virgin.' Arthur speaking to Guinevere says, ' O Guineverr , Pot 1 was evpr virgin snve for tree.' —Ouinetere. 7, 18.— break thro' all. A figure froni ::ae contest of the jousts, = ' conquer all. ' 7, 19.— in the spiritual city. Cf. 3, According o Malory, the goal of Galahad's quest t s thu ity of Sarras(s«« note 6, 13), which was ' in the spiritual place ' ; it had bep ir.e scene of our Lord's succour of Joseph of Arimathsea (xvii. 30), and there Galahad became king and achieved the Grail (xvii 20, 22). Tennyson symbolizes as before. The ' spiritual city " is to him the iieaveniy Jerusalem. THE HOLY GRAIL, 140 The same One with him, to believe a, he believed ' , Inmsh does not like the thouirlit of fi o commission, do not so derive TH \ ^''""^^^ ^ " SpWtual Mesmerism, of anesmeric of hJpn .Ho ''"''''•' '""^'^'^S^^' thes. grave-sounding wonh ma" ^"^^f ^'»"- whatever intended u. to thinf iTtC^uZTu, " '''' ^^' ^^^ anol«.n, th. lang. age wouldlett ;>ib,? 7/^^^-"^ intention appears in the poem Th. , ^^ ""' '"" '"^'^ p f?21. ^"'' *^® ^^'«rds are distressing," THE SIEGE PERILOUS. the deV Uought to fr„,t,.„t K ., ■^°°°"''"« ■" one acocint, Chris,' .nc-.Z .^ b,.T,^^?'°'-''"'' W«h ,he »ehen,e „ h» though.,, , 'had an thj ■^' """"' "^ '''°^'' ""1 In the scheme of the Allegory M«,h-n ,'- « as typifying the intellect ^of'^L^un^^^Tfy ^g*^«d power. wMeru-n," according rklTe'^f '^ ^''"'"^^ oimtive and inventive facultv fHo ' '^P^^e*^'^ the i-gination with all that the^i,^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^ -^ all arts," p. 26. "His stren^H r •' therefore, kn ws though not necess-S; i!"^L "' " "f '°' ^P^^*^^"™' a philosopher and a Jen:pH:iTsrrv:^^ ^^ ^ afto. the true and the l^autiful!' "To "ff" r^^^^^^ Maccallum. utypifi,3 the assistance wh th « '^^" -pie .ust^ive from the ^nTZ .:'"^"f^y, "«^^ ?"- =Qat iuys homage to the ideal Vr^ loi^"®''' "' ^hemteUect, highf^t,^' p. 88a ^""'^ °' l^half of the 146 NOTES. I F 8, 5.— Siege Perilous. Fr. = ' perilouBohair.' The Fr. tilgt is connected with L. aedea. " They. . .sftid to Merlin :. . .thou shouldst ordain by thy crafta a siege that no man should sit in it but he all only that shall pass all other knights. . .Then he made the siege perilous " (xiv. 2). "In the Siege Perilous fsaid Merlin to Arthur,] there shall sit no man therein but one, and if there bo any so hardy to do it he shall be destroyed, and he that shall sit there shall have no fellow" (iii 4). At Pentecost of that year the knights found written on the seat : 'Four hundred wint. rs and fifty-four accomplished after the passion of our Lord Jesus Christ ought this siege to >>o fulfilled ' (xiii. 2.). Atdhiner an old knight brought in Galahad, and when the cloth covering the chair was lifted they read, " This is the siege of Galahad the haut (=high) prince." "And then ho set him down surely in that siege : Then all the knights of the Bound Table marvelled them greatly of Sir Galahad, that he durst sit in that siege perilous, and was so tender of age, and wist not from whence he came, but all only of God> and said, This is he by whom the Sancgreal siiall be achieved, for there never sat none but he, but he were mischieved " (xiii. 4).— Malory. ' ' Perilous " is used in a neutral sense (as originally ' omi- nous," success, 'etc. were). The chair possesses a fateful power that results in either evil or good to the man who tries it. ~ In some legends the Eound Tablo and the Siege Perilous are held to be the table and chair at which and in which the Lord sat at the Last Supper. Out of verses lil