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 0IIIIIIHIIII 
 
 The Return of 
 Arthur 
 
 IRVINE GRAFF !
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 The RETURN OF ARTHUR
 
 by 
 
 IRVINE GRAFF 
 
 1922 
 
 THE STRATFORD CO., PUBLISHERS 
 Boston, Massachusetts
 
 Copyright, 1922 
 
 The STRATFORD CO., Publishers 
 Boston, Mass. 
 
 The Alpine Press, Boston, Mass., U. S. A.
 
 76% /v 
 
 l\ttrfjencr anb fji^ baltant 
 
 LffiRARf
 
 Foreword 
 
 All manner of fascinating legends cluster 
 about the name of Arthur, the Celtic hero of 
 far-off days, who made forever memorable a 
 corner of England which is now Cornwall, but 
 which in early history formed a part of Wales. 
 It was while I was a child that the legend 
 concerning Arthur s return fired my imagina 
 tion so that it straightway set forth on a quest 
 which was destined to continue for years. With 
 my enthusiasm kindled by the inscription on 
 Arthur s tomb at Glastonbury: "Hie jacet 
 Arturus rex quondam rexque futurus," I 
 searched the pages of English history from 
 Arthur s day to our own, but I failed to discover 
 the individual who fulfilled my conception of the 
 King. 
 
 Eventually the idea developed that in my 
 own day Arthur might return. There was noth 
 ing definite about this at first; it signified 
 rather a groping into the future for the final 
 act of an unfinished drama of the past.
 
 FOREWORD 
 
 The Great War, instead of giving new im 
 pulse to my quest for Arthur, blotted him for 
 the time from my mind. Yet in England 
 where my friend and I chanced to be in 
 August, that agonizing August, of 1914, as 
 the tumultuous weeks passed, one of the most 
 incredible things to witness at this altogether 
 incredible time was the organization, or rather 
 the creation of Kitchener s "Mob," an army 
 tumbled together with magical swiftness from 
 every corner of England, an army unversed in 
 everything military save honor and splendor of 
 spirit, the scorn of super-drilled German 
 divisions, the salvation of a reeling world. It 
 was Kitchener, "the master personality of his 
 time," who called this army into being. Yet it 
 was not until long after Kitchener s tragic death 
 that revelation flashed blindingly upon me. 
 
 "The Return of Arthur" marks the end of 
 my quest. However unworthy, the poem is 
 designed as a tribute from an American to 
 England. 
 
 Irvine Graff. 
 July 28, 1922,
 
 Arturus rex quondam rexque futurus." 
 
 I. 
 
 My home s in Cornwall. That s the place for me ! 
 No other spot in England equals it. 
 Cornwall comes first ; my second love the sea. 
 My mother thought I d find home dull a bit ; 
 So, even though she had the fire all lit, 
 She gave a little cry when I walked in, 
 Thinking, of my two loves, the sea would surely 
 win. 
 
 I flung my cap onto the window-seat, 
 Then waltzed my little mother up and down 
 Until she begged me to be more discreet. 
 Through all her quivering joy she tried to frown 
 And light-heartedly I was forced to drown 
 Her protests with a smothering kiss, and so 
 Knocked her lace cap awry and set her pale 
 cheeks aglow. 
 
 m
 
 THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 
 
 "Mother, I ve come home," I cried, "home to 
 
 play 
 
 With you for two whole weeks to play to 
 . dream ! 
 
 London s concreteness is too far away 
 To touch the magic of all this. I seem 
 To live again. You ll give me Cornish cream 
 For tea ! And then, no matter what we do, 
 There ll be the two of us together just us 
 
 two." 
 
 A wistful look crept in my mother s eyes. 
 I knew the cause of it and turned her face 
 To meet my own. How gentle and how wise 
 Was that dear face, touched now with love s own 
 
 grace 
 
 Beneath the little filmy cap of lace ! 
 She returned my look with a trembling smile 
 And said her loneliness was gone now for a 
 
 while. 
 
 "I d thought, dear boy, it might be you would 
 
 spend 
 
 Your holidays upon some roaming ship." 
 "No; I came home, to be home till the end. 
 It s true this morning, early, I did slip
 
 THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 
 
 Down to the docks, and I tasted on my lip 
 The salt of the sea and a wild desire 
 Tugged at my breast till I felt you waiting 
 by the fire ! 
 
 "I came home then; and oh, I m glad I came! 
 All days are happy days when spent with you. 
 And hunting legends is a great old game 
 Perhaps I 11 find some that I never knew. 
 To Cornish legends, Peter, you prove true ! 
 Because they never leave you fancy free, 
 I m jealous of King Arthur as well as of the 
 sea." 
 
 "Absurd !" I cried. "And yet my fancy dwells 
 Upon the King s return. As a boy, I swore 
 That he d come back, but reason now rebels 
 When I think of him as he lived before. 
 He d prove no help to England now in war. 
 He d hold, like some holy wistful wraith, 
 As weapons antiquated chivalry and faith. 
 
 "Beautiful, these, but of what earthly use 
 In a contest that this century could bring? 
 Abominable weapons and abuse 
 Beyond all horror of imagining. 
 Romantic war no longer is the thing." 
 
 [3]
 
 THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 
 
 "What right have you to talk of war what 
 
 right?" 
 "I do not say it s coming, Mother, but it 
 
 might. 
 
 Then he will come, to Britain in her need. 
 When that dread hour strikes, he ll face her 
 
 foes! 
 
 King not perhaps in name, but one in deed ; 
 A ruling will that no one dare oppose. 
 Rex futurus so our old legend goes; 
 But King of peaceful England one short hour, 
 Or King of an empire s future* What greater 
 
 power ! 
 
 "I know my mind s mixed up with Tennyson 
 
 And Malory, and lots of others, too ; 
 
 But I ve evolved a version which has won 
 
 My credence more than these ; which, to be true, 
 
 Must even desecrate traditions you 
 
 And I have loved from childhood, heritage 
 
 Of centuries, with Cornwall the glorious stage. 
 
 "The legend that is hardest to unlearn 
 Concerns King Arthur and his knights asleep, 
 Waiting the destined hour of their return, 
 Within some cavern s dark and gloomy keep, 
 
 [4]
 
 THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 
 
 While strange charmed dreams beguile their 
 
 slumber deep. 
 
 I used to think that I should be the one 
 To find the King and lead him forth to greet the 
 
 sun! 
 
 "So when a tiny boy, with thirsting zeal, 
 I probed the caves about us, near and far. 
 You remember, Mother ! How you did appeal 
 To me to learn to take things as they are 
 And not to hitch my wagon to a star 
 Of fancy that caused my active brain to teem 
 With the full-panoplied heroes of a gorgeous 
 dream. 
 
 "But now I know that thus he ll not appear. 
 Reincarnated, evolutionized, 
 Intensively experienced, without fear 
 He ll meet the hour s issues, jeopardized 
 Though they are by a nation overcivilized 
 To the point where polish must soon give way 
 And elemental, brutal passions hold full sway." 
 
 How, Peter, you do talk ! my mother cried. 
 It makes me shiver when you say such things ; 
 For I recall the night your father died 
 He told me then to clip your fancy s wings. 
 
 [5]
 
 THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 
 
 Now, college has but spurred your wild imagin 
 ings!" 
 
 The psychology of nations I learned there, 
 It s true ; but that I should have picked up any 
 where. 
 
 II. 
 
 One afternoon soon after this I strayed 
 
 Quite far from home. The sea-gulls called. I 
 
 heard 
 Hushed wind-notes shaken from the grass ; they 
 
 made 
 
 A wistful little symphony, softly slurred. 
 All else was still. A tense excitement stirred 
 My heart to quicker action when I found 
 The path led upward to an unfamiliar mound. 
 
 Beneath, I saw the entrance to a cave. 
 How had I missed it during all the zest 
 Of boyhood explorations? My mind gave 
 One leap and bridged the years between. The 
 
 best 
 
 Of me was boy again ! I longed to test 
 The legend of King Arthur s age-long sleep. 
 Would he be there in sweet oblivion buried 
 
 deep?
 
 THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 
 
 Eagerly I scrambled down then swiftly 
 
 stopped. 
 
 Just at the entrance to the cave I found 
 A stranger, and I gazed as if he d dropped 
 From heaven, or had sprung from beneath the 
 
 ground, 
 
 Or perhaps what a wild thought to confound 
 One s very senses ! had emerged just then 
 From age-long dusky shadows into the world 
 
 again. 
 
 He had not seen me yet. In the bright glare 
 Of shadeless sun he stood there, strong and wise, 
 A striking figure, tall, erect, and spare, 
 With noble brow and piercing bright blue eyes 
 Set far apart. These eyes without surprise 
 Now looked at me. I felt the strength and 
 
 charm 
 Of a potent personality. He raised his arm. 
 
 With a sweeping gesture he signified 
 
 The lone world near us and the distant sea. 
 
 Just look at that ! Just breathe this air ! " he 
 
 cried. 
 
 With a flash of humor he turned to me. 
 I stole a holiday ! And now I m free 
 
 [7]
 
 THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 
 
 For a whole long afternoon. Chance brought me 
 
 here; 
 I left the coach and walked this way. Do you 
 
 live near ? 
 
 Thrilled by the interest in his kindly tone 
 
 I stammered forth my little tale of life 
 
 Begun right there in Cornwall; how I d grown 
 
 Familiar, as a child, with places rife 
 
 With Arthur s exploits ; how in peace and strife 
 
 I pictured all the pageantry of court 
 
 And tourney. Silently he heard my long report. 
 
 I could not leave out Arthur from my tale ! 
 Then when I found how keen he was to learn 
 All that I had to say, I did not fail 
 To tell the legend of the King s return. 
 I knew that he was able to discern 
 How real to me were those time-honored themes ; 
 He said that he had not outgrown his love of 
 dreams. 
 
 So legends of all kinds he loved to hear, 
 And specially those of Celtic origin. 
 Emboldened, I went further; without fear 
 Of ridicule I told him that within 
 A nearby cave I d some day hoped to win
 
 THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 
 
 My boyhood s goal and find myself! the 
 
 King. 
 He did not laugh even at this fantastic thing. 
 
 I said I d never found this cave before, 
 And for one breathless moment I had thought 
 Myself a boy again ; then, to explore 
 Its depths, the entrance I had madly sought 
 Had seen a stranger standing there and, caught 
 By a whirling notion, had fancied him 
 To be the King! Both of us laughed at this 
 strange whim. 
 
 "A tale is told by one old dame nearby 
 That Arthur s second coming is in doubt 
 Because tradition has it he will die 
 At sea; and all of Fairyland, devout 
 In fealty to the King, is crying out 
 It will not let him go his final grave 
 Would be beyond their reach, unmarked beneath 
 a wave. 
 
 At this point I attempted to unfold 
 My latest theory of the myth s true scope. 
 He listened keenly, then stood up. Big-souled 
 Was the smile he gave me. "Boy," he said, "I 
 hope 
 
 [9]
 
 THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 
 
 "We meet again. Dreams enable us to cope 
 With harsh realities, and so dream on ! 
 My name is Kitchener. - - He turned, waved his 
 hand was gone. 
 
 III. 
 
 Months passed, when threads of war were being 
 
 spun. . . 
 
 Impressions of that hour did not abate 
 My hour with Kitchener, Britain s wonder-son. 
 Australia, India, Egypt knew him. Fate 
 Had him on her training-ship. When hate 
 Lashed waves of fury westward to o erwhelm 
 An empire s glory, steadily he held the helm. 
 
 No longer did I dream, for now I knew ! 
 I had found Arthur by the Cornish sea. 
 Yes, this was Arthur, to tradition true, 
 Yet product of this century, trustee 
 Of Britain s greatness. It was Fate s decree 
 That he should come again to meet the hour 
 When England stood sore in need of his kingly 
 power. 
 
 On August seven Kitchener advertized 
 For a hundred thousand men. His behest 
 
 [10]
 
 THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 
 
 Was brief: "Your King and Country Need 
 
 You." Prized 
 
 No more was worldly rank ; his rank was best 
 Whose standard was the highest in the test 
 Of manhood. Shortly, with a great heart-throb, 
 England witnessed the creation of " Kitchener s 
 
 Mob." 
 
 Not knights of the Round Table, these, and yet 
 In beautiful truth their modern counterparts. 
 For tournament a trench, where they have met 
 The last great challenge with as loyal hearts 
 As Arthur s knights of old. Prowess imparts 
 The patent of nobility to all. 
 Clerks might have had their accolade in Arthur s 
 hall. 
 
 Each soldier of that gallant Mob received 
 A message, not unlike the charge a knight 
 Was given by Arthur ; things to be achieved 
 Concerned honor and women and the might 
 Of personal conquest not alone the right 
 To conquer foes. Lastly sternly challeng 
 ing 
 
 Do your duty bravely, 
 Fear God, 
 
 Honor the King.
 
 THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 
 
 I might have made one in that Mob had not 
 The sea more loudly called. I volunteered 
 For duty there and all went well. My lot 
 Fell to the battle-cruiser Hampshire. Fate 
 
 steered 
 
 My course, and eventually commandeered 
 My very dreams. One day I heard at drill 
 Lord Kitchener was on board. I felt a boyish 
 
 thrill. 
 
 It was the fifth of June, nineteen-sixteen, 
 When from a northern Scottish port we steamed 
 And ran into a violent gale. Between 
 The hours of five and six it almost seemed 
 As if no boat could live. The tempest screamed, 
 Demented; with insensate fury it lashed 
 The sea to foaming madness; winds and wild 
 waves clashed. 
 
 Our convoy was sent back, while we pushed on. 
 We had not been told our destination. 
 I was content in this vast game to be a pawn, 
 But grimly I hoped for the salvation 
 Of Britain s plans that the computation 
 Concerning Kitchener s safety was made out 
 So that not the shadow of a turn was left in 
 doubt. 
 
 [12]
 
 THE EETUEN OF ARTHUR 
 
 They did not know who Kitchener was! Of 
 
 course 
 
 They reverenced his fame, and were aware 
 Of his power; but, had they known, the whole 
 
 force 
 
 Of our great empire land and sea and air 
 Would have been requisitioned to prepare 
 The means for absolute security. 
 I could not voice my view they would but 
 
 scoff at me ! 
 
 No, they did not know ; it was only I. 
 I once had tried to tell it to a chum, 
 A boy I d known at college. He called me 
 
 "Guy" 
 Good-naturedly, and said, "What rot!" He d 
 
 come 
 
 From Manchester. A boy from there d be numb 
 To legends quickening my Cornish heart, 
 Forming of my inner self an integral part. 
 
 Never again would I expose my dream! 
 I hugged it close and found it grew more real. 
 Each act of Kitchener s made his whole life seem 
 An answer to that promise to reveal
 
 THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 
 
 The future Arthur when time made appeal. 
 The time had come; brilliantly was fulfilled 
 The forecast that events should march as Arthur 
 willed. 
 
 Footsteps were coming towards me, and they 
 
 sent 
 
 Hot blood through my veins in a surging tide. 
 One of the figures paused. "Why, Peter 
 
 Ghent!" 
 
 A hand fell on my shoulder. "This," he cried, 
 Is the dreamer lad of Cornwall, my guide 
 Into the lovely realm of Celtic lore! 
 You told me more than I had ever known before. 
 
 "Then, too, you had a theory Ah, now I 
 
 bring 
 It to mind." With droll humor Kitchener 
 
 smiled. 
 "When I saw you, you were looking for the 
 
 King 
 
 Of legendary greatness, reconciled 
 To sleeping in a cave until, beguiled 
 By time s necessity, he should again 
 Assume a leading role in the affairs of men. 
 
 [14]
 
 THE RETUEN OF ARTHUR 
 
 For a moment do you remember ? you 
 Took me for the King!" Kitchener laughed 
 
 outright, 
 
 And I blushed furiously red. "It s true," 
 I stammered, and I longed with all my might 
 To tell him I still thought so, that to-night 
 Nothing could convince me he was not the King. 
 But my thoughts died away into vague murmur 
 ing. 
 
 He sobered. "Boy," he said, "it s good to 
 dream. 
 
 A wistful shadow clouded his blue eyes. 
 
 "Life else were very bitter in the scheme 
 
 Of present things." Again a smile, so wise, 
 
 So sweet, so strong, so kind! "Don t under 
 prize 
 
 The gift but sometimes forge dreams into 
 facts. 
 
 In this brave way can dreams be justified by 
 acts." 
 
 IV. 
 
 A fearful terror clutched me by the throat,- 
 Presentiment of danger. The storm s hate 
 
 t S]
 
 THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 
 
 Increased. If things went wrong, I thought, no 
 
 boat 
 
 Could live in such a sea. What precious freight 
 We carried ! Who on board could estimate 
 Its worth ? . . . There came a rending, deafening 
 
 blast. 
 The ship reeled from a mortal wound. Snarling 
 
 waves rushed past. 
 
 There was no confusion. Each knew his place, 
 And the discipline was excellent. Men 
 Rushed to the boats ; these were lowered apace 
 And crashed into kindling. Now and again 
 The ship lurched like a living thing and then 
 Gave a groan of agony. Baring white fangs, 
 The sea danced round its victim, watching its 
 death-pangs. 
 
 What caused the explosion, I do not know. 
 Perhaps we struck a mine. Vividly clear 
 Is the memory of Kitchener, although 
 All things then seemed blurred. I saw him 
 
 appear 
 
 From the captain s cabin ; showing no fear, 
 He mounted to the quarter deck. A friend, 
 A staff -officer, was with him. Then came the end. 
 
 [16]
 
 THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 
 
 There was no chance, because the boats were 
 
 wrecked. 
 Three rafts were launched, but who could tell 
 
 their fate? 
 
 Eight bells struck: this I dimly recollect. 
 Then a pain of passionate protest ate 
 Its way into my heart. Was it too late 
 To save Kitchener? The ship was sinking 
 
 fast . . . 
 Nothing could be done- I accepted this at last. 
 
 In agony of spirit I raised my head 
 And saw Kitchener. I loved him with a love 
 Verging on idolatry. Enough is said . . . 
 He looked down at me from the deck above 
 And gave me his smile. At once, like a dove 
 Folding her wings, peace nestled in my soul. 
 I answered his salute with steadfast self-control. 
 
 Black waters engulfed me and I soon lost 
 Consciousness. When I found myself again 
 I was on a raft which was being tossed 
 Drunkenly about but stayed afloat. When 
 I struggled to get up, with oaths the men 
 Knocked me down and said that I must not stir ; 
 There was one too many on that raft, as things 
 were. 
 
 [17]
 
 THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 
 
 I lay still a bit, with my mind a blank. 
 Then recollection, like a surging tide, 
 Came sweeping full upon me. The ship sank ? 
 I asked. Some one nodded. "I saw her glide 
 And take a header well, at the outside, 
 Say fifteen minutes after she was struck. 
 But we ll live through this, if we keep on having 
 luck." 
 
 What time is it ? " There was still a little light, 
 But I thought each minute had been a year, 
 For I felt queerly old. "If I m right, 
 It must be almost nine." "D you think land s 
 
 near?" 
 "The Orkneys aren t far but too far from 
 
 here." 
 
 I felt queer again, queer and sick and blind. 
 I waited for a distant thought to reach my mind. 
 
 It came ; though blurred, sharply it was defined. 
 The King ! " I gasped, Where is the King 1 
 
 They turned 
 
 To look at me. One grinned. I hope he dined 
 At Buckingham. His Majesty s always spurned 
 A raft in a gale at sea." I discerned, 
 
 [i 8]
 
 THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 
 
 Through burning misery, my unwitting slip. 
 Kitchener, you mean? Lord Kitchener went 
 down with the ship." 
 
 I had been rescued, but my King was dead. 
 What could life hold ? Then I recalled his smile, 
 And knew that it would light all life ahead . . . 
 King Arthur had returned for a little while 
 And now had passed at sea. In the quaint style 
 Of the legend : Unmarked must be his grave ; 
 But, in spite of Fairies, he had come in time 
 to save. 
 
 [ 93
 
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