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 JO* 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 V
 
 KING ARTHUR, 
 
 BY 
 
 SIR E. BULWER LYTTON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE NEW TIMON. 
 
 " When Arthur was king — 
 Hearken, now, a marvellous thing" — 
 
 "Layamon's Brut," by Sir F. Madden, 
 Vol. i. p. 413. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 
 
 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1849.
 
 LONDON ; 
 TRINTED BY T. R. HARRISON, 
 
 ST. martin's lank.
 
 v, 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 P. 
 

 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Arthur and the Lady of the Lake — They land on the Meteor Isle — which 
 then sinks to the Halls below — Arthur beholds the Forest springing from a 
 single stem — He tells his errand to the Phantom, and rejects the fruits that 
 It proffers him in lieu of the Sword — He is conducted by the Phantom to 
 the entrance of the caves, through which he must pass alone — He reaches 
 the Coral Hall of the Three Kings — The Statue crowned with thorns — The 
 Asps and the Vulture, and the Diamond Sword — The Choice of the Three 
 Arches — He turns from the first and second arch, and beholds himself, in 
 the third, a corpse — The sleeping King rises at Arthur's question — ' if his 
 death shall be in vain ?' — The Vision of times to be — Cceur de Lion and the 
 age of Chivalry — The Tudors — Henry VII. — the restorer of the line of 
 Arthur and the founder of civil Freedom — Henry VIII. and the Revolu- 
 tion of Thought — Elizabeth and the Age of Poetry — The Union of Cym- 
 rian and Saxon, under the sway of ' Crowned Liberty' — Arthur makes his 
 choice, and attempts, but in vain, to draw the Sword from the Rock — The 
 Statue with the thorn-wreath addresses him — Arthur called upon to sacri- 
 fice the Dove — His reply — The glimpse of Heaven — The trance which 
 succeeds, and in which the King is borne to the sea shores.
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 i. 
 
 As when, in Autumn nights and Arctic skies, 
 An angel makes the cloud his noiseless car, 
 
 And, thro' ceerulean silence, silent flies 
 
 From antique Hesper to some dawning star, 
 
 So still, so swift, along the windless tides 
 
 Her vapour-sail the Lake's mute Lady guides. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Along the sheen, along the glassy sheen, 
 Amid the lull of lucent night they go ; 
 
 Till, in the haven of an islet green, 
 
 Murmuring thro' reeds, the gentle waters flow : 
 
 Shoots the dim pinnace to the gradual strand, 
 
 And the pale Phantom, heck'ning, glides to land.
 
 KING ARTHUR. book vii. 
 
 III. 
 
 Follow'd the King — yet scarcely touch'd the shore 
 When slowly, slowly sunk the meteor-isle, 
 
 Fathom on fathom, to the sparry floor 
 Of alabaster shaft and porphyr-pile, 
 
 Built as by Nereus for his own retreat, 
 
 Or the Nymph-mother of the silver feet*. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Far, thro' the crystal lymph, the pillar'd halls 
 Went lengthening on in vista'd majesty; 
 
 The waters sapp'd not the enchanted walls, 
 Nor shut their roofless silence from the sky; 
 
 But every beam that gilds this world of ours 
 
 Broke sparkling downward into diamond showers. 
 
 v. 
 
 And the strange magic of the Place bestow* d 
 Its own strange life upon the startled King, 
 
 Round him, like air, the subtle waters flow'd ; 
 As round the Naiad flows her native spring ; 
 
 Domelike collapsed the azure ; — moonlight clear 
 
 Fill'd the melodious silvery atmosphere — 
 
 * 'The silver-footed Thetis.' 
 
 Homer.
 
 book vii. KING ARTHUR. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Melodious with the chaunt of distant falls 
 Of sportive waves, within the waves at play, 
 
 And infant springs that bubble up the halls 
 Thro' sparry founts, (on which the broken ray 
 
 Weaves its slight iris) — hymning while they rise 
 
 To that smooth calm their restless life supplies, 
 
 VII. 
 
 Like secret thoughts in some still poet's soul, 
 That swell the deep while yearning to the stars: 
 
 But overhead a trembling shadow stole, 
 
 A gloom that leaf-like quiver'd on the spars, 
 
 And that quick shadow, ever moving, fell 
 
 From a vast Tree with root immoveable ; 
 
 VIII. 
 
 In link'd arcades, and interwoven bowers 
 Swept the long forest from that single stem ! 
 
 And, flashing through the foliage, fruits or flowers 
 In jewellM clusters, glow'd with every gem 
 
 Golgonda hideth from the greed of kings ; 
 
 Or Lybian gryphons guard with drowsy wings.
 
 6 KING ARTHUR. book vii. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Here blushed the ruby, warm as Charity*, 
 
 There the mild topaz, wrath-assuaging, shone 
 Radiant as Mercy ; — like an angel's eye, 
 
 Or a stray splendour from the Father's throne, 
 The sapphire chaste a heavenlier lustre gave 
 To that blue heaven reflected on the wave. 
 
 x. 
 Never from India's cave, or Oman's sea 
 
 Swart Afrite wreathed for scornful Peri's brow, 
 Such gems as, wasted on that Wonder-tree, 
 
 Paled Sheban treasures in each careless bough ; 
 And every bough the gliding wavelet heaves, 
 Quivers to music with the quivering leaves. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Then first the Sovereign Lady of the deep 
 
 Spoke; — and the waves andwhispering leaveswere still, 
 
 " Ever I rise before the eyes that weep 
 
 When, born from sorrow, Wisdom wakes the will ; 
 
 But few behold the shadow thro' the dark, 
 
 And few will dare the venture of the bark. 
 
 * In heraldic mysteries, the ruby is the emblem of charity — the topaz 
 assuages choler and frenzy — the sapphire preserves chastity, &c. 
 
 See Sylvanus Morgan's Sphere of Gentry.
 
 book vii. KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " And now amid the Cuthites' temple halls 
 O'er which the waters undestroying flow, 
 
 Heark'ning the mysteries hymned from silver falls 
 Or from the springs that, gushing up helow, 
 
 Gleam to the surface, whence to Heaven updrawn, 
 
 They form the clouds that harbinger the Dawn,— 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Say what the treasures which my deeps enfold 
 That thou wouldst bear to the terrestrial day ?" 
 
 Then Arthur answered — and his quest he told, 
 The prophet mission which his steps obey — 
 
 " Here springs the forest from the single stem : 
 
 I seek the falchion welded from the gem !" 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Pause," said the Phantom, " and survey the tree ! 
 
 More worth one fruit that weighs a branchlet down. 
 Than all which mortals in the sword can see. 
 
 Thou ask'st the falchion to defend a crown — 
 But seize the fruit, and to thy grasp decreed 
 More realms than Ormuzd lavish'd on the Mede ;
 
 8 KING ARTHUR. book vii. 
 
 XV. 
 
 "Than great Darius left his doomed son, 
 From Scythian wastes to Abyssinian caves ; 
 
 From Nimrod's tomb in silenc'd Babylon 
 To Argive islands fretting Asian waves ; 
 
 Than changed to sceptres the rude Lictor-rods, 
 
 And plac'd the worm call'd Caesar with the gods ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Pause — take thy choice — each gem a host can buy, 
 Link race on race to Conquest's rushing car; 
 
 No ghastly Genius here thou need'st defy, 
 The fruits unguarded, and the fiends afar — 
 
 But dark the perils that surround the Sword, 
 
 And slight its worth — ambitious if its Lord ; 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Powerless to win, though potent to defend, 
 Its blade will shiver in a conqueror's clasp ; 
 
 A weapon meeter for the herdsman's end, 
 
 When ploughshares turn to falchions in his grasp, 
 
 Some churl who seeks to guard his humble hearth — 
 
 A Hero's soul should hunger for the Earth !"
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 9 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Spirit or Sorceress," — said the frowning King, 
 " Fame like the Sun illumes an Universe ; 
 
 But life and joy both Fame and Sun should bring ; 
 And God ordains no glory for a curse. 
 
 What need of falchions save to guard a land ? 
 
 'Tis the Churl's cause that nerves the Hero's hand. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 "Not mine the crowns the Persian lost or won, 
 Tiaras glittering over kneeling slaves ; 
 
 Mine be the sword that freed at Marathon, 
 The unborn races by the Father-graves — 
 
 Or stay'd the Orient in the Spartan pass, 
 
 And carved on Time, thy name, Leonidas !" 
 
 xx. 
 
 The Sybil of the Sources of the Deep 
 Heard nor replied, but indistinct and wan 
 
 Went as a Dream that thro' the worlds of Sleep 
 Leads the charm'd soul of labour-wearied man ; 
 
 And ev'n as man and dream, so, side by side, 
 
 Glideth the mortal with the gliding guide. 
 
 b 3
 
 10 KING ARTHUR. book vii. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Glade after glade, beneath that forest tree 
 
 They pass, — till sudden, looms amid the waves, 
 
 A dismal rock, hugely and heavily, 
 
 With crags distorted vaulting horrent caves > 
 
 A single moonbeam thro' the hollow creeps : 
 
 Glides with the beam the Lady of the deeps 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Then Arthur felt the Dove that at his breast 
 Lay nestling warm — stir quick and quivering, 
 
 His soothing hand the crisped plumes carest ; 
 Slow went they on, the Lady and the King : 
 
 And, ever as they went, before their way 
 
 O'er prison'd waters lengthening stretched the ray. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Now the black jaws as of a hell they gain ; 
 
 Pauses the Lake's pale Hecate. " Lo," she said, 
 "Within, the Genii thou invadest reign. 
 
 Alone thy feet the threshold floors must tread — 
 No aid from Powers not human canst thou win ; 
 Lonely the man must dare the Shapes within."
 
 book vii. KING ARTHUR. 11 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 She spoke to vanish — but the single ray 
 
 Shot from the unseen moon, still palely breaketh 
 
 The awe that rests with midnight on the way ; 
 Faithful as Hope when Wisdom's self forsaketh — 
 
 The buoyant beam the lonely man pursued — 
 
 And, feeling God, he felt not Solitude. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 No fiend obscene, no giant spectre grim, 
 
 (Born or of Runic or Arabian Song,) 
 Affronts the progress — thro' the gallery dim, 
 
 Into the sudden light which flames along 
 The waves, and dyes the stillness of their flood 
 To one red horror like a lake of blood. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And now, he enters, with that lurid tide, 
 
 Where time-long corals shape a mighty hall ; 
 
 Three curtain'd arches on the dexter side, 
 And on the floors a ruby pedestal, 
 
 On which, with marble lips, that life-like smil'd, 
 
 Stood the fair Statue of a crowned Child :
 
 12 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 It smil'd, and yet its crown was wreath' d of thorns, 
 And round its limbs coil'd foul the viper's brood ; 
 
 Near to that Child a rough crag, deluge-torn, 
 
 Jagg'd, with sharp shadow abrupt, the luminous flood; 
 
 And a huge Vulture from the summit, there, 
 
 Watch'd, with dull hunger in its glassy stare. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Below the Vulture, in the rock ensheathed, 
 
 Shone out the hilt-beam of the diamond glaive ; 
 
 And all the hall one hue of crimson wreathed, 
 And all the galleries vista'd thro 5 the wave ; 
 
 As flush'd the coral fathom-deep below, 
 
 Lit into glory from the ruby's glow. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And on three thrones there sate three giant forms, 
 Rigid the first, as Death ; — with lightless eyes, 
 
 And brows as hush'd as deserts, when the storms 
 Lock the tornado in the Nubian skies ; — 
 
 Dead on dead knees the large hands nerveless rest, 
 
 And dead the front droops heavy on the breast.
 
 book vii. KING ARTHUR. 13 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The second shape, with bright and kindling eye, 
 And aspect haughty with triumphant life, 
 
 Like a young Titan reared its crest on high, 
 Crown'd as for sway and harness'd as for strife ; 
 
 But o'er one half his image there was cast, 
 
 A shadow from the throne where sate the last. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And this, the third and last, seem'd in that sleep 
 Which neighbours waking in a summer's dawn, 
 
 When dreams, relaxing, scarce their captive keep : 
 Half o'er his face a veil transparent drawn, 
 
 Stirr'd with quick sighs unquiet and disturb'd, 
 
 W T hich told the impatient soul the slumber curb'd. 
 
 XXXIT. 
 
 ThrilPd, but undaunted, on the Adventurer strode, 
 Then spoke the youthful Genius with the crown 
 
 And armour : " Hail to our august abode ! 
 Guardless we greet the seeker of Renown. 
 
 In our least terror cravens Death behold, 
 
 But vainly frown our direst for the bold. "
 
 14 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK VII, 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 "And who are ye?" the wondering King replied, 
 " On whose large aspects reigns the awe sublime 
 
 Of fabled judges, that o'er souls preside 
 
 In Rhadamanthian Halls ?" The Lords of Time, 
 
 Answered the Giant, » And our realms are three, 
 
 The What has been, what is, and what shall be ! 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " But while we speak my brother's shadow creeps 
 Over the life-blood that it freezes fast ; 
 
 Haste, while the king that shall discrown me sleeps, 
 Nor lose the Present— lo, how dead the Past ! 
 
 Accept the trials, Prince beloved by Heaven, 
 
 To the deep heart— (that nobler reason,) given. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 "Thou hast rejected in the Cuthites' halls 
 
 The fruits that flush Ambition's dazzling tree, 
 
 The Conqueror's lust of blood-stained coronals ;- 
 Again thine ordeal in thy judgment be ! 
 
 Nor here shall empire need the arm of crime — 
 
 But Fate achieve the lot, thou ask'st from Time.
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 15 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " Behold the three-fold Future at thy choice, 
 
 Choose right, and win from Fame the master spell." 
 
 Then the concealing veils, as ceas'd the voice, 
 From the three arches with a clangor fell, 
 
 And clear as scenes with Thespian wonders rife 
 
 Gave to his view the Lemur-shapes of life. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Lo the fair stream amidst that pleasant vale, 
 Wherein his youth held careless holiday ; 
 
 The stream is blithe with many a silken sail, 
 The vale with many a proud pavilion gay, 
 
 And in the centre of the rosy ring, 
 
 Propp'd on his arm, reclines himself, the King. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 All, all the same as when his golden prime 
 Lay in the lap of Life's soft Arcady; 
 
 When the light love beheld no foe but Time, 
 
 When but from Pleasure heaved the prophet sigh. 
 
 And Luxury's prayer was as 'a Summer day, 
 
 Mid blooms and sweets to wear the hours away.'
 
 16 KING ARTHUR. book vii. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 "Behold," the Genius said, "is that thy choice 
 
 As once it was ?" " Nay, I have wept since then," 
 
 Answered the mortal with a mournful voice, 
 " When the dews fall, the stars arise for men !" 
 
 So turn'd he to the second arch to see 
 
 The imperial peace of tranquil majesty ; — 
 
 XL. 
 
 The kingly throne, himself the dazzling king ; 
 
 Bright arms, and jewelled vests, and purple stoles; 
 While silver winds, from many a music-string, 
 
 Rippled the wave of glittering banderolls : 
 From mitred priests and ermined barons, clear 
 Came the loud praise which monarchs love to hear ! 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " Doth this content thee ?" " Ay," the Prince replied, 
 And towered erect, with empire on his brow; 
 
 " Ay, here at once a Monarch may decide, 
 Be but the substance worthy of the show ! 
 
 Courts are not States — let me see men ! — behind 
 
 Where stands the People? — Genius, lift the blind!"
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 17 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Slow fades the pageant, and the Phantom stage 
 As slowly filPd with squalid, ghastly forms ; 
 
 Here, over tireless hearths cowered shivering Age 
 And blew with feeble breath dead embers; — storms 
 
 Hung in the icy welkin; and the bare 
 
 Earth lay forlorn in Winter's charnel air. 
 
 XL1II. 
 
 And Youth all labour-bow'd, with withered look, 
 Knelt by a rushing stream whose waves were gold, 
 
 And sought with lean strong hands to grasp the brook, 
 And clutch the glitter lapsing from the hold, 
 
 Till with mad laugh it ceas'd, and, tott'ring down 
 
 Fell, and on frowning skies scowl'd back the frown. 
 
 XLTV. 
 
 No careless Childhood laughed disportingly, 
 
 But dwarf'd, pale mandrakes with a century's gloom 
 
 On infant brows, beneath a Poison-tree 
 With skeleton fingers plied a ghastly loom, 
 
 Mocking in cynic jests life's gravest things, 
 
 They wove gay King-robes,muttering "What are Kings ?"
 
 18 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 And thro' that dreary Hades to and fro, 
 Stalk'd all unheeded the Tartarean Guests; 
 
 Grim Discontent that loathes the Gods, and Woe 
 Clasping dead infants to her milkless breasts ; 
 
 And madding Hate, and Force with iron heel, 
 
 And voiceless Vengeance sharpening secret steel. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 And, hand in hand, a Gorgon -visag'd Pair, 
 Envy and Famine, halt with livid smile, 
 
 Listening the Demon-Orator Despair, 
 That, with a glozing and malignant guile, 
 
 Seems sent the gates of Paradise to ope, 
 
 And lures to Hell by simulating Hope. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 " Can such things be below and God above?" 
 Faltered the King ; — Replied the Genius — " Nay, 
 
 This is the state that Sages most approve ; 
 This is Man civilized ! — the perfect sway 
 
 Of Merchant Kings ; — the ripeness of the Art 
 
 Which cheapens men— the Elysium of the Mart.
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 19 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 " But what to thee, if Pomp hath its extremes ? 
 
 Not thine the shadow — Go, enjoy the light ! 
 Begirt by guards, shut danger from thy dreams ; 
 
 That serves thy grandeur which appals thy sight ; 
 From its own entrails if the worm supply 
 The silken purple— let it weave and die \" 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 " Demon — O rather," cried the Poet-king, 
 " Let me all lonely on the heav'n-kist hill, 
 
 Rove with the hunter — be my drink the spring, 
 The root my banquet, and the night-wind shrill 
 
 Howl o'er my couch with the wild fox — than know 
 
 One pomp that mocks that Lazar-house of woe. 
 
 L. 
 
 " Thou saidst, ' Give dues to Csesar,' — Lord ! secure 
 The mightier tribute Caesars owe to men ! 
 
 Thou who hast oped God's kingdom to the Poor, 
 Reveal Humanity to Kings ! — again 
 
 Descend, Messiah ! — and to earth make known 
 
 How Christ had reign'd if on the Ceesar's throne !"
 
 20 KING ARTHUR. book vii. 
 
 LI. 
 
 So, with indignant tears in manly eyes 
 Turned the great Archetype of Chivalry ; 
 
 Lo the third arch and last ! — In moonlight, rise 
 The Cymrian rocks dark-shining from the sea, 
 
 And all those rocks, some patriot war, forgone, 
 
 Hallows with grassy mound and starlit stone. 
 
 LII. 
 
 And where the softest falls the loving light, 
 
 He sees himself, stretched lifeless on the sward, 
 
 And by the corpse, with sacred robes of white 
 Leans on his ivory harp a lonely Bard ; 
 
 Yea, to the Dead the sole still Watchers given 
 
 Are the Fame-Singer and the Hosts of Heaven. 
 
 LIU. 
 
 But on the kingly front the kingly crown 
 
 Rests; — the pale right hand grasps the diamond glaive; 
 
 The brow, on which ev'n strife hath left no frown, 
 Calm in the halo Glory gives the Brave. 
 
 " Mortal, is this thy choice }" the Genius cried. 
 
 " Here Death; there Pleasure; andtherePomp! — decide!"
 
 book vii. KING ARTHUR. 21 
 
 LIV. 
 
 " Death," answered Arthur, " is nor good nor ill 
 Save in the ends for which men die — and Death 
 
 Can oft achieve what Life may not fulfil, 
 
 And kindle earth with Valour's dying breath ; 
 
 But oh, one answer to one terror deign, 
 
 My land — my people ! — is that death in vain ?" 
 
 LV. 
 
 Mute droop'd the Genius, but the unquiet form 
 Dreaming beside its brother king, arose. 
 
 Tho' dreaming still* : As leaps the sudden storm 
 On sands Arabian, as with spasms and throes 
 
 Bursts the Fire-mount by soft Parthenope, 
 
 Rose the veil'd Genius of the Things to be ! 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Shook all the hollow caves; — with tortur'd groan, 
 Shook to their roots in the far core of hell ; 
 
 Deep howl'd to deep— the monumental throne 
 Of the dead giant rock'd ; — each coral cell 
 
 Flash'd quivering billowlike. Unshaken smiPd, 
 
 From the calm ruby base the thorn-crown'd Child. 
 
 * The Present shows that which appears submitted to our choice ; the 
 Future that which positively shall be.'
 
 22 KING ARTHUR. book vii. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 The Genius rose ; and thro' the phantom arch 
 Glided the Shadows of His own pale dreams; 
 
 The mortal saw the long procession march 
 Beside that image which his lemur seems: 
 
 An armed King — three lions on his shield* — 
 
 First by the Bard-watchM Shadow paused and kneelM. 
 
 L.VIII. 
 
 Kneel'd, there, his train — upon each mailed breast 
 A red cross stamp'd; and deep as from a sea 
 
 With all its waves — full voices murmur 5 d — " Rest 
 Ever unburied, Sire of Chivalry ! 
 
 Ever by Minstrel watchM, and Knight adorM, 
 
 King of the halo-brow, and diamond sword!" 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Then, as from all the courts of all the earth, 
 
 The reverent pilgrims, countless, clustering came; 
 
 They whom the seas of fabled Sirens girth, 
 Or Baltic freezing in the Boreal flame ; 
 
 Or they, who watch the Star of Bethlem quiver 
 
 By Carmel's Olive mount, and Judah's river. 
 
 * Richard Coeur de Lion ; — poetically speaking, the mythic Arthur was the 
 Father of the age of adventure and knighthood — and the legends respecting him 
 reigned with full influence, in the period which Richard Coeur de Lion, here
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 23 
 
 LX. 
 
 From violet Provence comes the Troubadour ; 
 
 Ferrara sends her clarion-sounding son ; 
 Comes from Iberian halls the turban'd Moor 
 
 With cymbals chiming to the clarion ; 
 And, with large stride, amid the gaudier throng 
 
 o> 
 
 Stalks the vast Scald of Scandinavian song. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Pass'd he who bore the lions and the cross, 
 And all that gorgeous pageant left the space 
 
 Void as a heart that mourns the golden loss 
 Of young illusions beautiful. A Race 
 
 Sedate, supplants upon the changeful stage, 
 
 Light's early Sires, — the Song- World's hero-age. 
 
 LXIT. 
 
 Slow come the Shapes from out the dim Obscure, 
 A noon-like quiet circles swarming bays, 
 
 Seas gleam with sails, and wall-less towns secure, 
 Rise from the donjon sites of antique days ; 
 
 Lo, the calm Sovereign of that sober reign ! 
 
 Unarm'd, — with burghers in his pompless train. 
 
 (generally and without strict prosaic regard to chronology) represents ; from 
 the lay of the Troubadour and the song of the Saracen — to the final concen 
 tration of chivalric romance in the muse of Ariosto.
 
 24 KING ARTHUR. book vii. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 And by the corpse of Arthur kneels that king, 
 And murmurs, "Father of the Tudor*, hail ! 
 
 To thee nor bays, nor myrtle wreath I bring; 
 But in thy Son, the Dragon-born prevail, 
 
 And in my rule Right first deposes Wrong; 
 
 And first the Weak undaunted face the Strong." 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 He pass'd — Another, with a Nero's frown 
 Shading the quick light of impatient eyes ; 
 
 Strides on — and casts his sceptre, clattering, down, 
 And from the sceptre rushingly arise 
 
 Fierce sparks ; along the heath they hissing run, 
 
 And the dull earth glows lurid as a sun. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 And there is heard afar the hollow crash 
 
 Of ruin ; — wind-borne, on the flames are driven : 
 
 But where, round falling shrines, they coil and flash, 
 A seraph's hand extends a scroll from heaven, 
 
 And the rude shape cries loud, " Behold, ye blind, 
 
 I who have trampled Men, have freed the Mind \" 
 
 * It is needless to say that in Henry VII. the direct line of the British 
 kings, through their most renowned heroes, is restored to the throne of 
 England. It is here symbolically intimated, that the date in which the Father- 
 race of the Land thus regains the Sovereign rights, is also (whatever the 
 mere personal faults of the Tudor kings) the date destined for the first 
 recognition of rights more important; — the dawn of a new era for the liberties 
 of men.
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 25 
 
 LXVL 
 So laughing grim, pass'd the Destroyer on ; 
 
 And, after two pale shadows, to the sound 
 Of lutes more musical than Helicon, 
 
 A manlike Woman march'd : — The graves around 
 YawnM, and the ghosts of Knighthood, more serene 
 In death, — arose, and smil'd upon the Queen*. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 With her, (at either hand) two starry forms 
 Glide — than herself more royal — and the glow 
 
 Of their own lustre, each pale phantom warms 
 Into the lovely life the angels know, 
 
 And as they pass, each Fairy leaves its cell, 
 
 And Gloriana calls on Ariel ! 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Yet she, unconscious as the crescent queen 
 
 Of orbs whose brightness makes her image bright, 
 
 Haught and imperious, thro' the borrowed sheen, 
 Claims to herself the sovereignty of light ; 
 
 And is herself so stately to survey, 
 
 That orbs which lend, but seem to steal the ray. 
 
 * The reader will be at no loss to recognise the effects of the Hero-age, 
 and that spirit of Romance embodied by the legendary Arthur, upon whatever 
 was most gallant and most poetic in the reign of Elizabeth. 
 
 VOL. II. C
 
 26 KING ARTHUR. book vii. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Elf-land divine, and Chivalry sublime, 
 
 Seem there to hold their last high iubilee — 
 
 One glorious Sabbat of enchanted Time, 
 Ere the dull spell seals the sweet glamoury. 
 
 And all those wonder-shapes in subject ring 
 
 Kneel where the Bard still sits beside the King. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Slow falls a mist, far booms a labouring wind, 
 As into night reluctant fades the Dream ; 
 
 And lo, the smouldering embers left behind 
 
 From the old sceptre-flame, with blood-red beam, 
 
 Kindle afresh, and the thick smoke-reeks go 
 
 Heavily up from marching fires below. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Hark ! thro' sulphureous cloud the jarring bray 
 Of trumpet-clangours — the strong shock of steel; 
 
 And fitful flashes light the fierce array 
 Of faces gloomy with the calm of zeal, 
 
 Or knightlier forms, on wheeling chargers borne; 
 
 Gay in despair, and meeting zeal with scorn.
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 27 
 
 LXX1I. 
 
 Forth from the throng came a majestic Woe, 
 
 That wore the shape of man — "And I" — It said, 
 
 " I am thy Son ; and if the Fates bestow 
 Blood on my soul and ashes on my head ; 
 
 Time's is the guilt, tho' mine the misery — 
 
 This teach me, Father — to forgive and die !" 
 
 LXXJII. 
 
 But here stern voices drown'd the mournful word, 
 Crying — " Men's freedom is the heritage 
 
 Left by the Hero of the Diamond Sword," 
 
 And others answered — " Nay, the knightly age 
 
 Leaves, as its heirloom, knighthood, and that high 
 
 Life in sublimer life calPd loyalty*." 
 
 • The Stuarts, like the Tudors, were descended from the Welch kings : 
 but the latent meaning of the text is, that whatever most redeemed the 
 faults on either side in the great Civil Wars, and animated, on the one, such 
 souls as Digby and Falkland, on the other, such as Hampden and Vane, 
 may be traced to those ennobling sentiments which are engendered by the 
 early romance and poetry of a nation. It is< only from the traditions of a 
 Hero-age that true heroism enters into the struggles for even practical ends, and 
 gives the sentiment of grandeur, whether to freedom or loyalty. The hardest 
 man who never read a poem, nor listened to a legend, cannot say what he 
 would have been if the poet had never coloured, and the legend never exalted, 
 that Prose of Life to which his scope is confined. This is designed to be con- 
 veyed in words ascribed below to Milton, who himself united all the romance 
 of the Cavalier with all the zeal of the Republican. 
 
 c 2
 
 28 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Then, thro' the hurtling clamour came a fair 
 Shape like a sworded seraph — sweet and grave ; 
 
 And when the war heaved distant down the air 
 And died, as dies a whirlwind on the wave, 
 
 By the two forms upon the starry hill, 
 
 Stood the Arch Beautiful, august and still. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 And thus It spoke — " I too will hail thee, ' Sire/ 
 Type of the Hero-age ! — thy sons are not 
 
 On the earth's thrones. They who, with stately lyre, 
 Make kingly thoughts immortal, and the lot 
 
 Of the hard life divine with visitings 
 
 Of the far angels — are thy race of Kings. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 " All that ennobles strife in either cause, 
 
 And, rendering service stately, freedom wise, 
 
 Knits to the throne of God our human laws — 
 Doth heir earth's humblest son with royalties 
 
 Born from the Hero of the Diamond Sword, 
 
 Watch'd by the Bard, and by the Brave ador'd."
 
 book vii. KING ARTHUR. 29 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Then the Bard, seated by the halo'd dead, 
 
 Lifts his sad eves — and murmurs, " Sins; of Him \" 
 
 Doubtful the stranger bows his lofty head, 
 When down descend his kindred Seraphim ; 
 
 Borne on their wings he soars from human sight, 
 
 And Heaven regains the Habitant of Light. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Again, and once again — from many a pale 
 
 And swift succeeding, dim-distinguished, crowd, 
 
 Swells slow the pausing pageant. Mount and vale 
 Mingle in gentle daylight, with one cloud 
 
 On the far welkin, which the iris hues 
 
 Steal from its gloom with rays that interfuse. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Mild, like all strength, sits Crowned Liberty, 
 Wearing the aspect of a youthful Queen : 
 
 And far outstretch'd along the unmeasured sea 
 Rests the vast shadow of her throne; serene 
 
 From the dumb icebergs to the fiery zone, 
 
 Rests the vast shadow of that guardian throne.
 
 30 KING ARTHUR. book vit. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 And round her group the Cymrian's changeless race 
 Blent with the Saxon, brother-like ; and both 
 
 Saxon and Cymrian from that sovereign trace 
 
 Their hero line ; — sweet flower of age-long growth ; 
 
 The single blossom on the twofold stem ; — 
 
 Arthur's white plume crests Cerdic's diadem. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Yet the same harp that Taliessin strung 
 
 Delights the sons whose sires the chords delighted ; 
 
 Still the old music of the mountain tongue 
 Tells of a race not conquered but united ; 
 
 That, losing nought, wins all the Saxon won, 
 
 And shares the realm ' where never sets the sun.' 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Afar is heard the fall of headlong thrones, 
 
 But from that throne as calm the shadow falls; 
 
 And where Oppression threats and Sorrow groans 
 Justice sits listening in her gateless halls, 
 
 And ev'n, if powerless, still intent, to cure, 
 
 Whispers to Truth, " Truths conquer that endure."
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 31 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Yet still on that horizon hangs the cloud, 
 
 And the cloud chains the Cymrian's anxious eye ; 
 
 " Alas," he murmured, " that one mist should shroud, 
 Perchance from sorrow, that benignant sky !" 
 
 But while he sigh'd the Vision vanished, 
 
 And left once more the lone Bard by the dead. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 " Behold the close of thirteen hundred years ; 
 
 Lo ! Cymri's Daughter on the Saxon's throne ! 
 Free as their air thy Cymrian mountaineers, 
 
 And in the heavens one rainbow cloud alone, 
 Which shall not pass, until, the cycle o'er, 
 The soul of Arthur comes to earth once more. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 u Dost thou choose Death ?" the giant Dreamer said. 
 
 " Ay, for in death I seize the life of fame, 
 And link the eternal millions with the dead," 
 
 Replied the King — and to the sword he came 
 Large-striding; — grasp'd the hilt; — the charmed brand 
 Clove to the rock, and stirr'd not to his hand.
 
 32 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 The Dreaming Genius has his throne resumed ; 
 
 Sit the Great Three with Silence for their reign, 
 Awful as earliest Theban kings entomVd, 
 
 Or idols granite-hewn in Indian fane ; 
 When lo, the dove flew forth, and circling round, 
 Dropp'd on the thorn-wreath which the Statue crownM. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Rose then the Vulture with its carnage-shriek, 
 Up coil'd the darting Asps ; the bird above ; 
 
 Below the reptiles ; — poison-fang and beak, 
 Nearer and nearer gathered round the dove ; 
 
 When with strange life the marble Image stirr'd, 
 
 And sudden pause the Asps — and rests the Bird. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 " Mortal," the Image murmured, " I am He, 
 Whose voice alone the enchanted sword unsheathes, 
 
 Mightier than yonder Shapes — eternally 
 
 Throned upon light, tho' crownM with thorny 
 wreaths ; 
 
 Changeless amid the Halls of Time ; — my name 
 
 In heaven is Youth, and on the earth is Fame.
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 33 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 " All altars need their sacrifice ; and mine 
 
 Asks every bloom in which thy heart delighted, 
 
 Thorns are my garlands — wouldst thou serve the shrine, 
 Drear is the faith to which thy vows are plighted. 
 
 The Asp shall twine, — the Vulture watch the prey, 
 
 And Horror rend thee, let but Hope give way. 
 
 xc. 
 " Wilt thou the falchion with the thorns it brings ?" 
 "Yea — for the thorn-wreath hath not dimm'd thy 
 smile." 
 " Lo, thy first offering to the Vulture's wings, 
 
 And the Asp's fangs !" — the cold lips answered, while 
 Nearer, and nearer the devourers came, 
 Where the Dove resting hid the thorns of Fame. 
 
 xci. 
 
 And all the memories of that faithful guide, 
 The sweet companion of unfriended ways, 
 
 When danger threatened, ever at his side, 
 And ever, in the grief of later days, 
 
 Soothing his heart with its mysterious love, 
 
 Till ^Egle's soul seem'd hovering in the Dove, — 
 
 c 3
 
 34 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 All cried aloud in Arthur, and he sprang 
 
 And sudden from the slaughter snatch'd the prey; 
 
 " What !" said the Image, " can a moment's pang 
 To the poor worthless favorite of a day 
 
 Appal the soul that yearns for ends sublime, 
 
 And sighs for empire o'er the worlds of Time ? 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 " Wilt thou resign the guerdon of the Sword ? 
 
 Wilt thou forego the freedom of thy land ? 
 Not one slight offering will thy heart accord ? 
 
 The hero's prize is for the martyr's hand." 
 Safe on his breast the King replaced the guide, 
 Raised his majestic front, and thus replied : 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 " For Fame and Cymri, what is mine I give, 
 
 Life; — and brave death prefer to ease and power; 
 
 But not for Fame or Cymri would I live 
 Soil'd by the stain of one dishonored hour ; 
 
 And man's great cause was ne'er triumphant made, 
 
 By man's worst meanness — Trust for gain betray'd.
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 35 
 
 xcv. 
 
 " Let then the rock the Sword for ever sheathe, 
 All blades are charmed in the Patriot's grasp !" 
 
 He spoke, and lo ! the Statue's thorny wreath 
 Bloomed into roses — and each baffled asp 
 
 Fell down and died of its own poison sting 
 
 Back to the crag dull-sail'd the death-bird's wing. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 And from the Statue's smile, as when the morn 
 Unlocks the Eastern gates of Paradise, 
 
 Ineffable joy in light and beauty borne, 
 
 Flowed ; and the azure of the distant skies 
 
 Stole thro' the crimson hues the ruby gave, 
 
 And slept, like Happiness, on Glory's wave. 
 
 xcvu. 
 
 " Go," said the Image, " thou hast won the Sword; 
 
 He who thus values Honour more than Fame 
 Makes Fame itself his Servant, not his lord; 
 
 And the man's heart achieves the hero's claim. 
 But by Ambition is Ambition tried, 
 None gain the guerdon who betray the guide !"
 
 36 KING ARTHUR. book vii. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 Wondering the Monarch heard, and hearing, laid 
 On the bright hilt-gem, the obedient hand ; 
 
 Swift at the touch, leapt forth the diamond blade, 
 And each long vista lightened with the brand ; 
 
 The speaking marble bowed its reverent head, 
 
 Hose the three Kings — the Dreamer and the Dead ; 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 Voices far off, as in the heart of heaven, 
 
 Hymn'd " Hail, Fame-Conqueror in the Halls of 
 Time ;" 
 
 Deep as to hell the flaming vaults were riven ; 
 High as to angels, space on space sublime 
 
 Opened, and flash'd upon the mortal's eye 
 
 The Morning Land of Immortality. 
 
 c. 
 
 Bow'd down before the intolerable light, 
 
 Sank on his knees the King; and humbly veil'd 
 
 The Home of Seraphs from the human sight ; 
 Then the freed Soul forsook him, as it hail'd 
 
 Thro' Flesh, its prison-house, — the spirit-choir ; 
 
 And fled as flies the music from the lyre.
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 37 
 
 CI. 
 
 And all was blank, and meaningless, and void ; 
 
 For the dull form, abandoned thus below, 
 Scarcely it felt the closing waves that buoy'd 
 
 Its limbs, light-drifting down the gentle flow — 
 And when the conscious life returned again, 
 Lo, noon lay tranquil on the ocean main. 
 
 en. 
 
 As from a dream he woke, and looked around, 
 For the lost Lake and Ogle's distant grave ; 
 
 But dark, behind, the silent headlands frown'd ; 
 
 And bright, before him, smil'd the murmuring wave; 
 
 His right hand rested on the falchion won ; 
 
 And the Dove plum'd her pinions in the sun.
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK VIII.
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Lancelot continues to watch for Arthur till the eve of the following day, when 
 a Damsel approaches the Lake — Lancelot's discreet behaviour thereon, 
 and how the Knight and the Damsel converse — The Damsel tells her tale — 
 Upon her leaving Lancelot, the fairy ring commands the Knight to desert 
 his watch, and follow the Maiden — The story returns to Arthur, who, 
 wandering by the sea-shore, perceives a Bark with the Raven flag of the 
 sea kings — The Dove enjoins him to enter it — The Ship is deserted, and he 
 waits the return of the Crew — Sleep falls upon him — The consoling Vision 
 of iEgle — What befalls Arthur on waking — Meanwhile Sir Gawaine pur- 
 sues his voyage to the Shrine of Freya, at which he is to be sacrificed — How 
 the Hound came to bear him company — Sir Gawaine argues with the 
 Viking on the inutility of roasting him — The Viking defends that measure 
 upon philosophical and liberal principles, and silences Gawaine — The Ship 
 arrives at its destination — Gawaine is conducted to the Shrine of Freya — 
 The Statue of the Goddess described — Gawaine's remarks thereon, and how 
 he is refuted and enlightened by the Chief Priest— Sir Gawaine is bound, 
 and in reply to his natural curiosity, the Priest explains how he and the 
 Dog are to be roasted and devoured — The sagacious proceedings of the 
 Dog — Sir Gawaine fails in teaching the Dog the duty of Fraternization — 
 The Priest re-enters, and Sir Gawaine, with much satisfaction, gets the best 
 of the Argument — Concluding Stanzas to Nature.
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 
 i. 
 
 Lone by the lake reclined young Lancelot — 
 
 Night passed, the noonday slept on wave and plain : 
 
 Lone by the lake watch'd patient Lancelot ; 
 Like Faith assured that Love returns again. 
 
 Noon glided on to eve ; when from the brake 
 
 Brush'd a light step, and paused beside the lake. 
 
 n. 
 
 How lovely to the margin of the wave 
 
 The shy-eyed Virgin came! and, all unwitting 
 
 The unseen Knight, to the frank sunbeam gave 
 Her sunny hair — its snooded braids unknitting ; 
 
 And, fearless, as by her own well the nymph, 
 
 Sleek'd the loose tresses, mirror'd in the lymph.
 
 42 KING ARTHUR. book viii. 
 
 III. 
 
 And, playful now, the sandal silks unbound, 
 Oft from the cool fresh wave with coy retreat 
 
 Shrinking, — and glancing with arch looks around, 
 The clystal gleameth with her ivory feet. 
 
 Like floating swan-plumes, or the leaves that quiver 
 
 From water-lilies, under Himera's river. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ah happy Knight, unscathed, such charms espying, 
 As brought but death to the profane of yore, 
 
 When Dian's maids to angry quivers flying 
 Pierced the bold heart presuming to adore ! 
 
 Ah happy Knight, unguest in thy retreat, 
 
 Envying the waves that kiss those starry feet ! 
 
 * 
 
 v. 
 
 But worthy of his bliss, the loyal Knight 
 
 Pure from all felon thoughts as Knights should be, 
 
 Revering, angered at his own delight, 
 
 The lone, unconscious, guardless modesty, 
 
 Rose, yet unseen, and to the copse hard by 
 
 Stole with quick footstep, and averted eye.
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 43 
 
 VI. 
 
 But as one tremour of the summer boughs 
 
 Scares the shy fawn, so with that faintest sound 
 
 The Virgin starts, and back from rosy brows 
 Flings wide the showering gold; and all a.ound 
 
 Casts the swift trouble of her looks, to see 
 
 The white plume glisten through the rustling tree. 
 
 VII. 
 
 As by some conscious instinct of the fear 
 
 He caused, the Knight turns back his reverent gaze ; 
 And in soft accents, tuned to Lady's ear 
 
 In gentle courts, her purposed flight delays ; 
 So nobly timid in his look and tone 
 As if the power to harm were all her own. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Lady, and liege, O fly not thus thy slave ; 
 
 If he offend, unwilling the offence, 
 For safer not upon the unsullying wave 
 
 Doth thy pure image rest, than Innocence 
 On the clear thoughts of noble men \" He said; 
 And low with downcast lids, replied the maid.
 
 44 KING ARTHUR. book viii. 
 
 IX. 
 
 [Oh from those lips how strangely musical 
 Sounds the loath'd language of the Saxon foe !] 
 
 "Tho' on mine ear the Cymrian accents fall, 
 And in my speech, O Cymrian, thou wilt know 
 
 The Daughter of the Saxon ; marvel not, 
 
 That less I fear thee in this lonely spot, 
 
 x. 
 
 " Than hadst thou spoken in my mother-tongue, 
 Or worn the aspect of my father-race." 
 
 Here to her eyes some tearful memory sprung, 
 
 And youth's glad sunshine vanished from her face ; 
 
 Like the changed sky the gleams of April leave, 
 
 Or the quick coming of an Indian eve. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Moved, yet emboldened by that mild distress, 
 Near the fair shape the gentle Cymrian drew, 
 
 Bent o'er the hand his pity dared to press, 
 
 And sooth'd the sorrow ere the cause he knew. 
 
 Frank were those times of trustful Chevisaunce*, 
 
 And Hearts when guileless open to a glance. 
 
 * Chevisaunce. — Spenser.
 
 book vm. KING ARTHUR. 45 
 
 XII. 
 
 So see them seated by the haunted lake, 
 She on the grassy bank, her sylvan throne, 
 
 He at her feet — and out from every brake 
 The Forest- Angels* singing: — All alone 
 
 With Nature and the Beautiful — and Youth 
 
 Pure in each soul as, in her fountain, Truth ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And thus her tale the Teuton maid began : 
 "Daughter of Harold, Mercia's Earl, am I. 
 
 Small need to tell to Knighthood's Christian son 
 What creed of wrath the Saxons sanctify. 
 
 With songs first chaunted in some thunder-field, 
 
 Stern nurses rock'd me in my father's shield. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Motherless both, — my playmate, sole and sweet, 
 Years — sex, the same, was Crida's youngest child, 
 
 (Crida, the Mercian Ealder-King) our feet 
 
 Roved the same pastures when the Mead-month + 
 smil'd ; 
 
 By the same hearth we paled to Saga runes, 
 
 When wolves descending howl'd to icymoonsj. 
 
 " The Angels of the Grove (i. e., the birds) is a periphrasis used more 
 than once by our earlier Poets. 
 t The Mead-month, June. 
 + i. p., in the Wolf-month, January.
 
 4G KING ARTHUR. book via. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " As side by side, two osiers o'er a stream, 
 When air is still, with separate foliage bend, 
 
 But let a breezelet blow, and straight they seem 
 With trembling branches into one to blend, 
 
 So grew our natures, — when in calm, apart, 
 
 But, in each care, commingling, heart to heart. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Her soul was bright and tranquil as a bird 
 That hangs in golden noon with silent wing, 
 
 And mine, more earthly, gay, and quickly stirr'd 
 Did like the gossamer float light, to cling 
 
 To each frail blossom, — weaving idle dreams 
 
 Where'er on dew-drops play'd the morning beams. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 a 
 
 Thus into youth we grew, when Crida bore 
 Home from fierce wars a British Woman-slave, 
 A lofty captive, who her sorrow wore 
 
 As Queens a mantle; yet not proud, tho' grave, 
 And grave as if with pity for the foe, 
 Too high for anger, too resigned for woe.
 
 book mi. KING ARTHUR. 47 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Much moved our young hearts that majestic face, 
 And much we schemed to soothe the sense of thrall. 
 
 She learned to love us,— let our love replace 
 
 That she had lost, — and thank'd her God for all, 
 
 Even for chains and bondage: — awed we heard, 
 
 And found the secret in the Gospel Word. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Thus, Cymrian, we were Christians. First, the slave 
 Taught that bright soul whose shadow fell on mine; 
 
 Thus we were Christians; — but, as thro' the cave 
 Flow hidden river-springs, the Faith Divine 
 
 We dared not give to day— in stealth we sung 
 
 Hymns to the Cymrian's God, in Cymri's tongue. 
 
 xx. 
 
 " And for our earlier names of heathen sound, 
 We did such names as saints have borne, receive ; 
 
 One name in truth, tho' with a varying sound : 
 Genevra I — and she sweet Genevieve, — 
 
 Words that escaped from other ears, unknown, 
 
 But spoke as if from Angels to our own.
 
 48 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 
 " Soon with thy creed we learned thy race to love, 
 Listening high tales of Arthur's peerless fame, 
 
 But most such themes did my sweet playmate move ; 
 To her the creed endeared the champion's name, 
 
 With angel thoughts surrounded Christ's young chief, 
 
 And gave to glory haloes from Belief. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " Not long our teacher did survive, to guide 
 Our feet, delighted in the new-found ways; 
 
 Smiling on us — and on the cross — she died, 
 And vanish'd in her grave our infant days ; 
 
 We grew to woman when we learned to grieve, 
 
 And Childhood left the eyes of Genevieve. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Oft, ev'n from me, musing she stole away, 
 Where thick the woodland girt the ruin'd hall 
 
 Of Cymrian kings, forgotten ; — thro' the day 
 Still as the lonely nightingale midst all 
 
 The joyous choir that drown her murmur : — So 
 
 Mused Crida's daughter on the Saxon's foe.
 
 book vin. KING ARTHUR. 49 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! (sad moons have waned since then !) 
 One fatal morn her forest haunt she sought 
 
 Nor thence returned ; whether by lawless men 
 Captured, or flying, of her own free thought, 
 
 From heathen shrines abhorr'd; — all search was vain, 
 
 Ne'er to our eyes that smile brought light again. 
 
 )> 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Here paused the maid, and tears gush'd forth anew, 
 Ere faltering words rewove the tale once more ; 
 
 " Rous'd from his woe, the wrathful Crida flew 
 To Thor's dark priests, and Woden's wizard lore. 
 
 Task'd was each rune that sways the demon hosts, 
 
 And the strong seid* compell'd revealing ghosts. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " And answered priest and rune, and the pale Dead, 
 ' That in the fate of her, the Thor-descended, 
 
 The Gods of Cymri wove a mystic thread, 
 With Arthur's life and Cymri's glory blended, 
 
 And Dragon-Kings, ordained in clouded years, 
 
 To seize the birthright of the Saxon spears. 
 
 * Magic. 
 
 vol. ir. i)
 
 50 KING ARTHUR. book vm. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " ' By Arthur's death, and Carduel's towers o'erthrown, 
 Could Thor and Crida yet the web unweave, 
 
 Protect the Saxon's threaten'd gods ; — alone 
 Regain the lost one, and exulting leave 
 
 To Hengist's race the ocean-girt abodes, 
 
 Till the Last Twilight* darken round the Gods/ 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " This heard and this believed, the direful King 
 Convenes his Eorl-born and prepares his powers, 
 
 Unfolds the omens, and the tasks they bring, 
 And points the Valkyrs to the Cymrian towers. 
 
 Dreadest in war — and wisest in the hall, 
 
 Stands my great Sire — the Saxon's Herman-Saulf. 
 
 * At Ragnarok, or the Twilight of the Gods, the Aser and the Giants are 
 to destroy each other and the whole earth is to be consumed. 
 
 f Herman-Saul (or Saule), often corruptly written Irminsula, Armensula, 
 &c, the name of the celebrated Teuton Idol representing an armed warrior 
 on a column, destroyed by Charlemagne a.d. 772. According to some it 
 means literally the column of Herman, i. e., the leader — the War-God. 
 Others, however, have supposed the name to be rather Jb'rmun-Saul, the 
 great or Universal Column, and so the name is rendered in the Latin 
 translation, " Universalis Columna."
 
 book viii. KING ARTHUR. 51 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " He to secure allies beyond the sea 
 
 Departs — but first, (for well he loved his child,) 
 
 He drew me to his breast, and tenderly 
 
 Chiding my tears, he spoke, and speaking smil'd, 
 
 ' Whate'er betides thy father or thy land, 
 
 Far from our dangers Astrild* woos thy hand. 
 
 xxx. 
 
 "'Beorn, the bold son of Sweyn, the Gothland king, 
 Whose ocean war-steeds on the Balticf deeps 
 
 Range their blue pasture— for thy love shall bring 
 As morgen-giftsj, to Cymric mountain keeps 
 
 Arm'd men and thunder. Happy is the maid, 
 
 Whose charms lure armies to her Country's aid.' 
 
 * Astrild, the Cupid of the Northern Mythology. 
 
 t The more proper word for the Baltic, viz., the Eastern Sea, would 
 probably convey to the English ear, a notion contrary to that which is 
 intended, and therefore the familiar word in the text is selected, though, 
 strictly speaking, the name of the Baltic does not appear to have been given 
 to that ocean before the twelfth century. 
 
 X Motigkn -gifts may be rendered marriage-gifts; according to Saxon 
 usage bestowed by the bridegroom on the bride's family or guardian. 
 
 D 2
 
 52 KING ARTHUR. book viii. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " What, while I heard, the terror and the woe, 
 Of one who, vow'd to the meek Christian God, 
 
 Found the Earth's partner in the Heaven's worst foe ! 
 For ne'er o'er blazing altars Slaughter trod, 
 
 Redder with blood of saints remorseless slain, 
 
 Than Beorn, the Incarnate Fenris* of the main. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " Yet than such nuptials more I feared the frown 
 Of my dread father ; — motionless I stood, 
 
 Rigid in horror, mutely bending down 
 
 The eyes that dared not weep. — So Solitude 
 
 Found me, a thing made soulless by despair, 
 
 Till tears gave way, and with the tears flow'd prayer." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Again Genevra paused ; and beautiful, 
 
 As Art hath imaged Faith — look'd up to heaven, 
 
 With eyes that glistening smil'd. Along the lull 
 Of air, waves sigh'd — the winds of stealing Even 
 
 Murmured, birds sung, the leaflet rustling stirr'd ; 
 
 His own loud heart was all the list'ner heard. 
 
 * Fenris, the Demon Wolf, Son of Asa-Lok.
 
 book viti. KING ARTHUR. 53 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 The maid resumed — " Scarce did my Sire return, 
 To loose the War-fiends on the Cymrian foe, 
 
 Than came the raven cesca* sent by Beorn, 
 For the pale partner of his realms of snow ; 
 
 Shuddering, recoiling, forth I stole at night, 
 
 To the wide forest with wild thoughts of flight. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " I reached the ruined halls wherein so oft 
 Lost Genevieve had mused lone hours away, 
 
 When halting wistful there, a strange and soft 
 Slumber fell o'er me, or, more sooth to say, 
 
 A slumber not, but rather on my soul 
 
 A life-dream clear as hermit-visions stole. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " I saw an aged and majestic form, 
 
 Robed in the spotless weeds thy Druids wear, 
 
 1 heard a voice deep as when coming storm 
 
 Sends its first murmur through the heaving air. 
 
 ' Return,' — it said — i return, and dare the sea, 
 
 The Eye that sleeps not looks from heaven on thee.' 
 
 * CEsca, Scandinavian Ship.
 
 54 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 
 " The form was gone, the Voice was hush'd, and grief 
 Fled from my heart; I trusted, and obey'd; 
 
 Weak still, my weakness leant on my belief; 
 I saw the sails unfurl, the headlands fade; 
 
 I saw my father, last upon the strand, 
 
 Veiling proud sorrow with his iron hand. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 " Swift through the ocean clove the flashing prows, 
 And half the dreaded course was glided o'er, 
 
 When, as the wolves, which night and winter rouse 
 In cavernous lairs, from seas without a shore 
 
 Clouds swept the skies ; and the swift hurricane 
 
 Rush'd from the North along the maddening main. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " Startled from sleep upon the verge of doom, 
 With wild cry, shrilling thro 1 the wilder blast, 
 
 Uprose the seamen, ghostlike thro' the gloom, 
 Hurrying and helpless ; while the sail-less mast 
 
 Now lightning-wreath'd, now indistinct and pale, 
 
 Bow'd, or, rebounding, groaned against the gale,
 
 book vni. KING ARTHUR. 55 
 
 XL. 
 
 " And crash'd at last ; — its sullen thunder drown' d 
 In the great storm that snapp'd it. Over all 
 
 Swept the long surges, and a gurgling sound 
 Told where some wretch, that strove in vain to call 
 
 For aid, where all were aidless, thro' the spray 
 
 Emerging, gasp'd, and then was whirl'd away. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " But I, who ever wore upon my heart 
 
 The symbol cross of Him who had walked the seas, 
 Bow'd o'er that sign my head ; and pray'd apart : 
 
 When through the darkness, on his crawling knees, 
 Crept to my side the chief, and crouch'd him there, 
 Mild as an infant, listening to my prayer. 
 
 XLIJ. 
 
 it 
 
 And, clinging to my robes, ' Thee have I seen,' 
 Faltering he said, ' when round thee coil'd the blue 
 Lightning, and rush'd the billow-swoop, serene 
 And scatheless smiling ; surely then I knew 
 That, strong in charms or runes that guard and save, 
 Thou mock'st the whirlwind and the roaring grave !
 
 56 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " ' Shield us, young Vala, from the wrath of Ran, 
 And calm the raging Helheim of the deep. 1 
 
 As from a voice within, I answered, c Man, 
 Nor rune nor charm locks into mortal sleep 
 
 The Present God ; by Faith all ills are braved ; 
 
 Trust in that God ; adore Him, and be saved.' 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 " Then, pliant to my will, the ghastly crew 
 
 Crept round the cross, amid the howling dark — 
 
 Dark, save when swift and sharp, and griding* thro' 
 The cloud-mass, clove the lightning, and the bark 
 
 Flash'd like a floating hell ; Low by that sign 
 
 All knelt, and voices hollow-chimed to mine. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " Thus as we prayed, lo, opened all the Heaven, 
 With one long steadfast splendour — calmly o'er 
 
 The God-Cross resting: then the clouds were riven 
 And the rains fell ; the whirlwind husVd its roar, 
 
 And the smooth'd billows on the ocean's breast, 
 
 As on a mother's, sighing, sunk to rest. 
 
 * Griding. — Milton. "The griding sword with discontinuous wound, 
 &c."
 
 book viii. KING ARTHUR. 5" 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 u So came the dawn : o'er the new Christian fold, 
 Glad as the Heavenly Shepherd, smil'd the sun ; 
 
 Then to those grateful hearts my tale I told, 
 
 The heathen bonds the Christian maid should shun, 
 
 And prayed in turn their aid my soul to save 
 
 From doom more dismal than a sinless grave. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 " They, with one shout, proclaim their law my will, 
 And veer the prow from northern snows afar, 
 
 Soon gentler winds the murmuring canvas fill, 
 
 Fair floats the bark where guides the western star, 
 
 From coast to coast we pass'd, and peaceful sail'd 
 
 Into lone creeks, by yon blue mountains veil'd. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 " Here all wide-scattered up the inward land 
 
 For stores and water, range the blithesome crew ; 
 
 Lured by the smiling shores, one gentler band 
 I joinM awhile, then left them, to pursue 
 
 Mine own glad fancies, where the brooklet clear 
 
 Shot singing onwards to the sunlit mere. 
 
 d 3
 
 58 KING ARTHUR. book viii. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 " And so we chanced to meet !" She ceased, and bent 
 Down the fresh rose-hues of her eloquent cheek ; 
 
 Ere Lancelot spoke, the startled echo sent 
 
 Loud shouts reverberate, lengthening plain to peak ; 
 
 The sounds proclaim the savage followers near, 
 
 And straight the rose-hues pale, — but not from fear. 
 
 Slowly Genevra rose, and her sweet eyes 
 
 Raised to the Knight's, frankly and mournfully ; 
 
 " Farewell," she said, " the winged moment flies 
 Who shall say whither ? — if this meeting be 
 
 Our last as first, O Christian warrior, take 
 
 The Saxon's greeting for the Christian's sake. 
 
 LI. 
 
 " And if, returning to thy perill'd land, 
 
 In the hot fray thy sword confront my Sire, 
 
 Strike not — remember me !" On her fair hand 
 The Cymrian seals his lips ; wild thoughts inspire 
 
 Words which the lips may speak not :— but what truth 
 
 Lies hid when youth reflects its soul in youth ?
 
 book viii. KING ARTHUR. 59 
 
 LII. 
 
 Reluctant turns Genevra, lingering turns, 
 And up the hill, oft pausing, languid wends. 
 
 As infant flame thro' humid fuel burns, 
 
 In Lancelot's heart with honour, love contends : 
 
 Longs to pursue, regain, and cry, " Where'er 
 
 Thou wanderest, lead me ; Paradise is there !" 
 
 LIII. 
 
 But the lost Arthur ! — at that thought, the strength 
 
 Of duty nerved the loyal sentinel : 
 So by the lake watch' d Lancelot ; — at length 
 
 Upon the ring his looks, in drooping, fell, 
 And see, the hand, no more in dull repose, 
 Points to the path in which Genevra goes ! 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Amazed, and wrathful at his own delight, 
 
 He doubts, he hopes, he moves, and still the ring 
 
 Repeats the sweet command, and bids the Knight 
 Pursue the Maid as if to find the King. 
 
 Yielding, at last, though half remorseful still, 
 
 The Cymrian follows up the twilight hill.
 
 GO KING ARTHUR. rook viii. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Meanwhile along the beach of the wide sea, 
 Wandered the dove-led Arthur, — needful food, 
 
 The Maenad's fruits from many a purple tree 
 
 Flush'd for the vintage, gave ; with musing mood, 
 
 Lonely he strays till iEthra* sees again 
 
 Her starry children smiling on the main. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Around him then, curved grey the hollow creek ; 
 
 Before, a ship lay still with lagging sail ; 
 A gilded serpent glittered from the beak, 
 
 Along the keel encoil'd with lengthening trail ; 
 Black from a brazen flag, with outstretched wings 
 Grimm'df the dread Raven of the Runic kings. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Here paused the Wanderer, for here flew the Dove 
 To the tall mast, and, murmuring, hovered o'er ; 
 
 But on the deck, no watch, no pilot move, 
 Life-void the vessel as the lonely shore. 
 
 Far on the sand-beach drawn, a boat he spied, 
 
 And with strong hand he launch' d it on the tide. 
 
 * Both the Pleiades and the Hyades are said to be the daughters of ^Ethra' 
 one of the Oceanides, by Atlas. 
 
 f Grimm 'd, from the verb grimmen, whence the adjective grim that we 
 still retain.
 
 book viii. KING ARTHUR. 61 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Gaining the bark, still not a human eye 
 
 Peers through the noiseless solitary shrouds ; 
 
 So, for the crew's return, all patiently 
 He sate him down, and watched the phantom clouds 
 
 Flit to and fro, where o'er the slopes afar 
 
 Reign storm-girt Areas*, and the Mother Star. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Thus sleep stole o'er him, mercy-hallow'd sleep, 
 His own lov'd ^Egle, lovelier than of old, 
 
 O lovelier far — shone from the azure deep — 
 And like the angel dying saints behold, 
 
 Bent o'er his brow, and with ambrosial kiss 
 
 Breath'd on his soul her own pure spirit-bliss. 
 
 LX. 
 
 " Never more grieve for me," the Vision said, 
 " Behold how beautiful thy bride is now ! 
 
 Who to yon Heaven from heathen Hades led 
 Me, thine Immortal? Mourner, it was thou ! 
 
 Why shouldst thou mourn ? In the empyreal clime 
 
 We know no severance, for we own no time. 
 
 * Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, near the North Pole, supposed by the 
 Poets to be Areas and his Mother.
 
 G2 KING ARTHUR. book viii. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 " Both in the Past and Future circumfused, 
 We live in each ; — all life's more happy hours 
 
 Bloom back for us ; — all prophet Fancy mused 
 Fairest in days to come, alike are ours : 
 
 With me not yet — I ever am with thee, 
 
 Thy presence flows through my eternity. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 " Think thou hast bless'd the earth, and oped the 
 heaven 
 
 To her baptized, reborn, through thy dear love, — 
 In the new buds that bloom for thee, be given 
 
 The fragrance of the primal flower above ! 
 In Heaven we are not jealous ! — But in aught 
 That heals remembrance and revives the thought, 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 " That makes the life more beautiful, we bind 
 Those who survive us in a closer chain ; 
 
 In all that glads we feel ourselves enshrined ; 
 In all that loves, our love bnt lives again/' 
 
 Anew she kiss'd his brow, and at her smile 
 
 Night and Creation brighten'd ! He, the while,
 
 book vrn. KING ARTHUR. 63 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Stretch'd his vain arms, and clasp'd the mocking air, 
 And from the rapture woke* ! — All fiercely round 
 
 Groupe savage forms, amidst the lurid glare 
 Of lifted torches, red ; fierce tongues resound, 
 
 Discordant clamouring hoarse — as birds of prey 
 
 Scared by man's footstep in some desolate bay. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Mild thro' the throng a bright-hair' d Virgin came, 
 And the roar hush'd ; — while to the Virgin's breast 
 
 Soft-cooing fled the Dove. His own great name 
 Rang thro' the ranks behind ; quick footsteps prest 
 
 (As thro' arm'd lines a warrior) to the spot, 
 
 And to the King knelt radiant Lancelot. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Here for a while the wild and fickle sonsr 
 
 Leaves the crown'd Seeker of the Silver Shield ; 
 
 Thy fates, O Gawaine, done to grievous wrong 
 By the black guide perfidious, be reveal'd, 
 
 Nearing, poor Knight, the Cannibalian shrine, 
 
 Where Freya scents thee, and prepares to dine. 
 
 * The reader will perhaps perceive, that the above passage, containing 
 Arthur's Vision of ^Egle, is partially borrowed from the apparition of Clo- 
 rinda, in Tasso. — Cant. xii.
 
 61 KING ARTHUR. book viii. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Left by a bride, and outraged by a raven, 
 
 One friend still shared the injured captive's lot; 
 
 For, as the vessel left the Cymrian haven, 
 The faithful hound, whom he had half forgot, 
 
 Swam to the ship, clombe, up the sides, on board, 
 
 Snarl' d at the Danes, and nestled by his lord. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 The hirsute Captain, not displeased to see a 
 New bonne bouche added to the destined roast 
 
 His floating larder had prepared for Freya, 
 Welcomed the dog, as Charon might a ghost ; 
 
 Allowed the beast to share his master's platter, 
 
 And daily eyed them both, — and thought them fatter ! 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Ev'n in such straights, the Knight of golden tongue 
 Confronts his foe with arguings just and sage, 
 
 Whether in pearls from deeps Druidic strung, 
 Or link'd synthetic from the Stagirite's page, 
 
 Labouring to show him how absurd the notion, 
 
 That roasting Gawaine would affect the Ocean.
 
 book vin. KING ARTHUR. 65 
 
 LXX. 
 
 But that enlightened tho' unlearned man, 
 
 Posed all the lore Druidical or Attic ; 
 " One truth/' quoth he, " instructs the Sons of Ran, 
 
 (A seaman race are always democratic) 
 That truth once known, all else is worthless lumber: 
 1 The greatest pleasure of the greatest number.' 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 " No pleasure like a Christian roasted slowly, 
 To Odin's greatest number can be given ; 
 
 The will of freemen to the gods is holy ; 
 
 The People's voice must be the voice of Heaven. 
 
 On selfish principles you chafe at capture, 
 
 But what are private pangs to public rapture ? 
 
 LXX1I. 
 
 " You doubt that giving you as food for Freya 
 Will have much marked effect upon the seas ; 
 
 Let's grant you right : — all pleasure's in idea ; 
 If thousands think it, you the thousands please. 
 
 Your private interest must not be the guide, 
 
 When interests clash majorities decide."
 
 66 KING ARTHUR. book viii. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 These doctrines, wise, and worthy of the race 
 From whose free notions modern freedom flows, 
 
 Bore with such force of reasoning on the case, 
 They left the Knight dumbfounded at the close ; 
 
 Foiled in the weapons which he most had boasted, 
 
 He felt sound logic proved he should be roasted. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Discreetly waiving farther conversations, 
 He, henceforth, silent lived his little hour ; 
 
 Indulged at times such soothing meditations, 
 
 As, " Flesh is grass," — and " Life is but a flower." 
 
 For men, like swans, have strains most edifying, 
 
 They never think of till the time for dying. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 And now at last, the fatal voyage o'er, 
 
 Sir Gawaine hears the joyous shout of "Land!" 
 
 Two Vikings lead him courteously on shore: 
 A crowd as courteous wait him on the strand. 
 
 Fifes, viols, trumpets braying, screaming, strumming, 
 
 Flatter his ears, and compliment his coming.
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 67 
 
 L.XXVI. 
 
 Right on the shore the gracious temple stands, 
 Form'd like a ship, and builded but of log ; 
 
 Thither at once the hospitable bands 
 
 Lead the grave Knight and unsuspicious dog, 
 
 Which, greatly pleased to walk on land once more, 
 
 Swells with unprescient bark the tuneful roar. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Six Priests and one tall Priestess clothed in white, 
 Advance — and meet them at the porch divine ; 
 
 With seven loud shrieks, they pounce upon the Knight, 
 Whisked by the Priests behind the inmost shrine, 
 
 While the tall Priestess asks the congregation 
 
 To come at dawn to witness the oblation. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Tho' somewhat vex'd at this so brief delay — 
 Yet as the rites, in truth, required preparing, 
 
 The flock obedient took themselves away ; — 
 Meanwhile the Knight was on the Idol staring, 
 
 Not without wonder at the tastes terrestrial 
 
 Which in that image, hail'd a shape celestial.
 
 68 KING ARTHUR. book viii. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Full thirty ells in height — the goddess stood 
 Bas'd on a column of the bones of men, 
 
 Daub'd was her face with clots of human blood, 
 Her jaws as wide, as is a tiger's den ; 
 
 With giant fangs as strong and huge as those 
 
 That cranch the reeds, thro' which the sea-horse goes. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 " Right reverend Sir," quoth he of golden tongue, 
 
 " A most majestic gentlewoman this ! 
 Is it the Freya*, whom your scalds have sung, 
 
 Goddess of love and sweet connubial bliss ? — 
 If so — despite her very noble carriage, 
 Her charms are scarce what youth desires in marriage." 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 " Stranger," said one who seemed the hierarch-priest — 
 " In that sublime, symbolical creation, 
 
 The outward image but conveys the least 
 Of Freya's claims on human veneration — 
 
 But, (thine own heart if Love hath ever glowed in,) 
 
 Thou'lt own that Love is quite as fierce as Odin ! 
 
 * Freya is the Goddess of love, beauty, and Hymen ; the Scandinavian 
 Venus.
 
 book viii. KING ARTHUR. 69 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 " Hence, as the cause of full one half our quarrels, 
 Freya with Odin shares the rites of blood ; — 
 
 In this — thou see'st a hidden depth of morals, 
 But by the vulgar little understood ; — 
 
 We do not roast thee in an idle frolic ; 
 
 But as a type mysterious and symbolic." 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 The Hierarch motions to the priests around, 
 They bind the victim to the Statue's base, 
 
 Then, to the Knight they link the wondering hound, 
 Some three yards distant — looking face to face. 
 
 "One wwd," said Gawaine — "ere your worships quit us, 
 
 " How is it meant that Freya is to eat us ?" 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 " Stranger," replied the Priest — " albeit we hold 
 Such questions idle, and perhaps profane ; 
 
 Yet much the wise will pardon to the bold — 
 When what they ask 'tis easy to explain — 
 
 Still typing Truth, and shaped with sacred art, 
 
 We place a furnace in the statue's heart.
 
 70 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 " That furnace heated by mechanic laws 
 
 Which gods to priests for godlike ends permit, 
 
 We lay the victim bound across the jaws, 
 And let him slowly turn upon a spit ; 
 
 The jaws — (when done to what we think their liking) 
 
 Close ; — all is over : — The effect is striking !" 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 At that recital made in tone complacent 
 
 The frozen Knight stared speechless and aghast, 
 
 Stared on those jaws to which he was subjacent, 
 And felt the grinders cranch on their repast. 
 
 Meanwhile the Priest said — " Keep your spirits up, 
 
 And ere I go, say when you'd like to sup ?" 
 
 LXXXVI I. 
 
 "Sup!" faltered out the melancholy Knight, 
 "Sup ! pious Sir — no trouble there, I pray ! 
 
 Good tho' I grant my natural appetite, 
 The thought of Freya's takes it all away : 
 
 As for the dog — poor, unenlightened glutton, 
 
 Blind to the future, — let him have his mutton."
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 71 
 
 CI. 
 
 Tis night: behold the dog and man alone! 
 
 The man hath said his thirtieth noster pater, 
 The dog has supped, and having picked his bone, 
 
 (The meat was salted) feels a wish for water; 
 Puts out in vain a reconnoitring paw, 
 Feels the cord, smells it, and begins to gnaw. 
 
 en. 
 
 Abash'd Philosophy, that dog survey! 
 
 Thou call'st on freemen — bah ! expand thy scope ! 
 ' Aide-toi toi mime, et Dieu falderal' 
 
 Doth thraldom bind thee ? — gnaw thyself the rope. 
 Whatever Laws, and Kings, and States may be ; 
 Wise men in earnest, can be always free. 
 
 cm. 
 
 By a dim lamp upon the altar stone 
 
 Sir Gawaine marked the inventive work canine; 
 "Cords bind us both — the dog has gnawed his own; 
 
 O Dog skoinophagous* — a tooth for mine ! — 
 And both may scape that too-refining Goddess 
 Who roasts to types what Nature meant for bodies/' 
 
 * Id est " rope-eating" — a compound adjective borrowed from such 
 Greek as Sir Gawaine might have learned at the then flourishing college of 
 Caerleon. The lessons of education naturally recur to us in our troubles.
 
 72 KING ARTHUR. book viii. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 Sir Gawaine calls the emancipated hound, 
 And strives to shew his own illegal ties ; 
 
 Explaining how free dogs, themselves unbound, 
 With all who would be free should fraternise — 
 
 The dog looked puzzled, licked the fettered hand, 
 
 Pricked up his ears — but would not understand. 
 
 cv. 
 
 The unhappy Knight perceived the hope was o'er, 
 
 And did again to fate his soul resign ; 
 When hark ! a footstep, and an opening door, 
 
 And lo once more, the Hierarch of the shrine ; 
 The dog his growl at Gawaine's whisper ceast, 
 And dog and Knight, both silent, watched the priest. 
 
 cvi. 
 
 The subtle captive, saw with much content 
 No sacred comrades had that reverend man ; 
 
 Beneath a load of sacred charcoal bent, 
 
 The Priest approach'd ; when Gawaine thus began 
 
 " It shames me much to see you thus bent double, 
 
 And feel myself the cause of so much trouble.
 
 book vin. KING ARTHUR. 7.3 
 
 CVII. 
 
 " Doth Freya's kitchen, ventrical and holy, 
 
 Afford no meaner scullion to prepare 
 The festive rites ? — on you depends it wholly 
 
 To heat the oven and to dress the fare?" 
 " To hands less pure are given the outward things, 
 To Hierarchs only, the interior springs," 
 
 cvni. 
 
 Replied the Priest — " and till my task is o'er 
 All else intruding, wrath divine incur." 
 
 Sir Gawaine heard and not a sentence more 
 
 Sir Gawaine said, than — " Up and seize him, Sir," 
 
 Sprung at the word, the dog ; and in a trice 
 
 Grip'd the Priest's throat and lock'd it like a vice. 
 
 ex. 
 
 " Pardon, my sacred friend," then quoth the Knight, 
 " You are not strangled from an idle frolic, 
 
 When bit the biter, you'll confess the bite 
 Is full of sense, mordacious but symbolic ; 
 
 In roasting men, O culinary brother, 
 
 Learn this grand truth — e one turn deserves another !" 
 
 VOL. II. E
 
 74 KING ARTHUR. book viit. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 Extremely pleased, the oratoric Knight 
 Regained the vantage he had lost so long, 
 
 For sore, till then, had been his just despite 
 
 That Northern wit should foil his golden tongue. 
 
 Now, in debate how proud was his condition, 
 
 The opponent posed and by his own position ! 
 
 cxn. 
 
 Therefore, with more than his habitual breeding, 
 Resumed benignantly the bland Gawaine, 
 
 While much the Priest, against the dog's proceeding 
 With stifling gasps protested, but in vain — 
 
 " Friend— (softly, dog ; so — ho !) Thou must confess 
 
 Our selfish interests bid us coalesce. — 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 " Unknit these cords ; and, once unloosed the knot, 
 I pledge my troth to call the hound away, 
 
 If thou accede — a show of hands ! if not 
 That dog at least I fear must have his day." 
 
 High in the air, both hands at once appear ! 
 
 " Carried, nem. con., — Dog, fetch him, — gently, here !'
 
 book vni. KING ARTHUR. 75 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 Not without much persuasion yields the hound ! 
 
 Loosens the throat, to gripe the sacred vest. 
 '* Priest," quoth Gawaine, " remember, but a sound, 
 
 And straight the dog — let fancy sketch the rest !" 
 The Priest, by fancy too dismay'd already, 
 Fumbles the knot with fingers far from steady. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 Hoarse, while he fumbles, growls the dog suspicious, 
 Not liking such close contact to his Lord ; 
 
 (The best of friends are sometimes too officious, 
 And grudge all help save that themselves afford.) 
 
 His hands set free, the Knight assists the Priest, 
 
 And, finis, funis, stands at last releast. 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 True to his word — and party coalitions, 
 
 The Knight then kicks aside the dog, of course ; 
 
 Salutes the foe, and states the new conditions 
 The facts connected with the times enforce; 
 
 All coalitions nat'rally denote, 
 
 That State-Metempsychosis — change of coat ! 
 
 e 2
 
 76 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 
 CXV1I. 
 
 " Ergo," quoth Gawaine, — " first, the sacred cloak ; 
 
 Next, when two parties, but concur pro. temp. 
 Their joint opinions only should be spoke 
 
 By that which has most cause to fear the hemp. 
 Wherefore, my friend, this scarf supplies the gag 
 To keep the cat symbolic — in the bag ! — " 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 So said, so done, before the Priest was able 
 To prove his counter interest in the case, 
 
 The Knight had bound him with the victim's cable, 
 Closed up his mouth and covered up his face, 
 
 His sacred robe with hands profane had taken, 
 
 And left him that which Gawaine had forsaken. 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 Then boldly out into the blissful air, 
 
 Sir Gawaine stept ! Sweet Halidom of Night ! 
 With Ocean's heart of music heaving there, 
 
 Under its starry robe ! — and all the might 
 Of rock and shore, and islet deluge-riven, 
 Distinctly dark against the lustrous heaven !
 
 book viii. KING ARTHUR. 77 
 
 cxx. 
 
 Calm lay the large rude Nature of the North, 
 Glad as when first the stars rejoicing sang, 
 
 And fresh as when from kindling Chaos forth 
 (A thought of God) the young Creation sprang ; 
 
 When man in all the present Father found, 
 
 And for the Temple, paused and looked around ! 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 Nature, thou earliest Gospel of the Wise, 
 
 Thou never-silent Hymner unto God ! 
 Thou Angel-Ladder lost amid the skies, 
 
 Tho' at the foot we dream upon the sod ! 
 To thee the Priesthood of the Lyre belong — 
 They hear Religion and reply in Song ! 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 If he hath held thy worship undefil'd 
 
 Through all the sins and sorrows of his youth, 
 
 Let the Man echo what he heard as Child 
 From the far hill-tops of melodious Truth, 
 
 Leaving on troubled hearts some lingering tone 
 
 Sweet with the solace thou hast given his own !
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 BOOK IX.
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Invocation to the North — Winter, Labour, and Necessity, as Agents of 
 Civilization — The Polar Seas described — The lonely Ship ; its Leader and 
 Crew — Honour due from Song to the Discoverer! — The battle with the 
 Walruses — The crash of the floating Icebergs — The ship ice-locked — 
 Arthur's address to the Norwegian Crew — They abandon the vessel and 
 reach land — The Dove finds the healing herb — Returns to the ship, which 
 is broken up for log huts — The winter deepens — The sufferings and torpor 
 of the crew — The effect of Will upon life — Will preserves us from ills our 
 own, not from sympathy with the ills of others — Man in his higher develop- 
 ment has a two-fold nature — in his imagination and his feelings — Imagina- 
 tion is lonely, Feeling social — The strange affection between the King and 
 the Dove — The King sets forth to explore the desert; his joy at recognizing 
 the print of human feet — The attack of the Esquimaux — The meeting 
 between Arthur and his friend — The crew are removed to the ice-huts of 
 the Esquimaux — The adventures of Sir Gawaine continued — His imposture 
 in passing himself off as a priest of Freya — He exorcises the winds which 
 the Norwegian hags had tied up in bags — And accompanies the Whalers to 
 the North Seas — The storm — How Gawaine and his hound are saved — 
 He delivers the Pigmies from the Bears, and finally establishes himself in 
 the Settlement of the Esquimaux— r Philosophical controversy between 
 Arthur and Gawaine, relative to the Raven — Arthur briefly explains how 
 he came into the Polar Seas in search of the Shield of Thor — Lancelot and 
 Genevra having sailed for Carduel — Gawaine informs Arthur that the 
 Esquimaux have a legend of a Shield guarded by a Dwarf — The first 
 appearance of the Polar Sun above the horizon.
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 i. 
 
 Throned on the dazzling and untrodden height, 
 Formed of the frost-gems ages* labour forth 
 
 From the blanch'd air, — crown'd with the pomp of light 
 V the midst of dark, — stern Father of the North, 
 
 Thee I invoke, as, awed, my steps profane 
 
 The dumb gates opening on thy deathlike reign! 
 
 ii. 
 
 Thee, sure the Ithacan-f- — thee, sure, dread lord. 
 
 When in the dusky, wan, Cimmerian waste 
 By the last bounds of Ocean, he explored 
 
 Ghast Erebus, beheld; — and here embraced 
 In vain the Phantom Mother! lo, the gloom 
 Pierced by no sun, — the Hades of the tomb! — 
 
 * The mountains of hard and perfect ice are the gradual production perhaps 
 of many centuries. — Leslie's Polar Seas and Regions. 
 t Ulysses. Odys. 1. xi. 
 
 E 3
 
 82 KING ATtTHUR. b «ok ix. 
 
 III. 
 
 Magnificent Horror! — How like royal Death 
 Broods thy great hush above the seeds of Life ! 
 
 Under the snow-mass cleaves thine icy breath, 
 And, with the birth of fairy forests rife, 
 
 Blushes the world of white*; — the green that glads 
 
 The wave, is but the march of myriads ; 
 
 IV. 
 
 There, immense, moves uncouth leviathan ; 
 
 There, from the hollows of phantasmal isles, 
 The morsef emerging rears the face of man, 
 
 There the huge bear scents, miles on desolate miles, 
 The basking seal; — and ocean shallower grows, 
 Where, thro' its world a world, the krakenj goes. 
 
 * The phenomenon of the red snow on the Arctic mountains is formed 
 by innumerable vegetable bodies ; and the olive green of the Greenland Sea 
 by Medusan animalcules, the number of which Mr. Scoresby illustrates by 
 supposing that 80,000 persons would have been employed since the creation 
 in counting it. — See Leslie. 
 
 + The Morse, or Walrus, supposed to be the original of the Merman; 
 from the likeness its face presents at a little distance to that of a human 
 being. 
 
 J The Kraken is probably not wholly fabulous, but has its prototype in the 
 enormous polypus of the Arctic Seas.
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 83 
 
 V. 
 
 Father of races who have led back Time 
 Into the age of Demigods; — whose art 
 
 Excells all Egypt's magic — Wizards sublime 
 To whom the Elements are slaves; whose chart 
 
 Belts worlds by boldest seraph yet untrod, 
 
 The embryo orbs flash'd from the smile of God,— 
 
 VI. 
 
 Imperial Winter, hail! — All hail with thee 
 Man's Demiurgus, Labour, side by side 
 
 With thy stern grandeur seated kinglily, 
 And ever shaping out the fates that guide 
 
 The onward cycles to the farthest goal 
 
 F the fields of light, — the loadstone of the soul ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Winter, and Labour, and Necessity, 
 
 Behold the Three that make us what we are, 
 
 The eternal pilots of a shoreless sea, 
 The ever-conquering armies of the Far! 
 
 By these we scheme, invent, ascend, aspire, 
 
 And, pardon'd Titans, steal from Jove the fire!
 
 84 KING ARTHUR. book ix. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Dumb Universe of Winter — there it lies 
 Dim thro' the mist, a spectral skeleton ! 
 
 Far in the wan verge of the solid skies 
 
 Hangs day and night the phantom of a moon ; 
 
 And slowly moving on the horizon's brink 
 
 Floats the vast ice-field with its glassy blink*. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But huge adown the liquid Infinite 
 
 Drift the sea Andes — by the patient wrath 
 
 Of the strong waves uprooted from their site 
 In bays forlorn — and on their winter path, 
 
 (Themselves a winter,) glide, or heavily, where 
 
 They freeze the wind, halt in the inert air. 
 
 Nor bird nor beast lessens with visible ' 
 Life, the large awe of space without a sun ; 
 
 Tho' in each atom life unseen doth dwell 
 
 And glad with gladness God the Living One. 
 
 He breathes — but breathless hang the airs that freeze! 
 
 He speaks — but noiseless list the silences ! 
 
 * The ice-blink seen on the horizon.
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 85 
 
 XI. 
 
 A lonely ship — lone in the measureless sea, 
 Lone in the channel thro' the frozen steeps, 
 
 Like some bold thought launched on infinity 
 By early sage — comes glimmering up the deeps ! 
 
 The dull wave, dirge-like, moans beneath the oar; 
 
 The dull air heaves with wings that glide before. 
 
 XII. 
 
 From earth's warm precincts, thro' the sunless gates 
 That guard the central Niffelheim* of Dark, 
 
 Into the heart of the vast Desolate, 
 
 Lone flies the Dove before the lonely bark. 
 
 While the crownM seeker of the glory-spell 
 
 Looks to the angel and disdains the hell. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Huddled on deck, one-half that hardy crew 
 Lie shrunk and withered in the biting sky, 
 
 With filmy stare and lips of livid hue, 
 
 And sapless limbs that stiffen as they lie ; 
 
 While the dire pest-scourge of the frozen zonef 
 
 Rots thro' the vein, and gnaws the knotted bone. 
 
 * Vapour-home, or Scandinavian hell. 
 
 f Though the fearful disease known by the name of the scurvy is not 
 peculiar to the northern latitudes ; and Dr. Budd has ably disproved (in the 
 Library of Practical Medicine) the old theory that it originated in cold and
 
 86 KING ARTHUR. book ix. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Yet still the hero-remnant, sires perchance 
 
 Of Rollo's Norman knighthood, dauntless steer 
 
 Along the deepening horror, and advance 
 Upon the invisible foe, loud chaunting clear 
 
 Some lusty song of Thor, the Hammer-God, 
 
 When o'er those iron seas the Thunderer trod, 
 
 xv. 
 
 And pierced the halls of Lok ! Still while they sung, 
 The sick men lifted dim their languid eyes, 
 
 And palely smiled, and with convulsive tongue 
 Chimed to the choral chaunt in hollow sighs ; 
 
 Living or dying, those proud hearts the same 
 
 Swell to the danger and foretaste the fame. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 On, ever on, labours the lonely bark. 
 
 Time in that world seems dead. Nor jocund sun 
 Nor rosy Hesperus dawns ; but visible Dark 
 
 Stands round the ghastly moon. For ever on 
 Labours the lonely bark, thro' lock'd defiles 
 That crisping coil around the drifting isles. 
 
 moisture : yet the disease was known in the north of Europe from the 
 remotest ages, while no mention is made of its appearance in more genial 
 climates before the year 1260.
 
 book ix. KING ARTHUR. 87 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Honour, thrice honour unto ye, O Brave ! 
 
 And ye, our England's sons, in the later day, 
 Whose valour to the shores of Hela gave 
 
 Names, — as the guides where suns deny the ray ! 
 And, borne by hope and vivid strength of soul, 
 Left Man's last landmark — Nature's farthest goal ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Whom, nor the unmoulded chaos, with its birth 
 Of uncouth monsters, nor the fierce disease, 
 
 Nor horrible famine, nor the Stygian dearth 
 Of Orcus, dead'ning adamantine seas, 
 
 Scared from the Spirit's grand desire, — to know ! 
 
 The Galileos of new worlds below ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Man the Discoverer — whosoe'er thou art, 
 Honour to thee from all the lyres of song ! 
 
 Honour to him who leads to Nature's heart 
 One footstep nearer ! To the Muse belong 
 
 All who enact what in the song we read ; 
 
 Man's noblest poem is Man's bravest deed.
 
 88 KING ARTHUR. book ix. 
 
 XX. 
 
 On, ever on,— when veering to the West 
 
 Into a broader desert leads the Dove ; 
 A larger ripple stirs the ocean's breast, 
 
 A hazier vapour undulates above ; 
 Along the ice-fields move the things that live, 
 Large in the life the misty glamours give. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 In flocks the lazy walrus lay around 
 
 Gazing and stolid ; while the dismal crane 
 
 Stalk'd curious near ;— and on the hinder ground 
 Paused indistinct the Fenris of the main, 
 
 The insatiate bear,— to sniff the stranger blood,— 
 
 For Man till then had vanished since the flood, 
 
 XXII. 
 
 And all of Man were fearless ! — On the sea 
 The vast leviathans came up to breathe, 
 
 With their young giants leaping forth in glee, 
 Or leaving whirlpools where they sank beneath. 
 
 And round and round the bark the narwal* sweeps, 
 
 With white horn glistening thro' the sluggish deeps. 
 
 * The Sea Unicom.
 
 book ix. KING ARTHUR. 89 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Uprose a bold Norwegian, hunger-stung, 
 
 As near the icy marge a walrus lay, 
 HurPd his strong spear, and smote the beast, and sprung 
 
 Upon the frost-field on the wounded prey ; — 
 Sprung and recoiled — as, writhing with the pangs, 
 The bulk heaved towards him with its flashing; fangs. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Roused to fell life — around their comrade throng, 
 Snorting wild wrath, the shapeless, grisly swarms — 
 
 Like moving mounts slow masses trail along ; 
 Aghast the man beholds the larva-forms — 
 
 Flies — climbs the bark — the deck is scaled — is won ; 
 
 And all the monstrous march rolls lengthening on. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Quick to your spears !" the kingly leader cries. 
 
 Spears flash on flashing tusks ; groan the strong planks 
 With the assault : front after front they rise 
 
 With their bright* stare; steel thins in vain their ranks, 
 And dyes with blood their birth-place and their grave ; 
 Mass rolls on mass, as flows on wave a wave. 
 
 * The eye of the Walrus is singularly bright.
 
 90 KING ARTHUR. book ix. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 These strike and rend the reeling sides below ; 
 
 Those grappling clamber up and load the decks, 
 With looks of wrath so human on the foe, 
 
 That half they seem the ante-Deedal wrecks 
 Of what were men in worlds before the Ark ! 
 Thus rag'd the immane and monster war —when, hark, 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Crash'd thro' the dreary air a thunder peal ! 
 
 In their slow courses meet two ice-rock isles 
 Clanging; the wide seas far-resounding reel; 
 
 The toppling ruin rolls in the defiles ; 
 The pent tides quicken with the headlong shock ; 
 Broad-billowing heave the long waves from the rock ; 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Far down the booming vales precipitous 
 Plunges the stricken galley, — as a steed 
 
 Smit by the shaft runs reinless, — o'er the prows 
 Howl the lash'd surges; Man and monster freed 
 
 By power more awful from the savage fray, 
 
 Here roaring sink — there dumbly whirl away.
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 91 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The water runs in maelstroms ; — as a reed 
 Spins in an eddy and then skirs along, — 
 
 Round and around emerged and vanished 
 The mighty ship amidst the mightier throng 
 
 Of the revolving hell. With abrupt spring 
 
 Bounding at last — on it shot maddening. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Behind it, thunderous swept the glacier masses, 
 Shivering and splintering, hurtling each on each: 
 
 Narrower and narrower press the frowning passes : — 
 Jamm'd in the farthest gorge the bark may reach, 
 
 Where the grim Scylla locks the direful way, 
 
 The fierce Charybdis flings her mangled prey. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 As if a living thing, in every part 
 
 The vessel groans — and with a dismal chime 
 
 Cracks to the cracking ice; asunder start 
 
 The brazen ribs: — and, clogg'd and freezing, climb 
 
 Thro' cleft and chink, as thro' their native caves, 
 
 The gelid armies of the hardening waves.
 
 92 KING ARTHUR. book ix. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 One sigh whose lofty pity did embrace 
 
 The vanish'd many, the surviving few, 
 The Cymrian gave — then with a cheering face 
 
 He spoke, and breath'd his soul into the crew, 
 " Ye whom the haught desire of Fame, whose air 
 Is storm, — and tales of what your fathers were, 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " What time their valour wrought such deeds below 
 As made the valiant lift them to the gods, 
 
 ImpelPd with me to spare all meaner foe, 
 
 And vanquish Nature in the fiend's abodes; — 
 
 Droop not nor faint, ye who survive, to give 
 
 Themes to such song as bids your Odin live, 
 
 xxxiv. 
 
 " And to preserve from* the oblivious sea 
 What it in vain engulfs ; — for all that life, 
 
 When noble, lives for is the memory ! 
 
 The wave hath pluck'd us from the monster strife, 
 
 Lo where the icebay frees us from the wave, 
 
 And yields a port in what we deemed a grave !
 
 book ix. KING ARTHUR. 93 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " Up and at work all hands to lash the bark 
 With grappling hook, and cord, and iron band 
 
 To yon firm peak, the Ararat of our ark, 
 
 Then with good heart pierce to the vapour-land; 
 
 For the crane's scream, and the bear's welcome roar 
 
 Tell where the wave joins solid to the shore." 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Swift as he spoke, the gallant Northmen sprang 
 On the sharp ice, — drew from the frozen blocks 
 
 The mangled wreck; — with many a barbed fang 
 And twisted cable to the horrent rocks 
 
 Moor'd : and then, shouting up the solitude, 
 
 Their guiding star, the Dove's pale wing, pursued. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Well had divined the King, — as on they glide, 
 They see the silvery Arctic fox at play, 
 
 Sure sign of land, — and, scattering wild and wide, 
 Clamour the sea gulls, luring to his prey 
 
 The ravening glaucus* sudden shooting o'er 
 
 The din of wings from the grey gleaming shore. 
 
 * The Larus Glaucus, the great bird of prey in the Polar regions.
 
 94 KING ARTHUR. book ix. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 At length they reach the land, — if land that he 
 Which seems so like the frost piles of the deep, 
 
 That where commenced the soil and ceased the sea, 
 Shows dim as is the bound between the sleep 
 
 And waking of some wretch whose palsied brain 
 
 Dulls him to ev'n the slow return of pain. 
 
 xxxix. 
 
 Advancing farther, burst upon the eye 
 
 Patches of green miraculously isled 
 In the white desert. Oh ! the rapture cry 
 
 That greeted God and gladdened thro' the wild ! 
 The very sight suffices to restore, 
 
 Green Earth — green Earth — the Mother, smiles once 
 more ! 
 
 XL. 
 
 Blithe from the turf the Dove the blessed leaves* 
 That heal the slow plague of the sunless dearth 
 
 Bears to each sufferer whom the curse bereaves 
 Ev'n of all hope, save graves in that dear earth. 
 
 Woo'd by the kindly King they taste, to know 
 
 How to each ill God plants a cure below. 
 
 * Herbs which act as the antidotes to the scurvy (the cochlearia, &c.) 
 are found under the snows, when all other vegetation seems to cease.
 
 book ix. KING ARTHUR. 95 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Long mused the anxious hero, if to dare 
 
 Once more the fearful sea — or from the bark 
 
 Shape rugged huts, and wait, slow-lingering there, 
 Till Eos issuing from the gates of Dark 
 
 Unlock the main ? dread choice on either hand — 
 
 The liquid Acheron, or the Stygian land. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 At length, resolved to seize the refuge given, 
 Once more he leads the sturdiest of the crew 
 
 Back to the wreck — the planks, asunder riven, 
 And such scant stores as yet the living few 
 
 May for new woes sustain, are shoreward borne ; 
 
 And hasty axes shape the homes forlorn. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Now, every chink closed on the deathful air, 
 In the dark cells the weary labourers sleep ; 
 
 Deaf to the fierce roar of the hungering bear, 
 And the dull thunders clanging on the deep — 
 
 Till on their waking sense the discords peal, 
 
 And to the numb hand cleaves unfelt the steel.
 
 96 KING ARTHUR. book ix. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 What boots long told the tale of life one war 
 
 With the relentless iron Element ? 
 More, day by day, the mounting snows debar 
 
 Ev'n search for food, — yet oft the human scent 
 Lures the wild beast, which, mangling while it dies, 
 Bursts on the prey, to fall itself the prize ! 
 
 XLV. 
 
 But as the winter deepens, ev'n the beast 
 
 Shrinks from its breath, and with the loneliness 
 
 To Famine leaves the solitary feast. 
 
 Suffering halts patient in its last excess. 
 
 Closed in each fireless, lightless, foodless cave 
 
 Cowers a dumb ghost unconscious of its grave. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Nature hath stricken down in that waste world 
 All — save the Soul of Arthur ! TTiat, sublime, 
 
 Hung on the wings of heavenward faith unfurl'd, 
 O'er the far light of the predicted Time; 
 
 Believe thou hast a mission to fulfil, 
 
 And human valour grows a Godhead's will !
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 97 
 
 XL VI I. 
 
 Calm to that fate above the moment given 
 Shall thy strong soul divinely dreaming go, 
 
 Unconscious as an eagle, entering heaven, 
 
 Where its still shadow skims the rocks below. 
 
 High beyond this, its actual world is wrought, 
 
 And its true life is in its sphere of thought. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Yet who can 'scape the infection of the heart ? 
 
 Who, tho' himself invulnerably steel'd, 
 Can boast a breast indifferent to the dart 
 
 That threats the life his love in vain would shield ? 
 When some large nature, curious, we behold 
 How twofold comes it from the glorious mould ! 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 How lone, and yet how living in the All ! 
 
 While it imagines how aloof from men ! 
 How like the ancestral Adam ere the fall, 
 
 In Eden bovvers the painless denizen ! 
 But when it feels — the lonely heaven resign'd — 
 How social moves the man among mankind ! 
 
 VOL. II. F
 
 98 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 JL. 
 
 Forth from the tomblike hamlet strays the King, 
 Restless with ills from which himself is free; 
 
 In that dun air the only living thing, 
 
 He skirts the margin of the soundless sea; 
 
 No — not alone, the musing Wanderer strays; 
 
 For still the Dove smiles on the dismal ways. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Nor can tongue tell, nor thought conceive how far 
 Into that storm-beat heart, the gentle bird 
 
 Had built the halcyon's nest. How precious are 
 In desolate hours, the Affections ! — How (unheard 
 
 Mid Noon's melodious myriads of delight) 
 
 Thrills the lone note that steals the gloom from night ! 
 
 LII. 
 
 And, in return, a human love replying 
 
 To his caress, seem'd in those eyes to dwell, 
 
 That mellow murmur, like a human sighing, 
 
 Seemed from those founts that lie i' the heart to swell. 
 
 Love wants not speech; from silence speech it builds, 
 
 Kindness like light speaks in the air it gilds.
 
 book ix. KING ARTHUR. 99 
 
 LIU. 
 That angel guide ! His fate while leading on, 
 
 It followed each quick movement of his soul. 
 As the soft shadow from the setting sun 
 
 Precedes the splendour passing to its goal, 
 Before his path the gentle herald glides, 
 Its life reflected from the life it guides. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Was Arthur sad? how sadden'd seemed the Dove! 
 
 Did Arthur hope ? how gaily soared its wings ! 
 Like to that sister spirit left above, 
 
 The half of ours, which, torn asunder, springs 
 Ever thro' space, yearning to join once more 
 The earthlier half, its own and Heaven's before*; 
 
 LV. 
 
 Like an embodied living Sympathy 
 
 Which hath no voice and yet replies to all 
 
 That wakes the lightest smile, the faintest sigh, — 
 So did the instinct and the mystery thrall 
 
 To the earth's son the daughter of the air; 
 
 And pierce his soul — to place the sister there. 
 
 * In allusion to the Platonic fancy, that love is the yearning of the soul 
 for the twin soul with which it was united in a former existence, and which 
 it instinctively recognizes helow. Schiller, in one of his earlier poems, has 
 enlarged on this idea with earnest feeling and vigorous fancy. 
 
 F 2
 
 100 KING ARTHUR. book ix. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 She was to him as to the bard his muse, 
 
 The solace of a sweet confessional; 
 The hopes — the fears which manly lips refuse 
 
 To speak to man, — those leaves of thought that fall 
 With every tremulous zephyr from the Tree 
 Of Life, whirPd from us down the darksome sea ; — 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Those hourly springs and winters of the heart 
 
 Weak to reveal to Reason's sober eye, 
 The proudest yet will to the muse impart 
 
 And grave in song the record of a sigh. 
 And hath the muse no symbol in the Dove ? — 
 Both give what youth most miss'd in human love ! 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Over the world of winter strays the King, 
 
 Seeking some track of hope — some savage prey 
 
 Which, famish'd, fronts and feeds the famishing; 
 Or some dim outlet in the darkling way 
 
 From the dumb grave of snows which form with snows 
 
 Wastes wide as realms thro' which a spectre goes.
 
 book ix. KING ARTHUR. 101 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Amazed he halts : — Lo, on the rimy layer 
 That clothes sharp peaks — the print of human feet ! 
 
 An awe thrill'd thro' him, and thus spoke in prayer, 
 " Thee, God, in man once more then do I greet ? 
 
 Hast thou vouchsafed the hrother to the brother, 
 
 Links which reweave thy children to each other ? 
 
 LX. 
 
 Be they the rudest of the clay divine, 
 
 Warmed with the breath of soul, how faint so ever, 
 Yea, tho' their race but threat new ills to mine, 
 
 All hail the bond thy sons cannot dissever ! 
 Bowed to thy will, of life or death dispose, 
 But if not human friends, grant human foes \" 
 
 L.XI. 
 
 Thus while he prayed, blithe from his bosom flew 
 The guiding Dove, along the frozen plain 
 
 Of a mute river, winding vale-like thro' 
 
 Rocks lost in vapour from the voiceless main. 
 
 And as the man pursues, more thickly seen, 
 
 The foot-prints tell where man before has been.
 
 102 KING ARTHUR, book ix. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Sudden a voice — a yell, a whistling dart ! 
 
 Dim thro' the fog, behold a dwarf-like band, 
 (As from the inner earth, its goblins,) start; 
 
 Here threatening rush, there hoarsely gibbering stand ! 
 Halts the firm hero; mild but undismay'd, 
 Grasps the charm'd hilt, but shuns to bare the blade. 
 
 LX1II. 
 
 And, with a kingly gesture eloquent, 
 
 Seems to command the peace, not shun the fray; 
 Daunted they back recoil, yet not relent ; 
 
 As Indians round the forest lord at bay, 
 Beyond his reach they form the deathful ring, 
 And every shaft is fitted to the string. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 When in the circle a grand shape appears, 
 Day's lofty child amid those dwarfs of Night, 
 
 Ev'n thro' the hides of beasts, (its garb,) it rears 
 The glorious aspect of a son of light. 
 
 Hush'd at that presence was the clamouring crowd; 
 
 Dropp'd every hand and every knee was bow'd.
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 103 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Forth then alone, the man approached the King; 
 
 And his own language smote the Cymrian's ear, 
 
 " What fates, unhappy one, a stranger hring 
 
 To shores," — he started, stopped, — and bounded near ; 
 
 Gazed on that front august, a moment's space, — 
 
 Rush'd, — lock'd the wanderer in a long embrace ; 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Weeping and laughing in a breath, the cheek, 
 
 The lip he kiss'd — then kneeling, clasp'd the hand ; 
 
 And gasping, sobbing, sought in vain to speak — 
 
 Meanwhile the King the beard-grown visage scann'd : 
 
 Amazed — he knew his Carduel's comely lord, 
 
 And the warm heart to heart as warm restor'd! 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Speech came at length : first mindful of the lives 
 Claiming his care and peril'd for his sake, 
 
 Not yet the account that love demands and gives 
 The generous leader paused to yield and take; 
 
 Brief words his follower's wants and woes explain; — 
 
 "Light, warmth, and food. — Sat verbum" quoth Gawaine.
 
 104 KING ARTHUR. book ix. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Quick to his wondering and Pigmaean troops — 
 
 Quick sped the Knight; — he spoke and was obey'd ; 
 
 Vanish once more the goblin-visaged groups 
 And soon return caparisoned for aid; 
 
 Laden with oil to warm and light the air, 
 
 Flesh from the seal, and mantles from the bear. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Back with impatient rapture bounds the King, 
 Smiling as he was wont to smile of yore ; 
 
 While Gawaine, blithesome as a bird of spring, 
 Sends his sweet laughter ringing to the shore; 
 
 Runs thro* that maze of questions, " How and Why?" 
 
 And lost in joy stops never for reply. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Before them rov'd wild dogs too numb to bark, 
 
 Led by one civilized, majestic hound, 
 Who scarcely deign'd his followers to remark, 
 
 Save, when they touched him, by a snarl profound. 
 Teaching that plebs, as history may my readers, 
 How curs are look'd on by patrician leaders.
 
 book IX . KING ARTHUR. 105 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Now gained the huts, silent with drowsy life, 
 That scarcely feels the quick restoring skill ; 
 
 Trained with stern elements to wage the strife, 
 The pigmy race are Nature's conquerors still. 
 
 With practised hands they chafe the frozen veins, 
 
 And gradual loose the chill heart from its chains; 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Heap round the limbs the fur's thick warmth of fold, 
 And with the cheerful oil revive the air. 
 
 Slow wake the eyes of Famine to behold 
 The smiling faces and the proffered fare; 
 
 Rank tho' the food, 'tis that which best supplies 
 
 The powers exhausted by the withering skies. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 This done, they next the languid sufferers bear 
 
 (Wrapp'd from the cold) athwart the vapoury shade, 
 
 Regain the vale, and shew the homes that there 
 Art's earliest god, Necessity, hath made; 
 
 Abodes hewn out from winter, winter-proof, 
 
 Ice-blocks the walls, and hollow'd ice the roof !* 
 
 * The houses of the Esquimaux who received Captain Lyon were thus 
 constructed :— the frozen snow being formed into slabs of about two feet long 
 and half a foot thick; the benches were made with snow, strewed with 
 twigs, and covered with skins ; and the lamp suspended from the roof, fed 
 
 F 3
 
 106 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Without, the snowy lavas, hard'ning o'er, 
 
 Hide from the beasts the buried homes of men, 
 
 But in the dome is placed the artful door 
 
 Thro' which the inmate gains or leaves the den. 
 
 Down thro' the chasm each lowers the living load, 
 
 Then from the winter seals the pent abode. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 There ever burns, sole source of warmth and light, 
 The faithful lamp the whale or walrus gives, 
 
 Thus, Lord of Europe, in the heart of Night, 
 Unjoyous not, thy patient brother lives ! 
 
 To thee desire, to him possession sent, 
 
 Thine worlds of wishes, — his that inch, Content! 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 But Gawaine's home, more dainty than the rest, 
 Betray'd his tastes exotic and luxurious, 
 
 The walls of ice in furry hangings drest 
 Form'd an apartment elegant if curious; 
 
 Like some gigantic son of Major Ursa 
 
 Turned inside out by barbarous vice versa. 
 
 with seal or walrus oil, was the sole substitute for the hearth, furnished light 
 and fire for cooking. 
 
 The Esquimaux were known to the settlers and pirates of Norway by the 
 contemptuous name of dwarfs or pigmies — (Skrcellinys.)
 
 book ix. KING ARTHUR. 107 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Here then he lodged his royal guest and friend, 
 And, having placed a slice of seal before him, 
 
 Quoth he, " Thou ask'st me for my tale, attend ; 
 Then give me thine, Heus renovo dolorem!" 
 
 Therewith the usage villainous and rough, 
 
 Schemed in cold blood by that malignant chough ; 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 The fraudful dinner (its dessert a wife;) 
 
 The bridal roof with nose-assaulting glaive ; 
 
 The oak whose leaves with pinching imps were rife ; 
 The atrocious trap into the Viking's cave; 
 
 The chief obdurate in his damn'd idea, 
 
 Of proving Freedom by a roast to Freya; 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 The graphic portrait of the Nuptial goddess; 
 
 And diabolic if symbolic spit; 
 The hierarch's heresy on types and bodies ; 
 
 And how at last he pos'd and silenc'd it ; 
 All facts traced clearly to that corvus niger, 
 Were told with pathos that had touch'd a tiger.
 
 J08 KING AKTHUR. book ix. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 So far the gentle sympathizing Nine 
 
 In dulcet strains have sung Sir Gawaine's woes ; 
 What now remains they bid the historic line 
 
 With Dorian dryness unadorned disclose ; 
 So counsel all the powers of fancy stretch, 
 Then leave the judge to finish off the wretch ! 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Along the beach Sir Gawaine and the hound 
 Roved all the night, and at the dawn of day 
 
 Came unawares upon a squadron bound 
 To fish for whales, arrested in a bay 
 
 For want of winds, which certain Norway hags 
 
 Had squeezed from heaven and bottled up in bags*. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Straight when the seamen, fretting on the shore, 
 Behold a wanderer clad as Freya's priest, 
 
 They rush, and round him kneeling, they implore 
 The runes, by which the winds may be releast : 
 
 The spurious priest a gracious answer made, 
 
 And told them Freya sent him to their aid ; 
 
 * A well-known popular superstition, not perhaps cpaite extinct at this 
 day, amongst the Baltic mariners.
 
 book ix. KING ARTHUR. 109 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Bade them conduct himself and hound on board, 
 And broil two portions of their choicest meat. 
 
 " The spell," quoth he, " our sacred arts afford 
 To free the wind, is in the food we eat ; 
 
 We dine, and dining exorcise the witches, 
 
 And loose the bags from their infernal stitches. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 " Haste then, my children, and dispel the wind ; 
 
 Haste, for the bags are awfully inflating !" 
 The ship is gain'd. Both priest and dog have din'd ; 
 
 The crews assembled on the decks are waiting:- 
 A heavier man arose the audacious priest 
 And stately stepp'd he west and stately east ! 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Mutely invoked St. David and St. Bran 
 
 To charge a stout north-western with their blessing; 
 Then cleared his throat and lustily began 
 
 A howl of vowels huge from Talicssin. 
 Prone fell the crews before the thundering tunes, 
 In words like mountains roll'd the enormous runes ! 
 
 I
 
 110 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 The excited hound, symphonious with the song, 
 Yell'd as if heaven and earth were rent asunder ; 
 
 The rocks Orphean seemed to dance along ; 
 
 The affrighted whales plunged waves affrighted under; 
 
 Polyphlosboian, onwards booming bore 
 
 The deaf'ning, strident, rauque, Homeric roar ! 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 As lions lash themselves to louder ire, 
 
 By his own song the knight sublimely stung 
 
 Caught the full cestro of the poet's fire, 
 
 And grew more stunning every note he sung! 
 
 In each dread blast a patriot's soul exhales, 
 
 And Norway quakes before the storm of Wales. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 Whether, as grateful Cymri should believe, 
 That blatant voice heroic burst the bags, 
 
 (For sure it might the caves of Boreas cleave 
 Much more the stitchwork of such losel hags !) 
 
 Or heaven, on any terms, resolved on peace ; 
 
 The wind sprung up before the Knight would cease.
 
 book ix. KING ARTHUR. Ill 
 
 L.XXXIX. 
 
 Never again hath singer heard such praise 
 As Gawaine heard ; for never since hath song 
 
 Found out the secret how the wind to raise ! — 
 Around the charmer now the seamen throng, 
 
 And bribe his blest attendance on their toil, 
 
 With bales of bear skin and with tuns of oil. 
 
 xc. 
 
 Well pleased to leave the inhospitable shores, 
 The artful Knight yet slowly seemed to yield. — 
 
 Now thro' the ocean plunge the brazen prores ; 
 They pass the threshold of the world congeal'd ; 
 
 Surprise the snorting mammoths of the main; 
 
 And pile the decks with Pelions of the slain. 
 
 xci. 
 When, in the midmost harvest of the spoil, 
 
 Pounce comes a storm unspeakably more hideous 
 Than that which drove upon the Lybian soil 
 
 Anchises' son, the pious and perfidious, 
 When whooping Notus, as the Nine assure us, 
 Rush'd out to play with Africus and Eurus.
 
 112 KING ARTHUR. book ix. 
 
 xcn. 
 
 Torn each from each, or down the maelstrom whirl'd, 
 Or grasp'd and gulph'd by the devouring sea, 
 
 Or on the ribs of hurrying icebergs hurPd, 
 The sundered vessels vanish momently. 
 
 Scarce thro' the blasts which swept his own, Gawaine 
 
 Heard the crew shrieking " Chaunt the runes again!" 
 
 xcni. 
 
 Far other thoughts engaged the prescient knight, 
 Fast to a plank he lash'd himself and hound ; 
 
 Scarce done, than, presto, shooting out of sight, 
 The enormous eddy spun him round and round, 
 
 Along the deck a monstrous wave had pour'd, 
 
 Caught up the plank and toss'd it overboard. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 What of the ship became, saith history not. 
 
 What of the man — the man himself shall show. 
 " Like stone from sling," quoth Gawaine, " I was shot 
 
 Into a ridge of what they call ajloe*, 
 There much amazed, but rescued from the waters, 
 Myself and hound took up our frigid quarters. 
 
 * The smaller kind of ice-field is called by the northern whale fishers, ' a 
 floe,' — the name is probably of very ancient date.
 
 book ix. KING ARTHUR. 113 
 
 xcv. 
 
 " Freed from the plank, drench'd, spluttering, stunn'd, 
 and bruised, 
 
 We peer'd about us on the sweltering deep, 
 And seeing nought, and being much confused, 
 
 Crept side by side and nestled into sleep. 
 The nearest kindred most avoid each other, 
 So to shun Death, we visited his brother. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 " Awaked at last, we found the waves had stranded 
 A store of waifs portentous and nefarious ; 
 
 Here a dead whale was at my elbow landed, 
 There a sick polypus, that sea-Briareus, 
 
 Stretch'd out its claws to' incorporate my corpus ; 
 
 While howl'd the hound half buried by a porpoise ! 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 " Nimbly I rose, disporpoising my friend ; — 
 Around me scattered lay more piteous wrecks, 
 
 With every wave the accursed Tritons send 
 Some sad memento of submergent decks, 
 
 Prows, rudders, casks, ropes, blubber, hides, and hooks, 
 
 Sailors, salt beef, tubs, cabin boys, and cooks.
 
 114 KING ARTHUR. book ix. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 " Graves on the dead, with pious care bestowed, 
 (Graves in the ice hewn out with mickle pain 
 
 By axe and bill, which with the waifs had flowed 
 To that strange shore) I next collect the gain ; 
 
 Placed in a hollow cleft — and covered o'er; — 
 
 Then knight and hound proceeded to explore. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 " Far had w T e wandered, for the storm had joined 
 To a great isle of ice, our friend the floe, 
 
 When as the day (three hours its length !) declined, 
 Out bray'd a roar ; I stared around, and lo 
 
 A flight of dwarfs about the size of sea-moths, 
 
 Chased by two bears that might have eat behemoths 
 
 c. 
 
 " Armed with the axe the Tritons had ejected, 
 I rush'd to succour the Pigmeean nation, 
 
 In strife our valour, I have oft suspected, 
 Proportions safety to intoxication, 
 
 As drunken men securely walk on walls 
 
 From which the wretch who keeps his senses falls
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 115 
 
 CI. 
 
 " The blood mounts up, suffuses sight and brain ; 
 
 The Hercles vein herculeanates the form ; 
 The rill when swollen swallows up a plain, 
 
 The breeze runs mad before it blows a storm, 
 To do great deeds, first lose your wits, — then do them ! 
 In fine — I burst upon the bears, and slew them ! 
 
 en. 
 
 "The dwarfs, delivered, kneel, and pull their noses* ; 
 
 In tugs which mean to say i the Pigmy Nation 
 A vote of thanks respectfully proposes 
 
 From all the noses of the corporation !' 
 Your Highness knows ' Magister Artis Venter: 3 
 On signs for breakfast my replies concenter ! 
 
 cm. 
 
 " Quick they conceive, and quick obey ; the beasts 
 Are skinn'd, and drawn, and quartered in a trice, 
 
 But Vulcan leaves Diana to the feasts, 
 
 And not a wood-nymph consecrates the ice — 
 
 Bear is but so-so, when 'tis cook'd the best, 
 
 But bear just skinn'd and perfectly undrest ! 
 
 * A salutation still in vogue among certain tribes of the Esquimaux.
 
 116 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 " Then I bethink me of the planks and casks 
 Stowed in the cleft — for fuel quantum stiff: 
 
 I draw the dwarfs — sore chattering, from their tasks, 
 Choose out the morsels least obdurely tough ; 
 
 With these I load the Pigmies — bid them follow — 
 
 Regain the haven, and review the hollow. 
 
 cv. 
 
 " But when those minnow-men beheld the whale 
 
 It really was a spectacle affecting ! 
 They shout, they sob, they leap — embrace the tail, 
 
 Peep in the jaws ; then, round me re-collecting, 
 Draw forth those noselings from their hiding places, 
 Which serve as public speakers to their faces ! 
 
 cvi. 
 
 "While I revolve what this salute may mean, 
 They rush once more upon the poor baleena, 
 
 Clutch — rend — gnaw — bolt the blubber; but the lean 
 Reject as drying to the duodena ! 
 
 This done, — my broil they aid me to obtain, 
 
 And, while I eat — the noses go again !
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 117 
 
 CVII. 
 
 " My tale is closed — the grateful pigmies lead 
 Myself and hound across the ice defiles ; 
 
 Regain their people and recite my deed, 
 
 Describe the monsters and display the spoils ; 
 
 With royal rank my feats the dwarfs repay, 
 
 And build the palace which you now survey ! 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 " The vanquish'd bears are trophied on the wall ; 
 
 The oil you scent once floated in the whale; 
 1 had a vision to illume the hall 
 
 With lights less fragrant, — human hopes are frail ! 
 With cares ingenious from the bruins' fat, 
 I made some candles, — which the ladies ate ! 
 
 CVIX. 
 
 " Tis now your turn to tell the tale, Sir King, — 
 And by the way our Comrade, Lancelot ? 
 
 I hope he found a raven in the ring ! 
 
 Monstrum horrendum ! — Sire, I question not 
 
 That in your justice you have heard enough 
 
 When we get home — to crucify that chough ! 

 
 118 KING ARTHUR. book ix. 
 
 CLX. 
 
 a 
 
 Gawaine," said Arthur, with his sunny smile, 
 " Methinks thy heart will soon absolve the raven, 
 Thy friend had perished in this icy isle 
 
 But for thy voyage to the Viking's haven, 
 In every ill which gives thee such offence, 
 Thou see'st the raven, I the Providence \" 
 
 CXI. 
 
 The knight reluctant shook his learned head ; 
 
 " So please you, Sire, you cannot find a thief 
 Who picks our pouch, but Providence hath led 
 
 His steps to pick it; — yet, to my belief, 
 There's not a judge who'd scruple to exhibit 
 That proof of Providence upon a gibbet ! 
 
 cxn. 
 
 " The chough was sent by Providence : — Agreed : 
 We send the chough to Providence, in turn ! 
 
 Yet in the hound and not the chough, indeed, 
 Your friendly sight should Providence discern ; 
 
 For had the hound been just a whit less nimble, 
 
 Thanks to the chough, your friend had been a symbol !"
 
 book ix. KING ARTHUR. 119 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 "Thy logic/' answered Arthur, "is unsound, 
 
 But for the chough thou never had'st been married; 
 
 But for the wife thou ne'er hadst seen the hound; — 
 The Ab initio to the chough is carried: 
 
 The hound is but the effect — the chough the cause," 
 
 The generous Gawaine murmured his applause. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 " Do veniam Corvo ! Sire, the chough's acquitted !" 
 "For Lancelot next," quoth Arthur, "be at ease, 
 
 The task fulfill'd to which he was permitted, 
 The ring veered home — I left him on the seas. 
 
 Ere this, be sure he hails the Cymrian shore, 
 
 And gives to Carduel one great bulwark more." 
 
 cxv. 
 
 Then Arthur told of fair Genevra flying 
 
 From the scorn'd nuptials of the heathen fane; 
 
 Her runic bark to his emprize supplying 
 
 The steed that bore him to the Northern main ; 
 
 While she with cheek that blush'd the prayer to tell, 
 
 Implored a Christian's home in Carduel.
 
 120 KING ARTHUR. book ix. 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 The gentle King well versed in woman's heart, 
 And all the vestal thoughts that tend its shrine, 
 
 On Lancelot smiled — and answered, " Maid, depart ; 
 Though o'er our roofs the thunder clouds combine, 
 
 Yet love shall guard, whatever war betide, 
 
 The Saxon's daughter — or the Cymrian's bride." 
 
 cxvn. 
 
 A stately ship from glittering Spezia bore 
 To Cyrnrian ports the lovers from the King; 
 
 Then on, the Seeker of the Shield, once more, 
 With patient soul pursued the heavenly wing. 
 
 Wild tho' that crew, his heart enthralls their own ; — 
 
 The great are kings wherever they are thrown. 
 
 cxvur. 
 Nought of that mystery which the Spirit's priest, 
 
 True Love, draws round the aisles behind the veil, 
 Could Arthur bare to that light joyous breast, — 
 
 Life hath its inward as its outward tale, 
 Our lips reveal our deeds, — our sufferings shun; 
 What we have felt, how few can tell to one !
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 121 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 The triple task — the sword not sought in vain, 
 The shield yet hidden in the caves of Lok, 
 
 Of these spoke Arthur, — "Certes," quoth Gawaine, 
 When the King ceased — " strange legends of a rock 
 
 Where a fierce Dwarf doth guard a shield of light, 
 
 Oft have I heard my pigmy friends recite ; 
 
 cxx. 
 
 " Permit me now your royal limbs to wrap, 
 In these warm relicts of departed bears; 
 
 And while from Morpheus you decoy a nap, 
 My skill the grain shall gather from the tares. 
 
 The pigmy tongue my erudite pursuits 
 
 Have traced ad unguent to the nasal roots !" 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 Slumbers the King — slumber his ghastly crew ; 
 
 How long they know not, guess not — night and dawn 
 Long since commingled in one livid hue ; 
 
 Like that long twilight o'er the portals drawn, 
 Behind whose threshold spreads eternity ! — 
 When the sleep burst, and sudden in the sky 
 
 VOL. II. G
 
 122 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 Stands the great Sun ! — As, on the desperate, — Hope, 
 As Glory o'er the dead, — as Freedom on 
 
 Men who snap chains; or likest Truths that ope 
 Life, in God's word, on charnels, — stands the Sun ! 
 
 Ice still on earth — still vapour in the air, 
 
 But Light — the victor Lord — but Light is there ! 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 On siege-worn cities, when their war is spent, 
 From the far hill as, gleam on gleam, arise 
 
 The spears of some great aiding armament — 
 
 Grow the dim splendours, broadening up the skies, 
 
 Till bright and brighter, the sublime array 
 
 Flings o'er the world the banners of the Day ! 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 Behold them where they kneel ! the starry King, 
 The dwarfs of night, the giants of the sea ! 
 
 Each with the other link'd in solemn ring, 
 Too blest for words ! — Man's sever'd Family, 
 
 All made akin once more beneath those eyes 
 
 Which on their Father smiled in Paradise ! 

 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 BOOK X. 
 
 G 2
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 The Polar Spring — The Boreal Lights — and apparition of a double sun — 
 The Rocky Isle — The Bears — The mysterious Shadow from the Crater of 
 the extinct Volcano — The Bears scent the steps of Man : their movements 
 described — Arthur's approach — The Bears emerge from their coverts — The 
 Shadow takes form and life — The Demon Dwarf described — His parley with 
 Arthur — The King follows the Dwarf into the interior of the volcanic rock — 
 The Antediluvian Skeletons — The Troll-Fiends and their tasks — Arthur 
 arrives at the Cave of Lok — The Corpses of the armed Giants — The Valkyrs 
 at their loom — The Wars that they weave — The Dwarf addresses Arthur — 
 The King's fear — He approaches the sleeping Fiend, and the curtains close 
 around him — Meanwhile Gawaine and the Norwegians have tracked Arthur's 
 steps on the snow, and arrive at the Isle — Are attacked by the Bears — The 
 noises and eruption from the Volcano — The re-appearance of Arthur — The 
 change in him — Freedom, and its characteristics— Arthur and his band renew 
 their way along the coast ; ships are seen — How Arthur obtains a bark from 
 the Rugen Chieftain ; and how Gawaine stores it — The Dove now leads 
 homeward — Arthur reaches England; and, sailing up a river, enters the 
 Mercian territory — He follows the Dove through a forest to the ruins built 
 by the earliest Cimmerians — The wisdom and civilization of the ancestral 
 Druidical races, as compared with their idolatrous successors at the time of 
 the Roman Conquerors, whose remains alone are left to our age — Arthur 
 lies down to rest amidst the moonlit ruins — The Dove vanishes — The name- 
 less horror that seizes the King.
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 Spring on the Polar Seas ! — not violet-crown'd 
 By dewy Hours, nor to cerulean halls 
 
 Melodious hymn'd, yet Light itself around 
 Her stately path, sheds starry coronals. 
 
 Sublime she comes, as when, from Dis set free, 
 
 Came, through the flash of Jove, Persephone : 
 
 ii. 
 
 She comes — that grand Aurora of the North ! 
 
 By steeds of fire her glorious chariot borne, 
 From Boreal courts the meteors flaming forth, 
 
 Ope heav'n on heav'n, before the mighty Morn. 
 And round the rebel giants of the Night 
 On Earth's last confines bursts the storm of Light.
 
 126 KING ARTHUR. book x. 
 
 III. 
 
 Wonder and awe ! lo, where against the Sun 
 A second Sun* his lurid front uprears ! 
 
 As if the first-born lost Hyperion, 
 
 Hurl'd down of old, from his Uranian spheres, 
 
 Rose from the hell-rocks on his writhings pil'd, 
 
 And glared defiance on his Titan child. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now life, the polar life, returns once more, 
 
 The reindeer roots his mosses from the snows ; 
 
 The whirring sea-gulls shriek along the shore; 
 Thro' oozing rills the cygnet gleaming goes ; 
 
 And, where the ice some happier verdure frees, 
 
 Laugh into light frank-eyed anemones. 
 
 * The apparition of two or more suns in the polar firmament is well 
 known. Mr. Ellis saw six — they are most brilliant at day-break — and though 
 diminished in splendour are still visible even after the appearance of the 
 real sun.
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 127 
 
 V. 
 
 Out from the seas still solid, frown'd a lone 
 Chaos of chasm and precipice and rock, 
 
 There, while the meteors on their revels shone, 
 Growling hoarse glee, in many a grauly* flock, 
 
 With their huge young, the sea-bears sprawling play'd 
 
 Near the charr'd crater, some mute Hecla made. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Sullen before that cavern's vast repose, 
 Like the lorn wrecks of a despairing race 
 
 Chased to their last hold by triumphant foes, 
 
 Darkness and Horror stood ! But from the space 
 
 Within the cave, and o'er the ice-ground wan, 
 
 Quivers a Shadow vaguely mocking man. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Like man's the Shadow falls, yet falling loses 
 The shape it took, each moment changefully ; 
 
 As when the wind on Runic waves confuses 
 
 The weird boughs toss'd from some prophetic tree. 
 
 Fantastic, goblin-like, and fitful thrown, 
 
 Comes the strange Shadow from the drear Unknown. 
 
 * Grauly and yramame, are both adjectives which belong to the Saxon 
 element of the language, and are fairly reclaimed from the German. The 
 Scotch indeed have preserved the first.
 
 128 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 It is not man's — for they, man's savage foes, 
 
 Whose sense ne'er fails them when the scent is blood, 
 
 Sport in the shadow the Unseen One throws, 
 Nor hush their young to sniff the human food ; 
 
 But, undisturbed as if their home was there, 
 
 Pass to and fro the light-defying lair. 
 
 IX. 
 
 So the bears gamboll'd, so the Shadow play'd, 
 When sudden halts the uncouth merriment. 
 
 Now man — in truth, draws near, man's steps invade 
 The men-devourers ! — Snorting to the scent, 
 
 Lo, where they stretch dread necks of shaggy snow, 
 
 Grin with white fangs, and greed the blood to flow ! 
 
 x. 
 
 Grotesquely undulating, moves the flock, 
 Low grumbling as the grisly ranks divide ; 
 
 Some heave their slow bulk peering up the rock, 
 Some stand erect, and shift from side to side 
 
 The keen quick ear, the red dilating eye, 
 
 And steam the hard air with a hungry sigh.
 
 bookx. KING ARTHUR. 129 
 
 xr. 
 
 At length unquiet and amazed — as rings 
 
 On to their haunt direct, the dauntless stride, 
 
 With the sharp instinct of all savage things 
 That doubt a prey by which they are defied, 
 
 They send from each to each a troubled stare, 
 
 And huddle close, suspicious of the snare. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Then a huge leader, with concerted wile, 
 
 Creeps lumbering on, and, to his guidance slow 
 
 The shagged armies move, in cautious file, 
 Till one by one, in ambush for the foe, 
 
 Drops into chasm and cleft, — and vanishing 
 
 With stealthy murther girds the coming King ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 He comes, — the Conqueror in the Halls of Time, 
 Known by his silver herald in the Dove, 
 
 By his imperial tread, and front sublime 
 
 With power as tranquil as the lids of Jove, — 
 
 All shapes of death the realms around afford : — 
 
 From Fiends God guard him !— from all else his sword ! 
 
 r. :,
 
 130 KING ARTHUR. book x. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 For he, with spring the huts of ice had left 
 And the small People of the world of snows : 
 
 Their food the seal, their camp at night, the cleft, 
 His bold Norwegians follow where he goes ; 
 
 Now in the rear afar, their chief they miss, 
 
 And grudge the danger which they deem a bliss. 
 
 xv. 
 
 Ere yet the meteors from the morning sky 
 Chased large Orion, — in the hour when sleep 
 
 Reflects its ghost-land stillest on the eye, 
 
 Had stol'n the lonely King; and o'er the deep 
 
 Sought by the clue the dwarfmen-legends yield, 
 
 And the Dove's wing — the demon-guarded Shield. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The Desert of the Desolate is won. 
 
 Still lurks, unseen, the ambush horrible — 
 Nought stirs around beneath the twofold sun 
 
 Save that strange Shadow, where before it fell, 
 Still falling ; — varying, quivering to and fro, 
 From the black cavern on the glaring snow.
 
 book x. KING ARTHUR. 131 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Slow the devourers rise, and peer around : 
 
 Now crag and cliff move dire with savage life, 
 
 And rolling downward, — all the dismal ground 
 Shakes with the roar and bristles with the strife : 
 
 Not unprepared — (when ever are the brave ?) 
 
 Stands the firm King, and bares the diamond glaive. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Streams in the meteor fires the fulgent brand, 
 Lightening along the air, the sea, the rock, 
 
 Bright as the arrow in that heavenly hand 
 
 Which slew the Python ! Blinded halt the flock, 
 
 And the great roar, but now so rough and high, 
 
 Sinks into terror wailing timidly. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Yet the fierce instinct and the rabid sting 
 Of famine goad again the check' d array ; 
 
 And close and closer in tumultuous ring, 
 
 Reels on the death-mass crushing towards its prey. 
 
 A dull groan tells where first the falchion sweeps — 
 
 When into shape the cave-born Shadow leaps !
 
 132 KING ARTHUR. book x. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Out from the dark it leapt — the awful form ! 
 
 Manlike, but sure not human ! on its hair 
 The ice-barbs bristled : like a coming storm 
 
 The breath smote lifeless every wind in air ; 
 Dread form deform'd, as, ere the birth of Light, 
 Some son of Chaos and the Antique Night ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 At once a dwarf and giant — trunk and limb 
 
 Knit in gnarl'd strength as by a monstrous chance, 
 
 Never Chimera more grotesque and grim, 
 
 Paled ^Egypt's priesthood with its own romance, 
 
 When, from each dire delirium Fancy knows, 
 
 Some Typhon-type of Powers destroying rose. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 At the dread presence, ice a double cold 
 
 Conceived ; the meteors from their dazzling play 
 
 Paused ; and appalled into their azure hold 
 Shrunk back with all their banners ; not a ray 
 
 Broke o'er the dead sea and the doleful shore, 
 
 Winter's steel grasp lock'd the dumb world once more.
 
 book x. KING ARTHUR. 133 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Halted the war — as the wild multitude 
 
 Left the King scatheless, and their leaders slain ; 
 
 And round the giant dwarf the baleful brood 
 
 Came with low howls of terror, wrath, and pain, 
 
 As children round their father. They depart, 
 
 But strife remains ; Fear and the Human Heart ; 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 For Fear was on the bold ! Then spoke aloud 
 The horrent Image. " Child of hateful Day, 
 
 What madness snares thee to the glooms that shroud 
 The realms abandoned to my secret sway ? 
 
 Why on mine air first breathes the human breath ? 
 
 Hath thy far world no fairer path to Death ?" 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " All ways to Death, but one to Glory leads, 
 That which alike thro' earth, or air, or wave, 
 
 Bears a bold thought to goals in noble deeds," 
 
 Said the pale King. (t And this, methinks, the cave 
 
 Which hides the Shield that rock'd the sleep of one 
 
 By whom ev'n Fable shows what deeds were done !
 
 134 KING ARTHUR. book x. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " I seek the talisman which guards the free, 
 
 And tread where erst the Sire of freemen trod*." 
 
 " Ho !" laugh'd the dwarf, " Walhalla's child was He ! 
 Man gluts the fiend when he assumes the god." — 
 
 " No god, Deceiver, tho' man's erring creeds 
 
 Make gods of men when godlike are their deeds ; 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " And if the Only and Eternal One 
 
 Hath, ere his last illuminate Word ReveaPd, 
 
 Left some grand Memory on its airy throne, 
 
 Nor smote the nations when to names they kneel' d — 
 
 It is that each false god was some great truth ! — 
 
 To races Heroes are as Bards to youth \" 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Thus spoke the King, to whom the Enchanted Lake, 
 Where from all sources Wisdom ever springs, 
 
 Had given unknown the subtle powers that wake 
 Our intuitions into cloudiest things, 
 
 Won but by those, who, after passionate dreams, 
 
 Taste the sharp herb and dare the solemn streams. 
 
 * Thor's visit to the realms of Hela and Lok forms a prominent incident 
 in the romance of Scandinavian mythology. With the Scandinavian branch 
 of the Teuton family Thor was the favourite deity — and it was natural to that 
 free and valiant race to identify liberty with war.
 
 book x. KING ARTHUR. 135 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The Demon heard; and as a moon that shines, 
 
 Rising behind Arcturus, cold and stiil 
 O'er Baltic headlands black with rigid pines, — 
 
 So on his knit and ominous brows a chill 
 And livid smile, revealed the gloomy night, 
 To leave the terror, sterner for the light. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Thus spoke the Dwarf, " Thou vvould'st survive to tell 
 Of trophies wrested from the halls of Lok, 
 
 Yet wherefore singly face the hosts of Hell ? 
 Return, and lead thy comrades to the rock ; 
 
 Never to one, on earth's less dreadful field, 
 
 The prize of chiefs do War's fierce Valkyrs yield." 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " War," said the King, " is waged on mortal life 
 By men with men; — that dare I with the rest: 
 
 In conflicts awful with no human strife, 
 
 Mightiest methinks, that soul the loneliest! 
 
 When starry charms from Afrite caves were won, 
 
 No Judah march'd with dauntless Solomon!"
 
 136 KING ARTHUR. book x. 
 
 XXXII. 
 Fell fangs the demon gnash'd, and o'er the crowd 
 
 Wild cumbering round his feet, with hungry stare 
 Greeding the man, his drooping visage bowed; 
 
 " Go elsewhere, sons — your prey escapes the snare : 
 Yours but the food which flesh to flesh supplies ; 
 Here not the mortal but the soul defies." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Then striding to the cave, he plung'd within ; 
 
 " Follow," he cried, and like a prison'd blast 
 Along the darkness, the reverberate din, 
 
 Roll'd from the rough sides of the viewless Vast ; 
 As goblin echoes, thro' the haunted hollow, 
 'Twixt groan and laughter, chim'd hoarse-gibbering 
 " Follow V 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 The King recoiling paused irresolute, 
 
 Till thro' the cave the white wing went its way; 
 
 Then on his breast he sign'd the cross, and mute 
 With solemn prayer, he left the world of day. 
 
 Thick stood the night, save where the falchion gave 
 
 Its clear sharp glimmer lengthening down the cave.
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 137 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Advancing; flashes rush'd irregular 
 
 Like subterranean lightning, fork'd and red : 
 
 From warring matter — wandering shot the star 
 Of poisonous gases; and the tortured bed 
 
 Of the' old Volcano show'd in trailing fires, 
 
 Where the numbM serpent dragged its mangled spires. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Broader and ruddier on the Dove's pale wings 
 Now glowed the lava of the widening spaces ; 
 
 Grinn'd from the rock the jaws of giant things, 
 The lurid skeletons of vanished races, 
 
 They who, perchance ere man himself had birth, 
 
 Ruled the moist slime of uncompleted earth. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Enormous couch'd fangM Iguanodon *, 
 To which the monster-lizard of the Nile 
 
 Were prey too small, — whose dismal haunts were on 
 The swamps where now such golden harvests smile 
 
 As had sufficed those myriad hosts to feed 
 
 When all the Orient marchM behind the Mede. 
 
 * Dr. Mantell, in his Wonders of Geology, computes the length of 
 the IguanodoQ (formerly an inhabitant of the Wealds of Sussex) at 100 
 feet.
 
 138 KING ARTHUR. book x. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 There the foul, earliest reptile spectra lay, 
 Distinct as when the chaos was their home; 
 
 Half plant, half serpent, some subside away 
 
 Into gnarl'd roots (now stone) — more hideous some 
 
 Half bird — half fish — seem struggling yet to spring, 
 
 Shark-like the maw, and dragon-like the wing. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 But, life-like more, from later layers emerge 
 
 With their fell tusks deep-stricken in the stone, 
 
 Herds*, that thro' all the thunders of the surge, 
 Had to the Ark which swept relentless on 
 
 (Denied to them) — knell'd the despairing roar 
 
 Of sentenced races time shall know no more. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Under the limbs of mammoths went the path, 
 Or thro' the arch immense of Dragon jaws, 
 
 And ever on the King — in watchful wrath 
 Gaz'd the attendant Fiend, with artful pause 
 
 Where dread was dreadliest; had the mortal one 
 
 Faltered or quail'd, the Fiend his prey had won, 
 
 * The Deinotheriuin — supposed to have been a colossal species of hippo- 
 potamus. 

 
 bookx. KING ARTHUR. 139 
 
 XLT. 
 
 And rent it limb by limb; but on the Dove 
 
 Arthur look'd steadfast, and the Fiend was foil'd. 
 
 Now, as along the skeleton world they move, 
 
 Strange noises jar, and flit strange shadows. Toil'd 
 
 The Troll's* swart people, in their inmost home 
 
 At work on ruin for the days to come. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 A baleful race, whose anvils forge the flash 
 
 Of iron murder for the limbs of war ; 
 Who ripen hostile embryos, for the crash 
 
 Of earthquakes rolling slow to towers afar ; 
 Or train from Hecla's fount the lurid rills, 
 To cities sleeping under shepherd hills ; 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Or nurse the seeds, thro' patient ages rife 
 With the full harvest of that crowning fire, 
 
 When for the sentenced Three, — Time, Death, and Life, 
 Our globe itself shall be the funeral pyre ; 
 
 And, awed in orbs remote some race unknown 
 
 Shall miss one star, whose smile had lit their own ! 
 
 • In Scandinavian mythology, the evil spirits are generally called Trolls 
 (or Trolds). The name is here applied to the malignant race of Dwarfs, 
 whose homes were in the earth, and who could not endure the sun.
 
 140 KING ARTHUR. book x. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Thro' the Phlegraean glare, innumerous eyes, 
 Fierce with the murther-lust, scowl ravening, 
 
 And forms on which had never look'd the skies 
 Stalk near and nearer, swooping round the King, 
 
 Till from the blazing sword the foul array 
 
 Shrink back, and wolf-like follow on the way. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Now thro 5 waste mines of iron, whose black peaks 
 Frown o'er dull Phlegethons of fire below, 
 
 While, vague as worlds unform'd, sulphureous reeks 
 Roll on before them huge and dun, — they go. 
 
 Vanish abrupt the vapours ! From the night 
 
 Springs, and spreads rushing, like a flood, the light. 
 
 XLiVI. 
 
 A mighty cirque with lustre belts the mine; 
 
 Its walls of iron glittering into steel ; 
 Wall upon wall reflected flings the shine 
 
 Of armour ! Vizorless the Corpses kneel, 
 Their glaz'd eyes fixed upon a couch where, screenM 
 With whispering curtains, sleeps the Kingly Fiend :
 
 bookx. KING ARTHUR. 141 
 
 XLVII. 
 Corpses of giants, who perchance had heard 
 
 The tromps of Tubal, and had leapt to strife, 
 Whose guilt provoked the Deluge : sepulchred 
 
 In their world's ruins, still a frown like life 
 Hung o'er vast brows, — and spears like turrets shone 
 In hands whose grasp had crush'd the Mastodon. 
 
 XLVIIl. 
 
 Around the couch, a silent solemn ring, 
 
 They whom the Teuton call the Valkyrs, sate. 
 
 Shot thro' pale webs their spindles glistening ; 
 Dread tissues woven out of human hate 
 
 For heavenly ends ! — for there is spun the woe 
 
 Of every war that ever earth shall know. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Below their feet a bottomless pit of gore 
 
 Yawned, where each web, when once the woof was 
 done, 
 Was scornful cast. Yet rising evermore 
 
 Out of the surface, wandered airy on 
 (Till lost in upper space) pale winged seeds 
 The future heaven-fruit of the hell-born deeds ;
 
 142 KING ARTHUR. book x. 
 
 L. 
 
 For out of every evil born of time, 
 
 God shapes a good for his eternity. 
 Lo where the spindles, weaving crime on crime, 
 
 Form the world-work of Charlemains to be; — 
 How in that hall of iron lengthen forth 
 The fates that ruin, to rebuild, the North ! 
 
 LI. 
 
 Here, one stern Sister smiling on the King, 
 
 Hurries the thread that twines his Nation's doom, 
 
 And, farther down, the whirring spindles sing 
 Around the woof which from his Baltic home 
 
 Shall charm the avenging Norman, to control 
 
 The shattered races into one calm whole. 
 
 Lir. 
 
 Already here, the hueless lines along, 
 
 Grows the red creed of the Arabian horde ; 
 
 Already here, the arm'd Chivalric Wrong 
 
 Which made the cross the symbol of the sword, 
 
 Which thy worst idol, Rome, to Judah gave, 
 
 And worshipp'd Mars upon the Saviour's grave!
 
 book x. KING ARTHUR. 143 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Already the wild Tartar in his tents, 
 
 Dreamless of thrones — and the fierce "Visigoth * 
 
 Who on Colombia's golden armaments 
 
 Shall loose the hell-hounds, — nurse the age-long 
 growth 
 
 Of Desolation — as the noiseless skein 
 
 Clasps in its web, thy far descendants, Cain ! 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Already, in the hearts of sires remote 
 
 In their rude Isle, the spell ordains the germ 
 
 Of what shall be a Name of wonder, wrought 
 From that fell feast which Glory gives the worm, 
 
 When Rome's dark bird shall shade with thunder wings 
 
 Calm brows that brood the doom of breathless kings f! 
 
 LV. 
 
 Already, tho' the sad unheeded eyes 
 
 Of Bards alone foresee, and none believe, 
 
 The lightning, hoarded from the farthest skies, 
 Into the mesh the race-destroyers weave, 
 
 W r hen o'er our marts shall graze a stranger's fold, 
 
 And the new Tarshish rot, as rots the old. 
 
 * Visigoth, poet ice for the Spanish Ravagers of Mexico and Peru. 
 f Napoleon.
 
 144 KING ARTHUR. book x. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Yea, ever there, each spectre hand the birth 
 Weaves of a war — until the angel-blast 
 
 (Peal'd from the tromp that knells the doom of earth; 
 Shall start the livid legions from their last ; 
 
 And man, with arm uplifted still to slay. 
 
 Reel on some Alp that rolls in smoke away ! 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Fierce glared the dwarf upon the silent King, 
 "There is the prize thy visions would achieve ! 
 
 There, where the hush'd inexorable ring 
 
 Murder the myriads in the webs they weave, 
 
 Behind the curtains of Incarnate War, 
 
 Whose lightest tremour topples thrones afar, — 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 " Which even the Valkyrs with their bloodless hands 
 Ne'er dare aside to draw, — go, seek the Shield ! 
 
 Yet be what follows known ! — yon kneeling bands 
 Whose camps were Andes, and whose battle-field 
 
 Left plains, now empires, rolling seas of gore, 
 
 Shall hear the clang and leap to life once more.
 
 book x. KING ARTHUR. 145 
 
 LIX. 
 
 " Roused from their task, revengful shall arise 
 The never baffled ' Choosers of the Slain/ 
 
 The Fiend thy hand shall wake, unclose the eyes 
 That flash'd on heavenly hosts their storms again, 
 
 And thy soul wither in the mighty frown 
 
 Before whose night, an earlier sun sunk down. 
 
 LX. 
 
 " The rocks shall close all path for flight save one, 
 Where now the Troll-fiends wait to rend their prey, 
 
 And each malign and monster skeleton, 
 Re-clothed with life as in the giant day 
 
 When yonder seas were valleys — scent thy gore 
 
 And grin with fangs that gnash for food once more. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 " Ho, dost thou shudder, pale one ? Back and live." 
 Thrice strove the King for speech, and thrice in vain, 
 
 For he was man, and till our souls survive 
 The instincts born of flesh, shall Horror reign 
 
 In that Unknown beyond the realms of Sense, 
 
 Where the soul's darkness seems the man's defence. 
 
 VOL. II. h
 
 146 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Yet as when thro' uncertain troublous cloud 
 
 Breaks the sweet morning star, and from its home 
 
 Smiles lofty peace, so thro' the phantom crowd 
 Of fears — the Eos of the world to come, 
 
 Faith, look'd — revealing how earth-no urish'd are 
 
 The clouds; and how beyond their reach the star! 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Mute on his knee, amidst the kneeling dead 
 He sank — the dead the dreaming fiend revered, 
 
 And he, the living, God ! Then terror fled, 
 And all the king illumed the front he reared. 
 
 Firm to the couch on which the fiend reposed 
 
 He strode; — the curtains, murmuring, round him closed. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Now while this chanced, without the tortured rock 
 Raged fierce the war between the rival might 
 
 Of beast and man; the dwarf king's ravenous flock 
 And Norway's warriors led by Cymri's knight. 
 
 For by the foot-prints thro' the snows explor'd, 
 
 On to the rock the bands had track'd their lord.
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 147 
 
 LXV. 
 
 RepellM, not conquered, back to crag and cave, 
 Sullen and watchful still, the monsters go ; 
 
 And solitude resettles on the wave, 
 But silence not ; around, aloft, alow 
 
 Roar the couch'd beasts, and answering from the main, 
 
 Shrieks the shrill gull and booms the dismal crane. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 And now the rock itself from every tomb 
 
 Of its dead world within, sends voices forth, 
 
 Sounds direr far, than in its rayless gloom 
 Crash on the midnight of the farthest North. 
 
 From beasts our world hath lost, the strident yell, 
 
 The shout of giants and the laugh of hell. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Reels all the isle; and every ragged steep 
 
 Hurls clown an avalanche ; — all the crater-cave 
 
 Glows into swarthy red, and fire-showers leap 
 From rended summits, hissing to the wave 
 
 Thro' its hard ice; or in huge crags, wide-sounding 
 
 Spring where they crash — on rushing and rebounding. 
 
 ii 2
 
 ] 48 KING ARTHUR. book x. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Dizzy and blind, the staggering Northmen fall 
 On earth that rocks beneath them like a bark ; 
 
 Loud and more loud the tumult swells with all 
 The Acheron of the discord. Swift and dark 
 
 From every cleft the smoke-clouds burst their way, 
 
 Rush thro' the void, and sweep from heaven the day. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Smitten beneath the pestilential blast 
 
 And the great terror, senseless lay the band, 
 
 Till the arrested life, with throes at last, 
 Gasp'd back : and holy over sea and land 
 
 Silence and light reposed. They looked above, 
 
 And calm in calmed air beheld the Dove ! 
 
 LXX. 
 
 And o'er their prostrate lord was poised the wing ; 
 
 And when they rush'd and reach'd him, shouting joy, 
 There came no answer from the corpselike King; 
 
 And when his true knight raised him, heavily 
 Drooped his pale front upon the faithful breast, 
 And the clos'd lids seemed leaden in their rest.
 
 book x. KING ARTHUR. 149 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 And all his mail was dinted, hewn, and crush'd, 
 And the bright falchion dim with foul dark gore; 
 
 And the strong pulse of the strong hand was hush'd; 
 Like a spent storm, that might, which seemed before 
 
 Charged with the bolts of Jove, now from the sky 
 
 Drew breath more feeble than an infant's sigh. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 And there was solemn change on that fair face, 
 Nor, whatsoe'er the fear or scorn had been, 
 
 Did the past passion leave its haggard trace ; 
 But on the rigid beauty awe was seen, 
 
 As one who on the Gorgon's aspect fell, 
 
 Had gazed, and freezing, yet survived the spell ! 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Not by the chasm in which he left the day, 
 
 But through a new-made gorge the fires had cleft, 
 
 As if with hres, themselves, were forced the way, 
 Had rush'd the King; — and sense and sinew left 
 
 The form that struggled till the strife was o'er; 
 
 So faints the swimmer when he gains the shore.
 
 150 KING ARTHUR. book x. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 But on his arm was clasp'd the wondrous prize, 
 
 Dimm'd, tarnished, grimed, and black with gore and 
 smoke, 
 
 Still the pure metal, thro' each foul disguise, 
 Like starlight scattered on dark waters, broke ; 
 
 Thro' gore, thro' smoke it shone — the silver Shield, 
 
 Clear as dawns Freedom from her battle-field ! 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Days followed days, ere from that speechless trance 
 (Borne to green inlets isled amid the snows 
 
 Where led the Dove), the King's reviving glance 
 Look'd languid round on watchful, joyful brows ; 
 
 Ev'n while he slept, new flowers the earth had given, 
 
 And on his heart brooded the bird of heaven ! 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 But ne'er as voice and strength and sense returned, 
 To his good knight the strife that won the Shield 
 
 Did Arthur tell; deep in his soul inurned 
 (As in the grave its secret) nor reveal'd 
 
 To mortal ear — that mystery which for ever 
 
 Flowed thro' his thought, as thro' the cave a river ;
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 151 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Whether to Love, how true soe'er its faith. 
 Whether to Wisdom, whatso'er its skill, 
 
 Till his last hour the struggle and the scathe 
 Remained unuttered and unutterable; 
 
 But aye, in solitude, in crowds, in strife, 
 
 In joy, that memory lived within his life : 
 
 LXXV1II. 
 
 It made not sadness, tho' the calm grave smile 
 Never regained the flash that youth had given, — 
 
 But as some shadow from a sacred pile 
 
 Darkens the earth from shrines that speak of heaven, 
 
 That gloom the grandeur of religion wore, 
 
 And seemed to hallow all it rested o'er. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Such Freedom is, O Slave, that would be free ! 
 
 Never her real struggles into life 
 Hath History told ! As it hath been shall be 
 
 The Apocalypse of Nations ; nursed in strife 
 Not with the present, nor with living foes, 
 But where the centuries shroud their long repose.
 
 152 KING ARTHUR. book x. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Out from the graves of earth's primaeval bones, 
 The shield of empire, patient Force must win : 
 
 What made the Briton free ? not crashing thrones 
 Nor parchment laws ? The charter must begin 
 
 In Scythian tents, the steel of Nomad spears ; 
 
 To date the freedom, count three thousand years ! 
 
 LXXX I. 
 
 Neither is Freedom, mirth I Be free, O slave, 
 And dance no more beneath the lazy palm. 
 
 Freedom's mild brow with noble care is grave, 
 Her bliss is solemn as her strength is calm ; 
 
 And thought mature each childlike sport debars 
 
 The forms erect whose look is on the stars. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Now as the King revived, along the seas 
 
 Flowed back, enlarged to life, the lapsing waters, 
 
 Kiss'd from their slumber by the loving breeze, 
 
 Glide, in light dance, the Ocean's silver daughters— 
 
 And blithe and hopeful, o'er the sunny strands, 
 
 Listing the long-lost billow, rove the bands.
 
 book x. KING ARTHUR. 153 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 At length, O sight of joy ! — the gleam of sails 
 Bursts on the solitude ! more near and near 
 
 Come the white playmates of the buxom gales. — 
 The whistling cords, the sounds of mam. they hear. 
 
 Shout answers shout ; — light sparkles round the oar — 
 
 And from the barks the boat skims on to shore. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 It was a race from Rugen's friendly soil, 
 
 Leagued by old ties with Cymri's land and king, 
 
 Who, with the spring time, to their wonted spoil 
 Of seals and furs had spread the canvas wing 
 
 To bournes their fathers never yet had known ; — 
 
 And found amazed, hearts bolder than their own. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Soon to the barks the Cymrians and their bands 
 Are borne : Bright-hairM, above the gazing crews, 
 
 Lone on the loftiest deck, the leader stands, 
 
 To whom the King (his rank made known) renews 
 
 All that his tale of mortal hope and fear 
 
 Vouchsafes from truth to thrill a mortal's ear; 
 
 h 3
 
 154 KING ARTHUR. book x. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 And from the barks whose sails the chief obey, 
 
 Craves one to waft where yet the fates may guide. — 
 
 With rugged wonder in his large survey, 
 
 That calm grand brow the son of ^Egir* eyed, 
 
 And seemed in awe, as of a god, to scan 
 
 Him who so moved his homage, yet was man. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Smoothing his voice, rough with accustom'd swell 
 Above the storms, and the wild roar of war, 
 
 The Northman answered, " Skalds in winter tell 
 Of the dire dwarf who guards the Shield of Thor, 
 
 For one whose race, with Odin^s blent, shall be, 
 
 Lords of the only realm which suits the Free, 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 " Ocean ! — I greet thee, and this strong right hand 
 Place in thine own to pledge myself thy man. 
 
 Choose as thou wilt for thee and for thy band, 
 Amongst the sea-steeds in the stalls of Ran. 
 
 Need'st thou our arms against the Saxon foe ? 
 
 Our flag shall fly where'er thy trumpets blow !" 
 
 * Mgir, the God of the Ocean, the Scandinavian Neptune.
 
 bookx. KING ARTHUR. 155 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 " Men to be free must free themselves," the King 
 Replied, proud-smiling. " Every father-land 
 
 Spurns from its breast the recreant sons that cling 
 For hope, to standards winds not their's have fann'd. 
 
 Thankful thro' thee our foe we reach; — and then 
 
 Cymri hath steel eno' for Cymrian men !" 
 
 xc. 
 
 While these converse, Sir Gawaine, with his hound, 
 Lured by a fragrant and delightsome smell 
 
 From roasts — not meant for Freya, — makes his round, 
 Shakes hands with all, and hopes their wives are well. 
 
 From spit to spit with easy grace he walks, 
 
 And chines astounded vanish while he talks. 
 
 xci. 
 
 At earliest morn the bark to bear the King, 
 His sage discernment delicately stores, 
 
 Rejects the blubber and disdains the ling 
 
 For hams of rein-deers and for heads of boars, 
 
 Connives at seal, to satisfy his men, 
 
 But childless leaves each loud-lamenting hen.
 
 156 KING ARTHUR. book h. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 And now the bark the Cymrian prince ascends, 
 The large oars chiming to the chaunting crew, 
 
 (His leal Norwegian band) the new-found friends 
 From brazen trumpets blare their loud adieu. 
 
 Forth bounds the ship, and Gawaine, while it quickens, 
 
 The wind propitiates —with three virgin chickens. 
 
 xcni. 
 
 Led by the Dove, more brightly day by day, 
 
 The vernal azure deepens in the sky ; 
 Far from the Polar threshold smiles the way — 
 
 And lo, white Albion shimmers on the eye, 
 Nurse of all nations, who to breasts severe 
 Takes the rude children, the calm men to rear. 
 
 xciv. 
 
 Doubt and amaze with joy perplex the King, 
 Not yet the task achieved, the mission done, 
 
 Why homeward steers the angel pilot's wing ? 
 Of the three labours rests the crowning one ; 
 
 Unreached the Iron Gates — Death's sullen hold — 
 
 Where waits the Child-guide with the locks of gold. 

 
 SOOK X. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 157 
 
 XCV. 
 
 Yet still the Dove cleaves homeward thro' the air ; 
 
 Glides o'er the entrance of an inland stream ; 
 And rests at last on bowers of foliage, where 
 
 Thick forests close their ramparts on the beam ; 
 And clasp with dipping boughs a grassy creek, 
 Whose marge slopes level with the brazen beak. 
 
 xcvi. 
 
 Around his neck the shield, the Adventurer slung 
 
 And girt the enchanted sword. Then, kneeling, said 
 
 The young Ulysses of the golden tongue, 
 
 " Not now to phantom foes the dove hath led ; 
 
 For, if I err not, this a Mercian haven, 
 
 And from the Dove peeps forth at last the Raven ! 
 
 xcvn. 
 
 " Not lone, nor reckless, in these glooms profound, 
 
 Tempt the sure ambush of some Saxon host ; 
 If out of sight, at least in reach of sound, 
 
 Let our stout Northmen follow up the coast; 
 Then if thou wilt, from each suspicious tree 
 Shake laurels down, but share them, Sire, with me ?"
 
 158 KING ARTHUR. book x. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 " Nay," answered Arthur, " ever, as before, 
 Alone the Pilgrim to his bourne must go ; 
 
 But range the men concealed along the shore ; 
 Set watch, from these green turrets, for the foe ; 
 
 MoorM to the marge where broadest hangs the bough, 
 
 Hide from the sun the glitter of the prow ; — 
 
 XC1X. 
 
 And so farewell !" *He said ; to land he leapt ; 
 
 And with dull murmur from its verdant waves, 
 O'er his high crest the billowy forest swept. 
 
 As towards some fitful light the swimmer cleaves 
 His stalwart way, — so thro* the woven shades 
 Where the pale wing now glimmers and now fades, 
 
 c. 
 
 With strong hand parting the tough branches, goes 
 Hour after hour the King ; till light at last 
 
 From skies long hid, wide- silvering, interflows 
 
 Thro' opening glades,— the length of gloom is past, 
 
 And the dark pines receding, stand around 
 
 A silent hill with antique ruins crownM.
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 159 
 
 CI. 
 
 Day had long closed ; and from the mournful deeps 
 Of old volcanoes spent, the livid moon 
 
 Which thro* the life of planets lifeless creeps 
 Her ghostly way, deaf to the choral tune 
 
 Of spheres rejoicing, on those ruins old 
 
 Look'd down, herself a ruin, — hushM and cold. 
 
 en. 
 
 Mutely the granite wrecks the King surveyed, 
 And knew the work of hands Cimmerian, 
 
 What time in starry robes, and awe, arrayed, 
 Grey Druids spoke the oracles of man — 
 
 Solving high riddles to Chaldean Mage, 
 
 Or the young wonder of the Samian Sage. 
 
 cm. 
 
 A date remounting far beyond the day 
 
 When Roman legions met the scythed cars, 
 
 When purer founts sublime had lapsed away 
 Thro' the deep rents of unrecorded wars, 
 
 And bloodstained altars cursed the mountain sod, 
 
 W T here* the first faith had hail'd the only God. 
 
 * See Note appended to the end of this book.
 
 160 KING ARTHUR. book x. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 For all now left us of the parent Celt, 
 
 Is of that later and corrupter time, — 
 Not in rude domeless fanes those Fathers knelt, 
 
 Who lured the Brahman from his burning clime, 
 Who charm'd lost science from each lone abyss, 
 And wing'd the shaft of Scythian Abaris*. 
 
 cv. 
 
 Yea, the grand sires of our primaeval race 
 Saw angel tracks the earlier earth upon, 
 
 And as a rising sun, the morning face 
 
 Of Truth more near the nush'd horizon shone ; 
 
 Filling ev'n clouds with many a golden light, 
 
 Lost when the orb is at the noonday height. 
 
 cvi. 
 
 Thro' the large ruins (now no more), the last 
 Perchance on earth of those diviner sires, 
 
 With noiseless step the lone descendant past; 
 Not there were seen Bal-huan's amber pyres; 
 
 No circling shafts with barbarous fragments strown, 
 
 Spoke creeds of carnage to the spectral moon. 
 
 * The arrow of Abaris (which bore him where he pleased) is supposed by 
 ae to have been the loadstone. And Abaris himself 
 ingenious speculators, identified with a Druid philosopher 
 
 some to have been the loadstone. And Abaris himself has been, by some
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 161 
 
 CVI1. 
 
 But art, vast, simple, and sublime, was there 
 
 Ev'n in its mournful wrecks, — such art foregone 
 
 As the first Builders, when their grand despair 
 Left Shinar's tower and city half undone, 
 
 Taught where they wander'd o'er the newborn world. 
 
 Column, and vault, and roof, in ruin hurl'd, 
 
 cvm. 
 
 Still spoke of hands that founded Babylon ! 
 
 So in the wrecks, the Lord of young Romance 
 By fallen pillars laid him musing down. 
 
 More large and large the moving shades advance, 
 Blending in one dim silence sad and wan 
 The past, the present, ruin and the man. 
 
 cix. 
 
 Now, o'er his lids life's gentest influence stole, 
 Life's gentlest influence yet the likest death ! 
 
 That nightly proof how little needs the soul 
 
 Light from the sense, or being from the breath, 
 
 When all life knows a life unknown supplies, 
 
 And airy worlds around a Spirit rise.
 
 162 KING ARTHUR. book x. 
 
 ex. 
 
 Still thro' the hazy mists of stealing sleep, 
 
 His eyes explore the watchful guardian's wing, 
 
 There, where it broods upon the moss-grown heap, 
 With plumes that all the stars are silvering. 
 
 Slow close the lids — reopening with a start 
 
 As shoots a nameless terror thro' his heart. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 That strange wild awe which haunted Childhood thrills, 
 When waking at the dead of Dark, alone; 
 
 A sense of sudden solitude which chills 
 
 The blood; — a shrinking as from shapes unknown; 
 
 An instinct both of some protection fled, 
 
 And of the coming of some ghastly dread. 
 
 cxu. 
 
 He looked, and lo, the Dove was seen no more, 
 Lone lay the lifeless wrecks beneath the moon, 
 
 And the one loss gave all that seemed before 
 Desolate, — twofold desolation ! 
 
 How slight a thing, whose love our trust has been, 
 
 Alters the world, when it no more is seen !
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 KLNG ARTHUR. 163 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 He strove to speak, but voice was gone from him. 
 
 As in that loss, new might the terror took, 
 His veins congeal'd ; and, interfused and dim, 
 
 Shadow and moonlight swam before his look ; 
 Bristled his hair ; and all the strong dismay 
 Seized as an eagle when it grasps its prey. 
 
 cxiv. 
 
 Senses and soul confused, and jarr'd, and blent, 
 Lay crush'd beneath the intolerable Power ; 
 
 Then over all, one flash, in lightning, rent 
 
 The veil between the Immortal and the Hour ; 
 
 Life heard the voice of unembodied breath, 
 
 And Sleep stood trembling face to face with Death.
 
 Note to Book X. 
 
 " And blood-stained altars cursed the mountain sod, 
 Where the first faith had hail'd the only God." 
 
 Page 159, stanza cm., 1. 5, 6. 
 
 The testimony to he found in classical writers as to the original purity of 
 the Druid worship, before it was corrupted into the idolatry which existed 
 in Britain at the time of the Roman conquest, is strongly corroborated by the 
 Welch triads. These triads, indeed, are of various dates, but some bear the 
 mark of a very remote antiquity — wholly distinct alike from the philosophy 
 of the Romans, and the mode of thought prevalent in the earlier ages of the 
 Christian era ; in short, anterior to all the recorded conquests over the 
 Cymrian people. These, like proverbs, appear the wrecks and fragments of 
 some primaeval ethics, or philosophical religion. Nor are such, remarkable 
 alone for the purity of the notions they inculcate relative to the Deity ; they 
 have often, upon matters less spiritual, the delicate observation, as well as the 
 profound thought, of reflective wisdom . It is easy to see in them , how identified 
 was the Bard with the Sage — that rare union which produces the highest kind 
 of human knowledge. Such, perhaps, are the relics of that sublimer learning 
 which, ages before the sacrifice of victims in wicker-idols, won for the Druids 
 the admiration of the cautious Aristotle, as ranking among the true en- 
 lighteners of men — such the teachers who (we may suppose to have) instructed 
 the mystical Pythagoras; and furnished new themes for meditation to the 
 musing Brahman. Nor were the Druids of Britain inferior to those with 
 whom the Sages of the western and eastern world came more in contact. On 
 the contrary, even to the time of Caesar, the Druids of Britain excelled in 
 science and repute those in Gaul : and to their schools the Neophytes of the 
 Continent were sent. 
 
 In the Stanzas that follow the description of the more primitive 
 Cymrians, it is assumed that the rude Druid remains now existent (as 
 at Stonehenge, etc.), are coeval only with the later and corrupted state of a 
 people degenerated to idol worship, and that they previously possessed an 
 architecture, of which no trace now remains, more suited to their early 
 civilization. If it be true that they worshipped the Deity only in his own 
 works, and that it was not until what had been a symbol passed into an idol, 
 that they deserted the mountain top and the forest for the temple, they would 
 certainly have wanted the main inducement to permanent and lofty architec- 
 ture. Still it may be allowed, at least to a poet, to suppose that men so 
 sensible as the primitive Saronides, would have held their schools and colleges 
 in places more adapted to a northern climate than their favourite oak groves.
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XI.
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 The .Siege of Carduel — The Saxon forces — Stanzas relative to Ludovick the 
 Vandal, in explanation of the failure of his promised aid, and in description 
 of the events in Vandal-land — The preparations of the Saxon host for the 
 final assault on the City, under cover of the approaching night — The state 
 of Carduel — Discord — Despondence — Famine — The apparent impossibility 
 to resist the coming Enemy — Dialogue between Caradoc and Merlin — 
 Caradoc hears his sentence, and is resigned — He unstrings his harp and 
 descends into the town — The Progress of Song ; in its effects upon the 
 multitude — Caradoc's address to the people he has roused, and the rush 
 to the Council Hall — Meanwhile the Saxons reach the walls — The burst 
 of the Cymrians — The Saxons retire into the plain between the Camp and 
 the City, and there take their stand — The battle described — The single 
 combat between Lancelot and Harold — Crida leads on his reserve; the 
 Cymrians take alarm and waver — The prediction invented by the noble 
 devotion of Caradoc — His fate — The enthusiasm of the Cymrians and the 
 retreat of the enemy to their Camp — The first entrance of a Happy Soul 
 into Heaven — The Ghost that appears to Arthur, and leads him through 
 the Cimmerian tomb to the Realm of Death — The sense of time and space 
 are annihilated — Death, the Phantasmal Everywhere — Its brevity and 
 nothingness — The condition of soul is life, whether here or hereafter — 
 Fate and Nature identical — Arthur accosted by his Guardian Angel — After 
 the address of that Angel (which in truth represents what we call Con- 
 science), Arthur loses his former fear both of the realm and the Phantom — 
 He addresses the Ghost, which vanishes without reply to his question — The 
 last boon — The destined Soother — Arthur recovering as from a trance, sees 
 the Maiden of the Tomb — Her description — The Dove is beheld no more — 
 Strange resemblance between the Maiden and the Dove — Arthur is led to 
 his ship, and sails at once for Carduel — He arrives on the Cymrian territory, 
 and lands with Gawaine and the Maiden near Carduel, amidst the ruins of 
 a hamlet devastated by the Saxons — He seeks a convent, of which only one 
 tower, built by the Romans, remains — From the hill top he surveys the 
 walls of Carduel and the Saxon encampment — The appearance of the holy 
 Abbess, who recognizes the King, and conducts him and his companions to 
 the subterranean grottoes built by the Romans for a summer retreat — He 
 leaves the Maiden to the care of the Abbess, and concerts with Gawaine 
 the scheme for attack on the Saxons — The Virgin is conducted to the cell 
 of the Abbess — Her thoughts and recollections, which explain her history — 
 Her resolution — She attempts to escape — Meets the Abbess, who hangs the 
 Cross round her neck, and blesses her — She departs to the Saxon Camp.
 
 BOOK XT. 
 
 i. 
 
 Kixg Crida's hosts are storming Carduel ! 
 
 From vale to mount one world of armour shines, 
 Round castled piles* for which the forest fell, 
 
 Spreads the white war town of the Teuton lines ; 
 To countless clarions, countless standards swell; 
 King Crida's hosts are storming Carduel ! 
 
 * The Saxons appear from a very remote period to have fortified their 
 encampments hy palisades and strong works of timber. In the centre of these 
 it was the custom of the Teuton tribes to erect a rude fastness for their gods 
 and women. In the latter times of Anglo-Saxon warfare, when, established in 
 the land, their armies ceased to fight for settlements, and their idols and 
 women did not accompany them, this latter custom naturally ceased, though 
 they always retained the relics of the habit in a strong central position, formed 
 by waggons and barricades. Even in the open battle-field, the Teutons 
 (especially of Scandinavia) were tenacious of a temporary stronghold, which 
 formed the nucleus of their array, selecting generally a rising ground, 
 ramparted with shields, in which the king stationed himself with his reserve.
 
 168 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 II. 
 There, all its floods the Saxon deluge pours ; 
 
 All the fierce tribes ; from those whose fathers first 
 With their red seaxes from the southward shores 
 
 Carved realms for Hengist, —to the bands that burst 
 Along the Humber, on the idle wall 
 Rome built for manhood rotted by her thrall. 
 
 in. 
 
 There, wild allies from many a kindred race, 
 In Cymrian lands hail Teuton thrones to be : 
 
 Dark Jutland wails her absent populace, — 
 
 And large-limb'd sons, his waves no more shall see, 
 
 Leave Danube desolate ! afar they roam, 
 
 Wliere halts the Raven there to find a home ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 But wherefore fail the Vandal's promised bands ? 
 
 Well said the Greek, ' not till his latest hour 
 Deem man secure from Fortune ;' in our hands 
 
 We clutch the sunbeam when we grasp at power ; — 
 No strength detains the unsubstantial prize, 
 The light escapes us as the moment flies.
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 169 
 
 V. 
 
 And monarchs envied Ludovick the Great ! 
 
 And Wisdom's seers his wiles did wisdom call, 
 And Force stood sentry at his castle gate ; 
 
 And Mammon soothed the murmurers in the hall ; 
 For Freedom's forms disguised the despot's thought — 
 He ruled by synods — and the synods bought ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yet empires rest not or on gold or steel ; 
 
 The old in habit strike the gnarled root ; 
 But vigorous faith — the young fresh sap of zeal, 
 
 Must make the life-blood of the planted shoot — 
 And new-born states, like new religions, need 
 Not the dull code, but the impassion'd creed. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Give but a cause, a child may be a chief! 
 
 What cause to hosts can Ludovick supply ? 
 Swift flies the Element of Power, Belief, 
 
 From all foundations hollowed to a lie. 
 One morn, a riot in the streets arose, 
 And left the Vandal crownless at the close. 
 
 VOL. II. i
 
 170 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A plump of spears the riot could have crush'd ! 
 
 "Defend the throne, my spearmen!" cried the king. 
 The spearmen armed, and forth the spearmen rush'd, 
 
 When woe ! they took to reason on the thing ! 
 And then conviction smote them on the spot, 
 That for that throne they did not care a jot. 
 
 IX. 
 
 With scuff and scum, with urchins loosed from school, 
 Thieves, gleemen, jugglers, beggars, swelled the riot ; 
 
 While, like the gods of Epicurus, cool 
 
 On crowd, and crown — the spearmen looked in quiet; 
 
 Till all its heads that Hydra call'd ' The Many/ 
 
 Stretch'd hissing forth, without a stroke at any. 
 
 At first Astutio, wrong but very wise, 
 Disdain'd the Hydra as a fabled creature, 
 
 The vague invention of a Poet's lies, 
 
 Unknown to Pliny and the laws of Nature — 
 
 Nor till the fact was past philosophizing, 
 
 Saith he, " That's Hydra, there is no disguising !
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 171 
 
 XI. 
 
 " A Hydra, Sire, a Hercules demands, 
 So if not Hercules, assume his vizard." 
 
 The advice is good — the Vandal wrings his hands, 
 Kicks out the Sage — and rushes to a wizard. 
 
 The wizard waves his wand — disarms the sentry, 
 
 And (wondrous man) enchants the mob — with entry. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Thus fell, tho* no man touch'd him, Ludovick, 
 Tripp'd by the slide of his own slippery feet. 
 
 The crown cajol'd from Fortune by a trick, 
 Fortune, in turn, outcheated from the cheat ; 
 
 ClappM her sly cap the glittering bauble on, 
 
 Cried " Presto \" — raised it — and the gaud was gone . 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Ev'n at the last, to self and nature true, 
 No royal heart the breath of danger woke ; 
 
 To mean disguise habitual instinct flew, 
 
 And the king vanished in a craftsman's cloak. 
 
 While his brave princes scampering for their lives, 
 
 Relictis parmulis — forgot their wives ! 
 
 1 2
 
 172 KING AKTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 King Mob succeeding to the vacant throne, 
 Chose for his ministers some wise Chaldeans, — 
 
 Who told the sun to close the day at noon, 
 Nor sweat to death his betters the plebeians ; 
 
 And bade the earth, unvexed by plough and spade, 
 
 Bring forth its wheat in quarterns ready made. 
 
 xv. 
 
 The sun refused the astronomic feat ; 
 
 The earth declined to bake the corn it grew ; 
 King Mob then ordered that a second riot 
 
 Should teach Creation what it had to do. 
 " The sun shines on, the earth demands the tillage, 
 Down Time and Nature, and hurrah for pillage V 
 
 i» 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Then rise en masse the burghers of the town ; 
 
 Each patriot breast the fires of Brutus fill ; 
 Gentle as lambs when riot reach'd the crown, 
 
 They raged like lions when it touch'd the till. 
 Rush'd all who boasted of a shop to rob, 
 And stout King Money soon dethroned King Mob.
 
 book xr. KING ARTHUR. 173 
 
 XVII. 
 
 This done, much scandalized to note the fact. 
 That o'er the short tyrannic rise the tall, 
 
 The middle-sized a penal law enact 
 
 That henceforth height must be the same in all; 
 
 For being each born equal with the other, 
 
 What greater crime than to outgrow your brother ? 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Poor Vandals, do the towers, when foes assail, 
 
 So idly soar above the level wall ? 
 Harmonious Order needs its music-scale ; 
 
 The Equal were the discord of the All. 
 Let the wave undulate, the mountain rise ; 
 Nor ask from Law what Nature's self denies. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 O vagrant Muse, deserting all too long, 
 
 Freedom's grand war for frenzy's goblin dream, 
 
 The hour runs on, and redemands from song, 
 And from our Father-land the mighty theme. 
 
 The Pale Horse rushes and the trumpets swell, 
 
 King Crida's hosts are storming Carduel !
 
 BOOK xr. 
 
 174 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Within the inmost fort the pine-trees made, 
 The hardy women kneel to warrior gods. 
 
 For where the Saxon armaments invade, 
 All life abandons their resign'd abodes. 
 
 The tents they pitch the all they prize contain; 
 
 And each new march is for a new domain. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 To the stern gods the fair-hair'd women kneel, 
 As slow to rest the red sun glides along; 
 
 And near and far, hammers, and clanking steel, 
 Neighs from impatient barbs, and runic song 
 
 Mutter'd o'er mystic fires by wizard priests, 
 
 Invite the Valkyrs to the raven feasts. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 For after nine long moons of siege and storm, 
 Thy hold, Pendragon, trembles to its fall ! 
 
 Loftier the Roman tower uprears its form, 
 
 From the crush'd bastion and the shattered wall, 
 
 And but till night those iron floods delay 
 
 Their rush of thunder: — Blood-red sinks the day-
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 175 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Death halts to strike, and swift the moment flies : 
 Within the walls, (than all without more fell,) 
 
 Discord with Babel tongues confounds the wise, 
 And spectral Panic, like a form of hell 
 
 Chased by a Fury, fleets, — or, stone-like, stands 
 
 Dull-eyed Despondence, palsying nerveless hands. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 And Pride, that evil angel of the Celt, 
 Whispers to all " 'tis servile to obey," 
 
 Robs ordered Union of its starry belt, 
 
 Rends chief from chief and tribe from tribe away, 
 
 And leaves the children wrangling for command 
 
 Round the wild death-throes of the Father-land. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 In breadless marts, the ill-persuading fiend 
 
 Famine, stalks maddening with her wolfish stare ; 
 
 And hearts, on whose stout anchors Faith had lean'd. 
 Bound at her look to treason from despair, 
 
 Shouting, " Why shrink we from the Saxon's thrall r 
 
 Is slavery worse than Famine smiting all ?"
 
 176 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Thus, in the absence of the sunlike king, 
 
 All phantoms stalk abroad; dissolve and droop 
 
 Light and the life of nations — while the wing 
 Of carnage halts but for its rushing swoop. 
 
 Some moan, some rave, some laze the hours away;- 
 
 And down from Carduel blood-red sunk the day ! 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Leaning against a broken parapet 
 
 Alone with Thought, mused Caradoc the Bard, 
 When a voice smote him, and he turned and met 
 
 A gaze prophetic in its sad regard. 
 Beside him, solemn with his hundred years, 
 Stood the arch hierarch of the Cymrian seers. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " Dost thou remember," said the Sage, " that hour 
 When seeking signs to Glory's distant way, 
 
 Thou heard'st the night bird in her leafy bower, 
 Singing sweet death-chaunts to her shining prey, 
 
 While thy young poet-heart, with ravished breath, 
 
 Hung on the music, nor divin'd the death * r" 
 
 * See Book ii., pp. 64-5, from stanza xxvii. to stanza xxx.
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 177 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " Ay," the bard answered, " and ev'n now methought 
 
 I heard again the ambrosial melody !" 
 " So/' sigh'd the Prophet, "to the bard, unsought, 
 
 Come the far whispers of Futurity ! 
 
 Like his own harp, his soul a wind can thrill, 
 And the chord murmur, tho' the hand be still. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Wilt thou for ever, even from the tomb, 
 
 Live, yet a music, in the hearts of all ; 
 Arise and save thy country from its doom ; 
 
 Arise, Immortal, at the angel's call ! 
 The hour shall give thee all thy life implor'd, 
 And make the lyre more glorious than the sword. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " In vain thro' yon dull stupour of despair 
 
 Sound Geraint's tromp and Owaine's battle cry ; 
 
 In vain where yon rude clamour storms the air, 
 The Council Chiefs stem mad'ning mutiny ; 
 
 From Trystan's mail the lion heart is gone, 
 And on the breach stands Lancelot alone ! 
 
 i 3
 
 178 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " Drivelling the wise, and impotent the strong ; 
 
 Fast into night the life of Freedom dies ; 
 Awake Light-Bringer, wake bright soul of song, 
 
 Kindler, reviver, re-creator rise ! 
 Crown thy great mission with thy parting breath, 
 And teach to hosts the Bard's disdain of death !" 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Thrill'd at that voice the soul of Caradoc ; 
 
 He heard, and knew his glory and his doom. 
 As when in summer's noon the lightning shock 
 
 Smites some fair elm in all its pomp of bloom, 
 Mid whose green boughs each vernal breeze had play'd, 
 And air's sweet race melodious homes had made ; 
 
 xxxiv. 
 
 So that young life bow'd sad beneath the stroke 
 That sear'd the Fresh and still'd the Musical, 
 
 Yet on the sadness thought sublimely broke : 
 Holy the tree on which the bolt doth fall ! 
 
 Wild flowers shall spring the sacred roots around, 
 
 And nightly fairies tread the haunted ground ;
 
 book xr. KING ARTHUR. 179 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 There, age by age, shall youth with musing brow, 
 Hear Legend murmuring of the days of yore; 
 
 There, virgin love more lasting deem the vow 
 
 Breath'd in the shade of branches green no more; 
 
 And kind Religion keep the grand decay 
 
 Still on the earth while forests pass away. 
 
 xxxvi. 
 
 " So be it, O voice from Heaven," the Bard replied, 
 " Some grateful tears may yet embalm my name, 
 
 Ever for human love my youth hath sigh'd, 
 And human love's divinest form is fame. 
 
 Is the dream erring? shall the song remain? 
 
 Say, can one Poet ever live in vain ?" 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 As the warm south on some unfathom'd sea, 
 Along the Magian's soul, the awful rest 
 
 Stirr'd with the soft emotion: tenderly 
 He laid his hand upon the brows he blest, 
 
 And said, " Complete beneath a brighter sun 
 
 That course. The Beautiful, which life begun.
 
 180 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 " Joyous and light, and fetterless thro' all 
 
 The blissful, infinite, empyreal space, 
 If then thy spirit stoopeth to recall 
 
 The ray it shed upon the human race, 
 See where the ray had kindled from the dearth, 
 Seeds that shall glad the garners of the earth! 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " Never true Poet lived and sung in vain ! 
 
 Lost if his name, and withered if his wreath, 
 The thoughts he woke — an element remain 
 
 Fused in our light and blended with our breath ; 
 All life more noble, and all earth more fair, 
 Because that soul refined man's common air*!" 
 
 XL. 
 
 Then rose the Bard, and smilingly unstrung 
 His harp of ivory sheen, from shoulders broad, 
 
 Kissing the hand that doom'd his life, he sprung 
 Light from the shatter'd wall, — and swiftly strode 
 
 Where, herdlike huddled in the central space, 
 
 Droop'd, in dull pause, the cowering populace. 
 
 * Perhaps it is in this sense that Taliessin speaks in his mystical poem, 
 called "Taliessin's History," still extant: 
 
 " I have been an instructor 
 To the whole universe, 
 shall remain till the day of doom 
 On the face of the earth."
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 181 
 
 XLI. 
 
 There, in the midst he stood ! The heavens were pale 
 With the first stars, unseen amidst the glare 
 
 Cast from large pine-brands on the sullen mail 
 Of listless legions and the streaming hair 
 
 Of women, wailing for the absent dead, 
 
 Or bow'd o'er infant lips that moan'd for bread. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 From out the illumed cathedral hollowly 
 
 Swell'd, like a dirge, the hymn; and thro' the throng 
 Whose looks had lost all commerce with the sky, 
 
 With lifted rood the slow monks swept along, 
 And vanish'd hopeless : From those wrecks of man 
 Fled ev'n Religion : — Then the Bard began. 
 
 XL1II. 
 
 Slow, pitying, soft it glides, the liquid lay, 
 Sad with the burthen of the Singer's soul ; 
 
 Into the heart it coil'd its lulling way ; 
 Wave upon wave the golden river stole ; 
 
 Ilush'd to his feet forgetful Famine crept, 
 
 And Woe, reviving, veil'd the eyes that wept.
 
 182 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Then stern, and harsh, clash'd the ascending strain, 
 Telling of ills more dismal yet in store ; 
 
 Rough with the iron of the grinding chain, 
 Dire with the curse of slavery evermore ; 
 
 Wild shrieks from lips beloved pale warriors hear, 
 
 Her child's last death-groan rends the mother's ear; 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Then trembling hands instinctive griped the swords ; 
 
 And men unquiet sought each other's eyes ; 
 Loud into pomp sonorous swell the chords, 
 
 Like linked legions march the melodies ; 
 Till the full rapture swept the Bard along, 
 And o'er the listeners rush'd the storm of sono- ! 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 And the Dead spoke ! From cairns and kingly graves 
 The Heroes call'd; — and Saints from earliest shrines 
 
 And the Land spoke ! — Mellifluous river-waves ; 
 Dim forests awful with the roar of pines ; 
 
 Mysterious caves from legend-haunted deeps ; 
 
 And torrents flashing from untrodden steeps ; —
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 183 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 The Land of Freedom call'd upon the Free ! 
 
 All Nature spoke ; the clarions of the wind ; 
 The organ swell of the majestic sea; 
 
 The choral stars ; the Universal Mind 
 Spoke, like the voice from which the world began, 
 <( No chain for Nature and the Soul of Man \" 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Then loud thro* all, as if mankind's reply, 
 
 Burst from the Bard the Cymrian battle hymn ! 
 
 That song which swell'd the anthems of the Sky, 
 The Alleluia of the Seraphim ; 
 
 When Saints led on the Children of the Lord, 
 
 And smote the Heathen with the Angel's sword*. 
 
 * The Bishops, Germauus and Lupus, having baptized the Britons in the 
 River Alyn, led them against the Picts and Saxons, to the cry of " Alleluia." 
 The cry itself, uttered with all the enthusiasm of the Christian host, struck 
 terror into the enemy, who at once took to flight. Most of those who escaped 
 the sword perished in the river. This victory, achieved at Maes-Garmon, 
 was called " Victoria Alleluiatica." Brit. Eccles. Antici., 335; Bed., 
 lib. i., c. i., 20.
 
 184 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 As leaps the warfire on the beacon hills, 
 Leapt in each heart the lofty flame divine ; 
 
 As into sunlight flash the molten rills, 
 
 Flash'd the glad claymores*, lightening line on line ; 
 
 From cloud to cloud as thunder speeds along, 
 
 From rank to rank — rush'd forth the choral song. — 
 
 L. 
 
 Woman and child — all caught the fire of men, 
 
 To its own heaven that Alleluia rang, 
 Life to the spectres had returned agen ; 
 
 And from the grave an armed Nation sprang! 
 Then spoke the Bard, — each crest its plumage bow'd, 
 As the large voice went lengthening thro' the crowd. 
 
 LI. 
 
 " Hark to the measured march ! — The Saxons come ! 
 
 The sound earth quails beneath the hollow tread ! 
 Your fathers rush'd upon the swords of Rome 
 
 And climb'd her war-ships — when ihe Csesar fled ! 
 The Saxons come ! why wait within the wall ? 
 Thev scale the mountain : — let its torrents fall ! 
 
 * " The claymore of the Highlanders of Scotland was no other than the 
 cledd mawr (cle'mawr) of the Welsh." Cymrodorion, vol. ii., p. 106.
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 185 
 
 LII. 
 
 " Mark, ye have swords, and shields, and armour, ye ! 
 
 No mail defends the Cymrian Child of Song*, 
 But where the warrior — there the Bard shall be ! 
 
 All fields of glory to the Bard belong! 
 His realm extends wherever god-like strife 
 Spurns the base death, and wins immortal life. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 " Unarmed he goes — his guard the shields of all, 
 Where he bounds foremost on the Saxon spear ! 
 
 Unarmed he goes, that, falling, ev'n his fall 
 
 Shall bring no shame, and shall bequeath no fear ! 
 
 Does the song cease ? — avenge it by the deed, 
 
 And make the sepulchre — a nation freed \" 
 
 LIV. 
 
 He said, and where the chieftains wrangling sate, 
 Led the grand army marshall'd by his song ; 
 
 Into the hall — and on the wild debate, 
 
 King of all kings, A People, poured along ; 
 
 And from the heart of man — the trumpet cry 
 
 Smote faction down, " Arms, arms, and liberty!" — 
 
 * No Cymrian bard, according to the primitive law, was allowed the use of 
 weapons.
 
 186 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Meanwhile roll'd on the Saxon's long array ; 
 
 On to the wall the surge of slaughter roll'd ; 
 Slow up the mount — slow heaved its labouring way ; 
 
 The moonlight rested on the domes of gold ; 
 No warder peals alarum from the Keep, 
 And Death comes mute, as on the realm of Sleep ; 
 
 LVI. 
 
 When, as their ladders touch'd the ruined wall, 
 And to the van, high-towering, Harold strode, 
 
 Sudden expand the brazen gates, and all 
 The awful arch as with the lava glow'd ; 
 
 Torch upon torch the deathful sweep illumes, 
 
 The burst of armour and the flash of plumes ! 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Rings Owaine's shout; — rings Geraint's thunder-cry; 
 
 The Saxons death-knell in a hundred wars ; 
 And Cador's laugh of joy; — rush through the sky 
 
 Bright tossing banderolls — swift as shooting stars — 
 Trystan's white lion — Lancelot's cross of red, 
 And Tudor's* standard with the Saxon's head. 
 
 * The old arms of the Tudors were three Saxons' heads.
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 187 
 
 I/VIII. 
 
 And high o'er all, its scaled splendour rears 
 The vengeful emblem of the Dragon Kings. 
 
 Full on the Saxon bursts the storm of spears ; 
 Far down the vale the charging whirlwind rings; 
 
 While thro* the ranks its barbed knighthood clave, 
 
 All Carduel follows with its roaring wave. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 And ever in the van, with robes of white 
 And ivory harp, shone swordless Caradoc ! 
 
 And ever floated in melodious might, 
 
 The clear song buoyant o'er the battle shock; 
 
 Calm as an eagle when the Olympian King 
 
 Sends the red bolt upon the tranquil wing. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Borne back, and wedged within the ponderous weight 
 Of their own jarr'd and multitudinous crowd, 
 
 Rccoil'd the Saxons ! As adown the height 
 Of some grey mountain, rolls the cloven cloud, 
 
 Smit by the shafts of the resistless day, — 
 
 Down to the vale sunk dun the rent array.
 
 188 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 Midway between the camp and Carduel, 
 
 Halting their slow retreat, the Saxons stood ; 
 
 There, as the wall-like ocean ere it fell 
 
 On ^Egypt's chariots, gathered up the flood ; 
 
 There, in suspended deluge, solid rose, 
 
 And hung expectant o'er the hurrying foes ! 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Right in the centre, rampired round with shields, 
 King Crida stood, — o'er him, its livid mane 
 
 The horse whose pasture is the Valkyr's fields 
 
 Flung wide ; — but, foremost thro' the javelin-rain, 
 
 Blaz'd Harold's helm, as when, thro' all the stars 
 
 Distinct, pale soothsayers see the dooming Mars. 
 
 L.XIIT. 
 
 Down dazzling sweeps the Cymrian Chivalry ; 
 
 Round the bright sweep closes the Saxon wall ; 
 Snatch'd from the glimmer of the funeral sky, 
 
 Raves the blind murder; and enclasp'd with all 
 Its own stern hell, against the iron bar 
 Pants the fierce heart of the imprisoned War.
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 189 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Only by gleaming banners and the flash 
 
 Of some large sword, the vex'd Obscure once more 
 
 Sparkled to light. In one tumultous clash 
 
 Merg'd every sound — as when the maelstrom's roar 
 
 By dire Lofoden, dulls the seaman's groan, 
 
 And drowns the voice of tempests in its own. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 The Cymrian ranks, — disparted from their van, 
 
 And their hemm'd horsemen, — stubborn, but in vain, 
 
 Press thro' the levelled spears; yet, man by man, 
 And shield to shield close-serried, they sustain 
 
 The sleeting hail against them hurtling sent, 
 
 From every cloud in that dread armament. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 But now, at length, cleaving the solid clang, 
 And o'er the dead men in their frowning sleep, 
 
 The rallying shouts of chiefs confronted rang, — 
 "Thor and Walhalla!" — answered swift and deep 
 
 By "Alleluia!" and thychaunted cry, 
 
 Young Bard sublime, " For Christ and Liberty !"
 
 190 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 LXXV1I. 
 Then the ranks opened, and the midnight moon 
 
 Streamed where the battle, like the scornful main, 
 Ebb'd from the dismal wrecks its wrath had strown. 
 
 Paused either host; — lo, in the central plain 
 Two chiefs had met, and in that breathless pause, 
 Each to its champion left a Nations cause. 
 
 LXVI1I. 
 
 Now, heaven defend thee, noble Lancelot ! 
 
 For never yet such danger thee befell, 
 Tho' loftier deeds than thine emblazon not 
 
 The peerless Twelve of golden Carduel, 
 Tho' oft thy breast hath singly stemm'd a field, — 
 As when thy claymore clanged on Harold's shield ! 
 
 LXTX. 
 
 And Lancelot knew not his majestic foe, 
 
 Save by his deeds ; by Cador's cloven crest ; 
 
 By Modred's corpse ; by rills of blood below, 
 
 And shrinking helms above; — when from the rest, 
 
 Spurring, — the steel of his uplifted brand 
 
 Drew down the lightening of that red right hand.
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 191 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Full on the Saxon's shield the sword descends ; 
 
 The strong shield clattering shivers at the stroke, 
 And the bright crest with all its plumage bends, 
 
 As to the blast with all its boughs an oak: 
 As from the blast an oak with all its boughs, 
 Retowering slow, the crest sublime arose. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Grasp'd with both hands, above the Cymrian swung 
 The axe that Woden taught his sons to wield, 
 
 Thrice thro' the air the circling iron sung, 
 
 Then crash'd resounding : — horse and horseman 
 reel'd, 
 
 Tho' slant from sword and casque the weapon shore, 
 
 Down sword and casque the weight resistless bore. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 The bright plume mingles with the charger's mane; 
 
 Light leaves the heaven, and sense forsakes the 
 breath ; 
 Aloft the axe impatient whirrs again, — 
 
 The steed wild-snorting bounds and foils the death ; 
 While on its neck the reins unheeded flow, 
 It shames and saves its Lord, and flies the foe.
 
 192 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XI- 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 " Lo, Saxons, lo, what chiefs these Walloons* lead !" 
 Laugh' d hollow from his helm the scornful Thane. 
 
 Then towards the Christian knights he spurr'd his steed, 
 When midway in his rush — rushes again 
 
 The foe that rallied while he seemed to fly, 
 
 As wheels the falcon ere it swoops from high ; — 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 And as the falcon, while its talons dart 
 
 Into the crane's broad bosom, splits its own 
 
 On the sharp beak, and, clinging heart to heart, 
 Both in one plumage blent, spin whirling down, — 
 
 So in that shock each found, and dealt the blow; 
 
 Horse roll'd on horse, fell grappling foe on foe. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 First to his feet the slighter Cymrian leapt, 
 And on the Saxon's breast set firm his knee ; 
 
 Then o'er the heathen host a shudder crept, 
 Rose all their voices, — wild and wailingly ; 
 
 " Woe, Harold, woe !" as from one bosom came, 
 
 The groan of thousands, and the mighty name. 
 
 * Walloons, — the name given by the Saxons, in contumely, to the 
 Cymrians.
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 193 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 The Cymrian starts, and stays his lifted hand, 
 For at that name from Harold's vizor shone 
 
 Genevra's eyes ! Back in its sheath the brand 
 
 He plungM : — sprang Harold — and the foe was gone, — 
 
 Lost where the Saxons rush'd along the plain, 
 
 To save the living or avenge the slain. 
 
 L.XXVII. 
 
 Spurr'd to the rescue every Cymrian knight, 
 Again confused, the onslaught raged on high ; 
 
 Again the war-shout swelPd above the fight, 
 Again the chaunt " for Christ and Liberty," 
 
 When with fresh hosts unbreath'd, the Saxon kino- 
 
 Forth from the wall of shields leapt thundering. 
 
 LXXVI1I. 
 
 Behind the chief the dreadful gonfanon 
 
 Spread; — the Pale Horse went rushing down the 
 wind. — 
 " On where the Valkyrs rest on Carducl, on ! 
 
 On o'er the corpses to the wolf consign'd ! 
 On, that the Pale Horse, ere the night be o'er, 
 Stall'd in yon tower, may rest his hoofs of gore \" 
 
 VOL. II. K
 
 194 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Thus spoke the king, and all his hosts replied; 
 
 Fill'd by his word and kindled by his look — 
 (For helmless with his grey hair streaming wide, 
 
 He strided thro' the spears) — the mountains shook — 
 Shook the dim city — as that answer rang ! 
 The fierce shout chiming to the buckler's clang ! 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Aghast, the Cymrians see, like Titan sons 
 
 New-born from earth, — leap forth the sudden bands : 
 
 As when the wind's invisible tremour runs 
 
 Thro' corn-sheaves ripening for the reaper's hands, 
 
 The glittering tumult undulating flows, 
 
 And the field quivers where the panic goes. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 The Cymrians waver — shrink — recoil — give way, 
 Strike with weak hands amazed; half turn to flee; 
 
 In vain with knightly charge the chiefs delay 
 The hostile mass that rolls resistlessly, 
 
 And the pale hoofs for aye had trampled down 
 
 The Cymrian freedom and the Dragon Crown,
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 195 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 But for that arch preserver, — under heaven, 
 
 Of names and states, the Bard ! the hour was come 
 
 To prove the ends for which the lyre was given : — 
 Each thought divine demands its martvrdom. 
 
 Where round the central standard rallying flock 
 
 The Dragon Chiefs — paused and spoke Caradoc ! 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 " Ye Cymrian men !" Hushed at the calm sweet sound, 
 Droop'd the wild murmur, bowM the loftiest crest, 
 
 Meekly the haughty paladins group'd round 
 The swordless hero with the mailless breast, 
 
 Whose front, serene amid the spears, had taught 
 
 To humbled Force the chivalry of Thought. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 " Ye Cymrian men — from Heus the Guardian's tomb 
 I speak the oracular promise of the Past. 
 
 Fear not the Saxon ! Till the judgment doom, 
 Free on their hills the Dragon race shall last, 
 
 If from yon heathen, ye this night can save 
 
 One spot not wider than a single grave. 
 
 k 2
 
 196 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 " For thus the antique prophecy decrees, — 
 
 ' When where the Pale Horse crushes down the dead, 
 
 War's sons shall see the lonely child of peace 
 Grasp at the mane to fall beneath the tread — 
 
 There where he falleth let his dust remain, 
 
 There bid the Dragon rest above the slain ; 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 " ' There let the steel-clad living watch the clay, 
 Till on that spot their swords the grave have made, 
 
 And the Pale Horse shall melt in cloud away, 
 No stranger's step the sacred mound invade : 
 
 A people's life that single death shall save, 
 
 And all the land be hallowed by the grave.' 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 " So be the Guardian's prophecy fulfiU'd, 
 Advance the Dragon, for the grave is mine." 
 
 He ceased; while yet the silver accents thrill'd 
 Each mailed bosom down the listening line, 
 
 Bounded his steed, and like an arrow went 
 
 His plume, swift glancing thro' the armament.
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 11^7 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 On thro' the tempest went it glimmering, 
 
 On thro' the rushing barbs and levelled spears ; 
 
 On where, far streaming o'er the Teuton king, 
 Its horrent pomp the ghastly standard rears. 
 
 On rush'd to rescue all to whom his breath 
 
 Left what saves Nations,— the disdain of death ! 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Alike the loftiest knight and meanest man, 
 All the rous'd host, but now so panic-chill' d, 
 
 All Cymri once more as one Cymrian, 
 
 With the last light of that grand spirit fill'd, 
 
 Thro' rank on rank, mow'd down, down trampled, sped, 
 
 And reach'd the standard — to defend the dead. 
 
 xc. 
 
 Wrench'd from the heathen's hand, one moment bow'd 
 In the bright Christian's grasp the gonfanon; 
 
 Then from a dumb amaze the countless crowd 
 Swept, — and the night as with a sudden sun 
 
 Flash'd with avenging steel ; life gained its goal, 
 
 And calm from lips proud-smiling went the soul !
 
 198 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Leapt from his selle, the king-born Lancelot ; 
 
 Leapt from the selle each paladin and knight; 
 In one mute sign that where upon that spot 
 
 The foot was planted, God forbade the flight : 
 There shall the Father-land avenge the son, 
 Or heap all Cymri round the grave of one. 
 
 xcn. 
 
 Then, well nigh side by side — broad floated forth 
 The Cymrian Dragon and the Teuton Steed, 
 
 The rival Powers that struggle for the north ; 
 The gory Idol — the chivalric Creed ; 
 
 Odin's and Christ's confronting flags unfurl' d, 
 
 As which should save and which destroy a world ! 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 Then fought those Cymrian men, as if on each 
 All Cymri set its last undaunted hope ; 
 
 Thro' the steel bulwarks round them yawns the breach ; 
 Vistas to freedom brightning onwards ope ; 
 
 Crida in vain leads band on slaughtered band, 
 
 In vain revived falls Harold's ruthless hand ;
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 199 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 As on the bull the pard will fearless bound, 
 
 But if the horn that meets the spring should gore, 
 
 Aw'd with fierce pain, slinks snarling from the ground ; 
 So baffled in their midmost rush, before 
 
 The abrupt assault, the savage hosts give way, 
 
 Yet will not own that man could thus dismay. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 " Some God more mighty than WalhahVs king, 
 Strikes in yon arms" — the sullen murmurs run, 
 
 And fast and faster drives the Dragon wing — 
 And shrinks and cowers the ghastly gonfanon, 
 
 They flag — they falter — lo, the Saxons fly ! — 
 
 Lone rests the Dragon in the dawning sky ! 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Lone rests the Dragon with its wings outspread, 
 Where the pale hoofs one holy ground had trod, 
 
 There the hush'd victors round the martyr'd dead, 
 As round an altar, lift their hearts to God. 
 
 Calm is that brow as when a host it braved, 
 
 And smiles that lip as on the land it saved !
 
 200 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Pardon, ye shrouded and mysterious Powers, 
 Ye far off shadows from the spirit-clime, 
 
 If for that realm untrodden by the Hours, 
 Awhile we leave this lazar house of Time ; 
 
 With Song remounting to those native airs 
 
 Of which., tho' exil'd, still we are the heirs. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 Up from the clay and towards the Seraphim, 
 The Immortal, men call'd Caradoc, arose. 
 
 Round the freed captive whose melodious hymn 
 
 Had hail'd each glimmer earth, the dungeon, knows, 
 
 Spread all the aisles by angel worship trod; 
 
 Blazed every altar conscious of the God. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 All the illumed creation one calm shrine; 
 
 All space one rapt adoring extacy; 
 All the sweet stars with their untroubled shine, 
 
 Near and more near, enlarging thro' the sky; 
 All opening gradual on the eternal sight, 
 Joy after joy, the depths of their delight.
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 201 
 
 C. 
 
 Paused on the marge, Heaven's beautiful New-born, 
 Paused on the marge of that wide happiness ; 
 
 And as a lark that, poised amid the morn, 
 
 Shakes from its wing the dews, — the plumes of bliss, 
 
 Sunned in the dawn of the diviner birth, 
 
 Shook every sorrow memory bore from earth : 
 
 ci. 
 
 Knowledge (that on the troubled waves of sense 
 Breaks into sparkles) — poured upon the soul 
 
 Its lambent, clear, translucent affluence, 
 
 And cold-eyed Reason loos'd its hard control ; 
 
 Each godlike guess beheld the truth it sought ; 
 
 And inspiration flash'd from what was thought. 
 
 en. 
 
 Still'd evermore the old familiar train 
 
 That fill the frail Proscenium ot our deeds, 
 
 The unquiet actors on that stage, the brain, 
 
 Which, in the spangles of their tinsell'd weeds, 
 
 Mime the true soul's majestic royalties, 
 
 And strut august in Wonder's credulous eyes ; — 
 
 k 3
 
 202 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 CIII. 
 
 Ambition, Envy, Pride, those false desires 
 For a true bourne which is — but not in life ; 
 
 And human Passion that with meteor fires 
 
 Lures from the star it simulates ; Wisdom's strife 
 
 With its own Angel, Faith ; — that nurse of Grief, 
 
 Hope, crown'd with flowers, a blight in every leaf ; 
 
 civ. 
 
 All these are still — abandoned to the worm, 
 Their loud breath jars not on the calm above ! 
 
 Only survived, as if the single germ 
 
 Of the new life's ambrosian being, — love. 
 
 Ah, if the bud can give such bloom to Time, 
 
 What is the flower when in its native clime? 
 
 cv. 
 
 Love to the radiant Stranger left alone 
 
 Of all the vanish'd hosts of memory; 
 While broadening round, on splendour splendour shone, 
 
 To earth soft-pitying dropt the veilless eye, 
 And saw the shape, that love remembered still, 
 Couch'd mid the ruins on the moonlit hill.
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 203 
 
 CVI. 
 
 And, with the new-born vision, piercing all 
 
 Things past and future, view'd the fates ordain'd ; 
 
 The fame achieved amidst the Coral Hall ; 
 
 From war and winter Freedom's symbol gained, 
 
 What rests ? — the spirit from its realm of bliss, 
 
 Shot, loving down, — the guide to Happiness ! 
 
 cvn. 
 
 Pale to the Cymrian king the Shadow came, 
 Its glory left it as the earth it neared, 
 
 In livid likeness as its corpse the same, 
 
 Wan with its wounds the awful ghost appeared. 
 
 Life heard the voice of unembodied breath, 
 
 And Sleep stood trembling side by side with Death. 
 
 cvin. 
 
 " Come," said the voice, " Before the Iron Gate 
 Which hath no egress, waiting thee, behold 
 
 Under the shadow of the brows of Fate, 
 
 The childlike playmate with the locks of gold." 
 
 Then rose the mortal following, and, before, 
 
 Moved the pale shape the angel's comrade wore.
 
 204 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 Where, in the centre of those ruins grey, 
 
 Immense with blind walls columnless, a tomb 
 
 For earlier kings, whose names had passed away, 
 Chill'd the chill moonlight with its mass of gloom ; 
 
 Thro' doors ajar to every prying blast 
 
 By which to rot imperial dust had past, 
 
 ex. 
 
 The vision went, and went the living king; 
 
 Then strange and hard to human ear to tell 
 By language moulded but by thoughts that bring 
 
 Material images, what there befell ! 
 The mortal entered Eld's dumb burial place, 
 And at the threshold, vanished time and space ! 
 
 CXI. 
 
 Yea, the hard sense of time was from the mind 
 Rased and annihilate ; — yea, space to eye 
 
 And soul was presenceless ? What rest behind ? 
 Thought and the Infinite ! the eternal I, 
 
 And its true realm the Limitless, whose brink 
 
 Thought ever nears : What bounds us when we think ?
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 205 
 
 CXII. 
 
 Yea, as the dupe in tales Arabian, 
 
 Dipp'd but his brow beneath the beaker's brim, 
 And in that instant all the life of man 
 
 From youth to age roll'd its slow years on him, 
 And while the foot stood motionless — the soul 
 Swept with deliberate wing from pole to pole, 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 So when the man the Grave's still portals pass'd, 
 Closed on the substances or cheats of earth, 
 
 The Immaterial for the things it glass'd, 
 
 Shaped a new vision from the matter's dearth : 
 'Before the sight that saw not thro' the clay, 
 
 The undefined Immeasurable lay. 
 
 cxiv. 
 A realm not land, nor sea, nor earth, nor sky, 
 
 Like air impalpable, and yet not air ; — 
 " Where am I led ?" asked Life with hollow sigh. 
 
 "To Death, that dim phantasmal Every wiikre 
 Answered the Ghost. " Nature's circumfluent robe 
 Girding all life — the globule or the globe." 
 
 5
 
 2 °6 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 CXV. 
 " Yet," said the Mortal, " if indeed this breath 
 
 Profane the world that lies beyond the tomb ; 
 Where is the Spirit-race that peoples death ? 
 
 My soul surveys but unsubstantial gloom, 
 A void — a blank — where none preside or dwell, 
 Nor woe nor bliss is here, nor heaven nor hell." 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 "And what is death ? — a name for nothingness*/' 
 Replied the Dead ; " the shadow of a shade ; 
 
 Death can retain no spirit ! — woe and bliss, 
 And heaven and hell, are for the living made ; 
 
 An instant flits between life's latest sigh 
 
 And life's renewal; — that it is to die ! 
 
 cxvu. 
 " From the brief Here to the eternal There, 
 
 We can but see the swift flash of the goal; 
 Less than the space between two waves of air, 
 
 The void between existence and a soul ; 
 Wherefore look forth; and with calm sight endure 
 The vague, impalpable, inane Obscure : 
 
 * The sublime idea of the nonentity of death, of the instantaneous transit 
 of the soul from one phase and cycle of being to another, is earnestly insisted 
 upon by the early Cymrian bards in terms which seem borrowed from some 
 spiritual belief anterior to that which does in truth teach that the life of man 
 once begun, has not only no end, but no pause — and, in the triumphal cry of 
 the Christian, " O grave, where is thy victory '."—annihilates death.
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 20/ 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 " Lo, by the Iron Gate a giant cloud 
 
 From which emerge (the form itself unseen) 
 
 Vast adamantine brows sublimely bowM 
 Over the dark, — relentlessly serene ; 
 
 Thou canst not view the hand beneath the fold. 
 
 The work it weaveth none but God behold. 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 " Yet ever from this Nothingness of Death, 
 
 That hand shapes out the myriad pomps of life; 
 
 Receives the matter when resign'd the breath, 
 Calms into Law the Elemental strife, 
 
 On each still'd atom forms afresh bestows 
 
 (No atom lost since first Creation rose.) 
 
 cxx. 
 
 " Thus seen, what men call Nature, thou surveyest, 
 But matter boundeth not the still one's power ; 
 
 In every deed its presence thou displayest, 
 
 It prompts each impulse, guides each winged hour, 
 
 It spells the Valkyrs to their gory loom, 
 
 It calls the blessing from the bane they doom :
 
 208 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 " It rides the steed, it saileth with the bark, 
 Wafts the first corn-seed to the herbless wild, 
 
 Alike directing thro' the doom of dark, 
 
 The age-long nation and the new-born child ; 
 
 Here the dread Power, yet loftier tasks await, 
 
 And Nature, twofold, takes the name of Fate. 
 
 CXXIl. 
 
 " Nature or Fate, Matter's material life, 
 
 Or to all spirit the spiritual guide, 
 Alike with one harmonious being rife, 
 
 Form but the whole which only names divide; 
 Fate's crushing power, or Nature's gentle skill, 
 Alike one Good — from one all loving Will." 
 
 CXXI 1 1. 
 
 While thus the Shade benign instructs the King, 
 Near the dark cloud the still brows bended o'er, 
 
 They come: A soft wind with continuous wing 
 Sighs tho' the gloom and trembles thro' the door, 
 
 " Hark to that air," the gentle phantom said, 
 
 " In each faint murmur flit unseen the dead, —
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 209 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 " Pass thro' the gate, from life the life resume, 
 
 As the old impulse flies to heaven or hell." 
 While spoke the Ghost, stood forth amidst the gloom, 
 
 A lucent Image, crowned with asphodell, 
 The left hand bore a mirror crystal-bright, 
 A wand star-pointed glittered in the right. 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 " Dost thou not know me ? — me, thy second soul ? 
 
 Dost thou not know me, Arthur ?" said the Voice ; 
 " I who have led thee to each noble goal, 
 
 Mirror'd thy heart, and starward led thy choice ? 
 To teach thee wisdom won in Labour's school, 
 I lured thy footsteps to the forest pool, 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 " Shewed all the woes which wait inebriate power, 
 And woke the man from youth's voluptuous dream; 
 
 Glass'd on the crystal — let each stainless hour 
 Obey the wand I lift unto the beam ; 
 
 And at the last, when yonder gates expand, 
 
 Pass with thy Guardian Angel, hand in hand.''
 
 210 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 cxxvn. 
 
 Spoke the sweet Splendour, and as music dies 
 Into the heart that hears, subsides away, 
 
 Then Arthur lifted his serenest eyes 
 
 Towards the pale Shade from the celestial day, 
 
 And said, " O thou in life beloved so well, 
 
 Dream I or wake ? — As those last accents fell, 
 
 cxxvm. 
 
 " So fears that, spite of thy mild words, dismay'd, 
 Fears not of death, but that which death conceals, 
 
 Vanish; — my soul that trembled at thy shade, 
 Yearns to the far light which the shade reveals, 
 
 And sees how human is the dismal error 
 
 That hideth God, when veiling death with terror. 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 " Ev'n thus some infant, in the early spring, 
 Under the pale buds of the almond tree, 
 
 Shrinks from the wind that with an icy wing 
 
 Shakes showering down white flakes that seem to be 
 
 Winter's wan sleet,— till the quick sunbeam shows 
 
 That those were blossoms which he took for snows.
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 211 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 " Thou to this last and sovran mystery 
 Of my mysterious travail guiding sent, 
 
 Dear as thou wert, I will not mourn for thee, 
 Thou wert not shaped for earth's hard element — 
 
 Our ends, our aims, our pleasure, and our woe, 
 
 Thou knew'st them all, but thine we could not know. 
 
 CXXXI. 
 
 " Forgive that none were worthy of thy worth ! 
 
 That none took heed, upon the plodding way, 
 What diamond dew was on the flowers of earth, 
 
 Till in thy soul drawn upward to the day. 
 But now, why gape the wounds upon thy breast ? 
 What guilty hand dismissed thee to the blest ? 
 
 CXXX1I. 
 
 " For blest thou art, belov'd and lost ? Oh, speak, 
 Say thou art with the Angels ?" — As at night 
 
 Far off the pharos on the mountain peak 
 Sends o'er dim ocean one pale path of light, 
 
 Lost in the wideness of the weltering Sea, 
 
 So, that one gleam along eternity
 
 212 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 
 Vouchsafed, the radiant guide (its mission closed) 
 Fled, and the mortal stood amidst the cloud ! 
 
 All dark above, — lo at his feet reposed 
 
 Beneath the Brow's still terror o'er it bow'd, 
 
 With eyes that lit the gloom thro' which they smil'd, 
 
 A Virgin shape, half woman and half child ! 
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 There, bright before the iron gates of Death, 
 Bright in the shadow of the awful Power 
 
 Which did as Nature give the human breath, 
 As Fate mature the germ and nurse the flower 
 
 Of earth for heaven, — Toil's last and sweetest prize, 
 
 The destined Soother lifts her fearless eyes ! 
 
 cxxxv. 
 
 Thro' all the mortal's frame, enraptured thrills 
 
 A subtler tide, a life ambrosial, 
 Bright as the fabled element which fills 
 
 The veins of Gods when in the golden hall 
 Flush'd Hebe brims the urn. The transport broke 
 The charm that gave it — and the Dreamer woke.
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 213 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 Was it in truth a Dream ? He gazed around, 
 
 And saw the granite of sepulchral walls ; 
 Thro' open doors, along the desolate ground, 
 
 O'er coffin dust — the morning sunbeam falls ; 
 On mouldering relics life its splendour flings, 
 The arms of warriors and the bones of kings. — 
 
 cxxxvn. 
 He stood within that Golgotha of old, 
 
 Whither the Phantom first had led the soul. 
 It was no dream ! lo, round those locks of gold 
 
 Rest the young sunbeams like an auriole ; 
 Lo, where the day, night's mystic promise keeps, 
 And in the tomb a life of beauty sleeps ! 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 Slow to his eyes, those lids reveal their own. 
 
 And, the lips smiling even in their sigh, 
 The Virgin woke ! O never yet was known, 
 
 In bower or plaisaunce under summer sky, 
 Life so enrich'd with nature's happiest bloom 
 As thine, thou young Aurora of the tomb !
 
 214 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 CXXX1X. 
 
 Words cannot paint thee, gentlest Cynosure 
 Of all things lovely in that loveliest form, 
 
 Souls wear — the youth of woman ! brows as pure 
 As Memphian skies that never knew a storm; 
 
 Lips with such sweetness in their honied deeps 
 
 As fills the rose in which a fairy sleeps ; 
 
 CXL. 
 
 Eyes on whose tenderest azure, aching hearts 
 Might look as to a heaven, and cease to grieve; 
 
 The very blush, as day, when it departs, 
 Haloes, in flushing, the mild cheek of eve, 
 
 Taking soft warmth in light from earth afar, 
 
 Heralds no thought less holy than a star. 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 And Arthur spoke ! O ye, all noble souls, 
 Divine how knighthood speaks to maiden fear! 
 
 Yet, is it fear which that young heart controuls 
 And leaves its music voiceless on the ear — 
 
 Ye, who have felt what words can ne'er express, 
 
 Say then, is fear as still as happiness ?
 
 B00K »■ KING ARTHUR. 215 
 
 CXLII. 
 
 By the mute pathos of an eloquent sign, 
 
 Her rosy finger on her lip, the maid 
 Seem'd to denote that on that coral shrine 
 
 Speech was to silence vow'd. Then from the shade 
 Gliding— she stood beneath the golden skies, 
 Fair as the dawn that brightened Paradise. 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 And Arthur looked, and saw the dove no more ; 
 
 Yet, by some wild and wondrous glamoury, 
 Chang' d to the shape the new companion wore, 
 
 His soul the missing Angel seemed to see ; 
 And, soft and silent as the earlier guide, 
 The soft eyes thrill, the silent footsteps glide. 
 
 CXT.IV. 
 
 Thro' paths his yester steps had fail'd to find, 
 Adown the woodland slope she leads the king, — 
 
 And, pausing oft, she turns to look behind, 
 As oft had turned the Dove upon the wing ; 
 
 And oft he questioned, still to find reply 
 
 Mute on the lip, yet struggling to the eye.
 
 216 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 Far briefer now the way, and open more 
 
 To heaven, than those his whileome steps had won; 
 
 And sudden, lo ! his galley's brazen prore 
 
 Beams from the greenwood burnished in the sun ; 
 
 Up from the sward his watchful cruisers spring, 
 
 And loud-lipp'd welcome girds with joy the King. 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 Now plies the rapid oar, now swells the sail ; 
 
 All day, and deep into the heart of night, 
 Flies the glad bark before the favouring gale ; 
 
 Now Sabra's virgin waters dance in light 
 Under the large full moon, on margents green, 
 Lone with charr'd wrecks where Saxon fires have been. 
 
 CXLVII. 
 
 Here furls the sail, here rests awhile the oar, 
 And from the crews the Cymrians and the maid 
 
 Pass with mute breath upon the mournful shore; 
 For, where yon groves the gradual hillock shade, 
 
 A convent stood when Arthur left the land. 
 
 God grant the shrine hath ''scap'd the heathen's hand !
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 21 7 
 
 CXLVIII. 
 
 Landing, on lifeless hearths, thro' roofless walls 
 And casement gaps, the ghost-like star-beams peer; 
 
 Welcomed by night and ruin, hollow falls 
 The footstep of a King ! — Upon the ear 
 
 The inexpressible hush of murder lay, — 
 
 Wide yawn'd the doors, and not a watch dog's bay ! 
 
 CXLIX. 
 
 They pass the groves, they gain the holt, and lo ! 
 
 Rests of the sacred pile but one grey tower, 
 A fort for luxury in the long-ago 
 
 Of gentile gods, and Rome's voluptuous power. 
 But far on walls yet spared, the moon-beams fell, — 
 Far on the golden domes of Carduel ! 
 
 CL. 
 
 " Joy," cried the King, "behold, the land lives still!" 
 Then Gawaine pointed, where in lengthening line 
 
 The Saxon watch-fires from the haunted hill 
 (Shorn of its forest old,) their blood-red shine 
 
 Fling over Isca, and with wrathful flush 
 
 Gild the vast storm-cloud of the armed hush. 
 
 VOL. II. L
 
 218 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 CLI. 
 
 " Ay," said the King, " in that luli'd Massacre 
 Doth no ghost whisper Crida — ' Sleep no more !' 
 
 " Hark, where I stand, dark murder-chief, on thee 
 I launch the doom ! ye airs, that wander o'er 
 
 Ruins and graveless bones, to Crida's sleep 
 
 Bear Cymri's promise, which her king shall keep !" 
 
 CLII. 
 
 As thus he spoke, upon his outstretched arm 
 A light touch trembled, — turning he beheld 
 
 The maiden of the tomb; a wild alarm 
 
 Shone from her eyes; his own their terror spell'd. 
 
 Struggling for speech, the pale lips writhed apart, 
 
 And, as she clung, he heard her beating heart ; 
 
 CLIII. 
 
 While Arthur marvelling sooth' d the agony 
 
 Which, comprehending not, he still could share, 
 
 Sudden sprang Gawaine — hark ! a timorous cry 
 
 Pierced yon dim shadows ! Arthur look'd, and where 
 
 On artful valves revolved the stoney door, 
 
 A kneeling nun his knight is bending o'er.
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 219 
 
 CLIV. 
 
 Ere the nun's fears the knightly words dispell, 
 As towards the spot the maid and monarch came, 
 
 On Arthur's brow the slanted moon-beams fell, 
 And the nun knew the King, and call'd his name, 
 
 And clasp'd his knees, and sobb'd thro' joyous tears, 
 
 " Once more ! once more ! our God his people hears !" 
 
 CLV. 
 
 Kin to his blood — the welcome face of one 
 
 Known as a saint throughout the Christian land, 
 
 Arthur recall'd, and as a pious son 
 
 Honouring a mother — on that sacred hand 
 
 In homage bow'd the King, " What mercy saves 
 
 Thee, blest survivor in this shrine of graves ?" 
 
 CLVI. 
 
 Then the nun led them, thro' the artful door 
 
 Mask'd in the masonry, adown a stair 
 That coil'd its windings to the grottoed floor 
 
 Of vaulted chambers desolately fair; 
 Wrought in the green hill like an Oread's home, 
 For summer heats by some soft lord of Rome, 
 
 L 2
 
 220 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 CLVII. 
 
 On shells, which nymphs from silver sands might cull, 
 On paved mosaics, and long-silenced fount, 
 
 On marble waifs of the far Beautiful 
 
 By graceful spoiler garner'd from the mount 
 
 Of vocal Delphi, or the Elean town, 
 
 Or Sparta's rival of the violet-crown— 
 
 CLVIII. 
 
 Shone the rude cresset from the homely shrine 
 Of that new Power, upon whose Syrian Cross 
 
 Perished the antique Jove ! And the grave sign 
 Of the glad faith (which, for the lovely loss 
 
 Of poet-gods, their own Olympus frees 
 
 T m en '.—our souls the new Uranides,) 
 
 CLIX. 
 
 High from the base, on which, of old, reposed 
 Grape-crown'd Iacchus— spoke the Saving Woe ! 
 
 The place itself the sister's tale disclosed. 
 
 Here, while, amidst the hamlet doom'd below, 
 
 Raged the fierce Saxon—was retreat secured ; 
 
 Nor gnawed the flame where those deep vaults immured.
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 221 
 
 CLX. 
 
 To peasants, scattered thro' the neighbouring plains. 
 The secret known; — kind hands with pious care 
 
 Supply such humble nurture as sustains 
 
 Lives most with fast familiar ; thus and there 
 
 The patient sisters in their faith sublime, 
 
 Felt God was good, and waited for His time. 
 
 CLXI. 
 
 Yet ever when the crimes of earth and day 
 Slept in the starry peace, to the lone tower 
 
 The sainted abbess won her nightly way, 
 
 And gazed on Carduel ! — 'Twas the wonted hour 
 
 When from the opening door the Cymrian knight 
 
 Saw the pale shadow steal along the light. 
 
 CLXII. 
 
 Musing, the King the safe retreat surveyed, 
 
 And smoothed his brow from time's most anxious 
 care; 
 
 Here — from the strife secure, might rest the maid 
 Not meet the tasks that morn must bring to share ; 
 
 And pleased the sister's pitying looks he eyed 
 
 Bent on the young form creeping to her side.
 
 222 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 CL.XIII. 
 
 " King," said the sainted nun, " from some far clime 
 Comes this fair stranger, that her eyes alone 
 
 Answer our mountain tongue ?" — " May happier time," 
 Replied the King, " her tale, her land, make known ! 
 
 Meanwhile, O kind recluse, receive the guest 
 
 To whom these altars seem the native rest." 
 
 CLXIV. 
 
 The sister smiled, " In sooth those looks," she said, 
 " Do speak a soul pure with celestial air ; 
 
 And in the morrow's awful hour of dread, 
 Her heart methinks will echo to our prayer, 
 
 And breathe responsive to the hymns that swell 
 
 The Christian's curse upon the infidel. 
 
 CLXV. 
 
 " But say, if truth from rumour vague and wild 
 To this still world the friendly peasants bring, 
 
 ' That grief and wrath for some lost heathen child, 
 Urge to yon walls the Mercian's direful king ?' " — 
 
 " Nay," said the Cymrian, " doth ambition fail 
 
 When force needs falsehood, of the glozing tale ?
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 223 
 
 CLXVI. 
 
 " And — but behold she droops, she faints, outworn 
 By the long wandering and the scorch of day \" 
 
 Pale as a lily when the dewless morn, 
 Parch'd in the fiery dog-star, wanes away 
 
 Into the glare of noon without a cloud, 
 
 O'er the nun's breast that flower of beauty bow'd. 
 
 CLXVII. 
 
 Yet still the clasp retained the hand that prest, 
 
 And breath came still, tho' heav'd in sobbing sighs. 
 
 " Leave her/' the sister said, " to needful rest, 
 And to such care as woman best supplies ; 
 
 And may this charge a conqueror soon recall, 
 
 And change the refuge to a monarch's hall !" 
 
 CLXVIII. 
 
 Tho' found the asylum sought, with boding mind 
 The crowning guerdon of his mystic toil 
 
 To the kind nun the unwilling King resigned ; 
 Nor till his step was on his mountain soil 
 
 Did his large heart its lion calm regain, 
 
 And o'er his soul no thought but Cymri reign.
 
 224 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 CLXIX. 
 
 As towards the bark the friends resume their way, 
 Quick they resolve the conflicts hardy scheme; 
 
 With half the Northmen, at the break of day 
 
 Shall Gawaine sail where Sabra's broadening stream 
 
 Admits a reeded creek, and, landing there, 
 
 Elude the fleet the neighbouring waters bear ; 
 
 CLXX. 
 
 Thro' secret paths with bush and bosk o'ergrown, 
 Wind round the tented hill, and win the wall; 
 
 With Arthur's name arouse the leaguered town, 
 Give the pent stream the cataract's rushing fall. 
 
 Sweep to the camp, and on the Pagan horde 
 
 Urge all of man that yet survives the sword. 
 
 CLXXI. 
 
 Meanwhile on foot the king shall guide his band 
 Round to the rearward of the vast array, 
 
 Where yet large fragments of the forest stand 
 To shroud with darkness the avenger's way ; — 
 
 Thence, when least look'd for, burst upon the foe, 
 
 On war's own heart direct the sudden blow ;
 
 book xr. KING ARTHUR. 225 
 
 CLXXII. 
 
 Thus, front and rear assailed, their numbers, less 
 (Perplex'd, distraught,) avail the heathen's power. 
 
 Dire was the peril, and the sole success 
 In the nice seizure of the seasoned hour ; 
 
 The high-soul'd rashness of the bold emprize; 
 
 The fear that smites the fiercest in surprize ; 
 
 CLXXIII. 
 
 Whatever worth the enchanted boons may bear, 
 The hero heart by which those boons were won; 
 
 The stubborn strength of that supreme despair, 
 When victory lost is all a land undone; 
 
 In the man's cause, and in the Christian's zeal, 
 
 And the just God that sanctions Freedom's steel. 
 
 CLXXIV. 
 
 Meanwhile, along a cavelike corridor 
 
 The stranger guest the gentle abbess led; 
 
 Where the voluptuous hypocaust of yore 
 Left cells for vestal dreams saint-hallowed. 
 
 Her own, austerely rude, affords the rest 
 
 To which her parting kiss consigns the guest. 
 
 l 3
 
 226 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 CLXXV. 
 
 But welcome not for rest that loneliness ! 
 
 The iron lamp the imaged cross displays, 
 And to that guide for souls, what mute distress 
 
 Lifts the imploring passion of its gaze ? 
 Fear like remorse — and sorrow dark as sin? 
 Enter that mystic heart and look within ! 
 
 CLXXVI. 
 
 What broken gleams of memory come and go 
 
 Along the dark ! — a silent starry love 
 Lighting young Fancy's virgin waves below, 
 
 But shed from thoughts that rest ensphered above ! 
 Oh, flowers whose bloom had perfumed Carmel, weave 
 Wreaths for such love as lived in Genevieve ! 
 
 CLXXVII. 
 
 A May noon resteth on the forest hill ; 
 
 A May noon resteth over ruins hoar ; 
 A maiden muses on the forest hill, 
 
 A tomb's vast pile o'er shades the ruins hoar, 
 With doors now open to each prying blast, 
 Where once to rot imperial dust had past ;
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 22? 
 
 CLXXVIII. 
 
 Glides thro' that tomb of Eld the musing maid, 
 And slumber drags her down its airy deep. 
 
 O wondrous trance! in druid robes array* d, 
 
 What form benignant charms the life-like sleep ? 
 
 What spells low-chaunted, holy-sweet, like prayer, 
 
 Plume the light soul, and waft it through the air ? 
 
 CLXXIX. 
 
 Comes a dim sense as of an angel's being, 
 Bath'd in ambrosial dews and liquid day; 
 
 Of floating wings, like heavenward instincts, freeing 
 Thro' azure solitudes a spirit's way, — 
 
 An absence of all earthly thought, desire, 
 
 Aim — hope, — save those which love and which aspire ; 
 
 CLXXX. 
 
 Each harder sense of the mere human mind 
 Merged into some protective prescience ; 
 
 Calm gladness, conscious of a charge consign'd 
 To the pure ward of guardian innocence ; 
 
 And the felt presence, in that charge, of one 
 
 Whose smile to life is as to flowers the sun.
 
 228 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 CLXXXI. 
 
 Go on, thou troubled Memory, wander on ! 
 
 Dull, o'er the bounds of the departing trance, 
 Droops the lithe wing the airier life hath known ; 
 
 Yet on the confines of the dream, the glance 
 Sees — where before he stood, the Enchanter stand,- 
 Bend the vast brow, and stretch the shadowy hand. 
 
 CLXXXII. 
 
 And, human sense reviving, on the ear 
 
 Fall words ambiguous, now with happy hours 
 
 And plighted love, — and now with threats austere 
 Of demon dangers — of malignant Powers 
 
 Whose force might yet the counter charm unbind, 
 
 If loosed the silence to her lips enjoin'd. — 
 
 CLXXXIII. 
 
 Then, as that Image faded from the verge 
 Of life's renewed horizon — came the day ; 
 
 Yet, ere the vision's last faint gleams submerge 
 Into earth's common light, their parting ray 
 
 On Arthur's brow the faithful memories leave, 
 
 And the Dove's heart still beats in Genevieve !
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 229 
 
 CLXXXIV. 
 
 Still she the presence feels, — resumes the guide, 
 Till slowly, slowly waned the prescient power 
 
 That gave the guardian to the pilgrim's side; — 
 And only rested, with her human dower 
 
 Of gifts sublime to soothe, but weak to save, 
 
 And blind to warn, — the Daughter of the Grave. 
 
 CLXXXV. 
 
 Yet the lost dream bequeathed for ever more 
 Thoughts that did, like a second nature, make 
 
 Life to that life the Dove had hover'd o'er 
 Cling as an instinct, — and for that dear sake 
 
 Danger and Death had found the woman's love 
 
 In realms as near the Angels as the Dove. 
 
 CLXXXVI. 
 
 And now and now is she herself the one 
 To launch the bolt on that beloved life ? 
 
 Shuddering she starts, again she hears the nun 
 Denounce the curse that arms the awful strife ; 
 
 Again her lips the wild cry stifle, — " See 
 
 Crida's lost child, thy country's curse, in me !"
 
 230 KING ARTHUR. book xi. 
 
 CLXXXVII. 
 
 Or — if along the world of that despair 
 
 Fleet other spectres, — from the ruined steep 
 
 Points the dread arm, and hisses thro' the air 
 The avenger's sentence on the father's sleep ! 
 
 The dead seem rising from the yawning floor, 
 
 And the shrine steams as with a shamble's gore. 
 
 CLXXXVIII. 
 
 Sudden she springs, and, from her veiling hands, 
 Lifts the pale courage of her calmed brow ; 
 
 With upward eyes, and murmuring lips, she stands, 
 Raising to heaven the new-born hope : — and now 
 
 Glides from the cell along the galleried caves, 
 
 Mute as a moonbeam flitting over waves. 
 
 CLiXXXIX. 
 
 Now gained the central grot ; now won the stair ; 
 
 The lamp she bore gleamed on the door of stone ; 
 Why halt ? what hand detains ? — she turn'd, and there, 
 
 On the nun's serge and brow rebuking, shone 
 The tremulous light ; then fear her lips unchain'd 
 From that stern silence by the Dream ordain'd,
 
 book xi. KING ARTHUR. 231 
 
 cxc. 
 
 And at those holy feet the Saxon fell 
 
 Sobbing, " O stay me not ! O rather free 
 
 These steps that fly to save his Carduel ! 
 
 Throne, altars, life — his life ! In me, in me, 
 
 To these strange shrines, thy saints in mercy bring 
 
 Crida's lost Child ! — Way, way to save thy king !" 
 
 CXCI. 
 
 Listened the nun; doubt, joy, and awed amaze 
 Fused in that lambent atmosphere of soul, 
 
 Faith in the wise All Good ! — so melt the rays 
 Of varying Iris in the lucid whole 
 
 Of light ; — u Thy people still to Thee are dear, 
 
 O Lord," she murmured, " and Thy hand is here !" 
 
 cxcu. 
 
 "Yes," cried the suppliant, " if my loss deplored, 
 My fate unguest — misled and arm'd my sire ; 
 
 When to his heart his child shall be restored, 
 Sure, war itself will in the cause expire ! 
 
 Ruth come with joy, — and in that happy hour 
 
 Hate drop the steel, and Love alone have power ?"
 
 232 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 CXCIII. 
 
 Then the nun took the Saxon to her breast, 
 
 Round the bow'd neck she hung her sainted cross, 
 
 And said, " Go forth — O beautiful and blest ! 
 And if my king rebuke me for thy loss, 
 
 Be my reply the gain that loss bestow'd, — 
 
 Hearths for his people, altars for his God !" 
 
 CXCIV. 
 
 She ceased ; — on secret valves revolved the door; 
 
 Breathed on the silent hill the dawning air ; 
 One moment paused the steps of Hope, and o'er 
 
 The war's vast slumber looked the Soul of Prayer. 
 So halts the bird that from the cage hath flown; — 
 A light bough rustled, and the Dove was gone.
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XII.
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Preliminary Stanzas — Scene returns to Carduel — a day has passed since the 
 retreat of the Saxons into their encampment — The Cymrians take advantage 
 of the enemy's inactivity, to introduce supplies into the famished city — 
 Watch all that day, and far into the following night, is kept round the 
 corpse of Caradoc — Before dawn, the burial takes place — The Prophet by the 
 grave of the Bard — Merlin's address to the Cymrians, whom he dismisses 
 to the walls, in announcing the renewed assault of the Saxons — Merlin then 
 demands a sacrifice from Lancelot — gives commissions to the two sons of 
 Faul the Aleman, and takes Faul himself (to whom an especial charge is 
 destined) to the city — The scene changes to the Temple Fortress of the 
 Saxons — The superstitious panic of the heathen hosts at their late defeat— The 
 magic divinations of the Runic priests — The magnetic trance of the chosen 
 Soothsayer — The Oracle he utters — He demands the blood of a Christian 
 maid — The pause of the priests and the pagan king— The abrupt entrance 
 of Genevieve — Crida's joy — The priests demand the Victim— Genevieve's 
 Christian faith is evinced by the Cross which the Nun had hung round her 
 neck — Crida's reply to the priests — They dismiss one of their number to 
 inflame the army, and so insure the sacrifice — The priests lead the Victim to 
 the Altar, and begin their hymn, as the Soothsayer wakes from his trance — 
 The interruption and the compact— Crida goes from the Temple to the 
 summit of the tower without — The invading march of the Saxon troops 
 under Harold described — The light from the Dragon Keep — The Saxons 
 scale the walls, and disappear within the town — The irruption of flames 
 from the fleet— The dismay of that part of the army that had remained in 
 the camp — The flames are seen by the rest of the heathen army in the 
 streets of Carduel — The approach of the Northmen under Gawaine — The 
 light on the Dragon Keep changes its hue into blood-red, and the Prophet 
 appears on the height of the tower — The retreat of the Saxons from the 
 city — The joy of the Chief Priest — The time demanded by the compact has 
 expired — He summons Crida to complete the sacrifice — Crida's answer — 
 The Priest rushes back into the Temple — The offering is bound to the 
 Altar— Faul ! the gleam of the enchanted glaive — The appearance of Arthur 
 — The War takes its last stand within the heathen temple — Crida and the 
 Teuton kings — Arthur meets Crida hand to hand — Meanwhile Harold saves 
 the Gonfanon, and follows the bands under his lead to the river side — He 
 addresses them, re-forms their ranks, and leads them to the brow of the 
 hill — His embassy to Arthur — The various groups in the heathen temple 
 described — Harold's speech — Arthur's reply — Merlin's prophetic address 
 to the chiefs of the two races — The End.
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 i. 
 
 Flow on, flow on, fair Fable's happy stream, 
 Vocal for aye with Eld's first music-chaunt, 
 
 Where, mirror'd far adown the chrystal, gleam 
 The golden domes of Carduel and Romaunt ; 
 
 Still one last look on knighthood's peerless ring, 
 
 Of mooned dream-land and the Dragon King ! — 
 
 ii. 
 
 Detain me yet amid the lovely throng, 
 
 Hold yet thy Sabbat, thou melodious spell! 
 
 Still to the circle of enchanted song 
 
 Charm the high Mage of Druid parable, 
 
 The Fairy, bard-led from her Caspian Sea, 
 
 And Genius*, lured from caves in Araby! 
 
 * Whether or not the fairy of Great Britain and Ireland be of Celtic or 
 Pictish origin, in the rude shape it assumes in the simplest legends; — as soon 
 as it appears in the romance of that later period in which Arthur was the 
 popular hero, it betrays unequivocal evidence of its identity with the Persian 
 Peri. The Genius is still more obviously the creation of the East.
 
 236 KING ARTHUR. book xu. 
 
 III. 
 
 Tho' me, less fair if less familiar ways, 
 
 Sought in the paths by earlier steps untrod, 
 
 Allure — yet ever, in the marvel-maze, 
 The flowers afar perfume the virgin sod ; 
 
 The simplest leaf in fairy gardens cull, 
 
 And round thee opens all the Beautiful ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Alas ! the sunsets of our Northern main 
 
 Soon lose the tints Hesperian Fancy weaves ; 
 
 Soon the sweet river feels the icy chain, 
 
 And haunted forests shed their murmurous leaves; 
 
 The bough must wither, and the bird depart, 
 
 And winter clasp the world — as life the heart ! 
 
 v. 
 
 A day had passM since first the Saxons fled 
 Before the Christian, and their war lay still ; 
 
 From morn to eve the Cymrian riders spread 
 Where flocks yet graze on some remoter hill, 
 
 Pale, on the walls, fast-sinking Famine waits, 
 
 When hark, the droves come lowing thro' the gates !
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 237 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yet still, the corpse of Caradoc around, 
 All day, and far into the watch of night, 
 
 The grateful victors guard the sacred ground; 
 But in that hour when all his race of light 
 
 Leave Eos lone in heaven, — earth's hollow breast 
 
 Oped to the dawn -star and the singer's rest. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Now, ere they lowered the corpse, with noiseless tread 
 Still as a sudden shadow, Merlin came 
 
 Thro' the arm'd crowd; and paus'd before the dead, 
 And, looking on the face, thrice call'd the name. 
 
 Then, hush'd, thro' all an awed compassion ran, 
 
 And all gave way to the old quiet man. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 For Cymri knew that of her children none 
 Had, like the singer, loved the lonely sage ; 
 
 All felt, that there a father call'd a son 
 
 Out from that dreariest void, — bereaved age; 
 
 Forgot the dread renown, the mystic art, 
 
 And saw but sacred there — the human heart!
 
 238 KING ARTHUR. book xu. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And thrice the old man kiss'd the lips that smil'd, 
 And thrice he call'd the name, — then to the grave, 
 
 Hush'd as the nurse that bears a sleeping child 
 To its still mother's breast, — the form he gave : 
 
 With tender hand composed the solemn rest, 
 
 And laid the harp upon the silent breast. 
 
 x. 
 
 And then he sate him down, a little space 
 
 From the dark couch, and so, of none took heed ; 
 
 But lifting to the twilight skies his face, 
 
 That secret soul which never man could read, 
 
 Far as the soul it miss'd, from human breath, 
 
 R ose — where Thought rises when it follows Death ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 And swells and falls in gusts the funeral dirge 
 As hollow falls the mould, or swells the mound ; 
 
 And (Cymri's warlike wont) upon the verge, 
 The orbed shields are placed in rows around; 
 
 Now o'er the dead, grass waves; — the rite is done; 
 
 And a new grave shall greet a rising sun.
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 239 
 
 XII. 
 
 Then slowly turned, and calmly moved the sage, 
 On the Bard's grave his stand the Prophet took. 
 
 High o'er the crowd in all his pomp of age 
 August, a glory brightened from his look; 
 
 Hope flashed in eyes illumined from his own, 
 
 Bright, as if there some sure redemption shone. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Thus spoke the Seer : " Hosannah to the brave ; 
 
 Lo, the eternal heir-looms of your land ! 
 A realm's great treasure house ! The freeman's grave ; 
 
 The hero creed that to the swordless hand 
 Thought, when heroic, gives an army's might ; — 
 And song to nations as to plants the light ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Cymrians, the sun yon towers will scarcely gild, 
 Ere war will scale them ! Here, your task is o'er. 
 
 Your walls your camp, your streets your battle field ; 
 Each house a fortress ! — One strong effort more 
 
 For God, for Freedom — for your shrines and homes ! 
 
 After the Martyr the Deliverer comes !"
 
 240 KING ARTHUR. book xn. 
 
 XV. 
 
 He ceased ; and such the reverence of the crowd, 
 No lip presumed to question. Wonder hushed 
 
 Its curious guess, and only Hope aloud 
 
 Spoke in the dauntless shout: each cheek was flushed; 
 
 Each eye was bright ; — each heart beat high ; and all 
 
 Ranged in due ranks, resought the shatter'd wall : 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Save only four, whom to that holy spot 
 
 The Prophet's whisper stay'd: — of these, the one 
 
 Of knightly port and arms, was Lancelot ; 
 But in the ruder three, with garments won 
 
 From the wild beast, — long hair'd, large limb'd, agen 
 
 See Rhine's strong sons, the convert Alemen ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 When these alone remained beside the mound, 
 
 The Prophet drew apart the Paladin, 
 And said, " what time, feud, worse than famine, found 
 
 The Cymrian race, like some lost child of sin 
 That courts, yet cowers from death ; — serene thro' all 
 The jarring factions of the maddening hall,
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 241 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Thou didst in vain breathe high rebuke to pride, 
 With words sublimely proud. ' No post the man 
 
 Ennobles ; — man the post ! did He who died 
 To crown in death the end His birth began, 
 
 Assume the sceptre when the cross He braved ? 
 
 Did He wear purple in the world He saved ? 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " e Ye clamour which is worthiest of command, — 
 Place me, whose fathers led the hosts of Gaul, 
 
 Amongst the meanest children of your land ; 
 Let me owe nothing to my fathers, — all 
 
 To such high deeds as raised, ere kings were known, 
 
 The boldest savage to the earliest throne!' 
 
 xx. 
 
 " But none did heed thee, and in scornful grief 
 Went thy still footsteps from the raging hall, 
 
 Where by the altars of the bright Belief 
 
 That spans this cloud-world when its sun-showers 
 fall, 
 She, thine in heaven at least assured to be, 
 Pray'd not for safety but for death with thee. 
 
 VOL. II. M
 
 242 KING ARTHUR. book xii. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " There, by the altar, did ye join your hands, 
 And in your vow, scorning malignant Time, 
 
 Ye plighted two immortals ! in those bands 
 
 Hope still wove flowers, — but earth was not their 
 clime ; 
 
 Then to the breach alone, resigned, consol'd, 
 
 Went Gaul's young hero. — Art thou now less bold ? 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " Thy smile replies ! Know, while we speak, the King 
 Is on the march ; each moment that delays 
 
 The foeman, speeds the conqueror on its wing ; 
 If, till the hour is ripe, the Saxon stays 
 
 His rush, then idly wastes it on our wall, 
 
 Not ours the homes that burn, the shrines that fall ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " But that delay vouchsafed not — comes in vain 
 The bright achiever of enchanted powers ; 
 
 He comes a king,— no people but the slain, 
 
 And round his throne will crash his blazing towers. 
 
 This is not all ; for him, the morn is rife 
 
 With one dire curse that threatens more than life ; —
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 243 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " A curse which, launched, will wither every leaf 
 In victory's crown, chill youth itself to age ! 
 
 Here magic fails — for over love and grief 
 There is no glamour in the brazen page. 
 
 Born of the mind, o'er mind extends mine art ;— 
 
 Beyond its circle beats the human heart! — 
 
 XXV. 
 
 c< 
 
 Delay the hour — save Carduel for thy king ; 
 
 Avert the curse; from misery save thy brother!" 
 " Thrice welcome Death," cried Lancelot, "could it bring 
 
 The bliss to bless mine Arthur ! As the mother 
 Lives in her child, the planet in the sky, 
 Thought in the soul, in Arthur so live I." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Prepare," the Seer replied, "be firm ! — and yield 
 The maid thou lovest to her Saxon sire." 
 
 Like a man lightning-stricken, Lancelot reel'd, 
 And as if blinded by the intolerant fire, 
 
 Covered his face with his convulsive hand, 
 
 And groaned aloud, " What woe dost thou demand \ 
 
 m 2
 
 244 KING ARTHUR. book hi. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " Yield her ! and wherefore ? Cruel as thou art ! 
 
 Can Cymri's king or Carduel's destiny- 
 Need the lone offering of a loving heart, 
 
 Nothing to kings and states, but all to me ?" 
 " Son," said the prophet, " can the human eye 
 Trace by what wave light quivers from the sky ; 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 "Explore some thought whose utterance shakes the 
 earth 
 
 Along the airy galleries of the brain ; 
 Or can the human judgment gauge the worth 
 
 Of the least link in Fate's harmonious chain ? 
 All doubt is cowardice — all trust is brave — 
 Doubt, and desert thy king ; — believe and save." 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Then Lancelot fix'd his keen eyes on the sage, 
 And said, " Am I the sacrifice, or she ? 
 
 Risks she no danger from the heathen's rage, 
 
 She the new Christian ?" — " Danger more with thee ! 
 
 Will blazing roofs and trampled altars yield 
 
 A shelter surer than her father's shield ?
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 245 
 
 XXX. 
 
 11 If mortal schemes may foil the threatening hour, 
 Thy heart's reward shall crown thine honour's test ; 
 
 And the same fates that crush the heathen power 
 Restore the Christian to the conqueror's breast ; 
 
 Yea, the same lights that gild the nuptial shrine 
 
 Of Arthur, shed a beam as blest on thine !" 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " I trust and I submit," said Lancelot, 
 
 With pale firm lip. " Go thou — I dare not — I ! 
 
 Say, if I yield, that I abandon not ! 
 
 Her form may leave a desert to my eye, 
 
 But here — but here!" — No more his lips could say, 
 
 He smote his bleeding heart, and went his way! 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 The Enchanter, thoughtful, turned, and on the grave 
 His look relaxing fell. — " Ah, child, lost child ! 
 
 To thy young life no youth harmonious gave 
 Music ; — no love thine exquisite griefs beguil'd ; 
 
 Thy soul's deep ocean hid its priceless pearl ; — 
 
 And he is loved, and yet repines ! O churl 1"
 
 246 KING ARTHUR. *° 0K *"■ 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 And murmuring thus, he saw below the mound 
 
 The stoic brows of the stern Alemen, 
 Their gaunt limbs strewn supine along the ground, 
 
 Still as gorg'd lions couch'd before the den 
 After the feast; their life no medium knows, 
 Here, headlong conflict, there, inert repose 
 
 I 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " Which of these feet could overtake the roe ? 
 
 Which of these arms could grapple with the bear ?" 
 " My first-born," answered Faul, " outstrips the roe ; 
 
 My youngest crushes in his grasp the bear." 
 " Thou, then, the swift one, gird thy loins, and rise ; 
 See o'er the lowland where the vapour lies, 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " Far to the right, a mist from Sabra's wave ; 
 
 Amidst that haze explore a creek rush-grown, 
 Screen'd from the waters less remote, which lave 
 
 The Saxon's anchor'd barks, and near a lone 
 Grey crag where bitterns boom ; within that creek 
 Gleams thro' green boughs a galley's brazen peak ;
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 24? 
 
 st 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 This gain'd, demand the chief, a Christian knight, 
 The bear's rough mantle o'er his rusted mail ; 
 Tell him from me, to tarry till a light 
 
 Burst from the Dragon keep ; — then crowd his sail, 
 Fire his own ship — and, blazing to the bay, 
 Cleave thro' yon fleet his red destroying way ; 
 
 xxxv II. 
 
 " No arduous feat : the gallies are unmann'd, 
 
 Moor'd each to each ; let fire consume hem all ! 
 
 Then, the shore won, lead hitherwards the band 
 Between the Saxon camp and Cymrian wall. 
 
 What next behoves, the time itself will show, 
 
 Here counsel ceases; — there, ye find the foe!" 
 
 xxxvi n. 
 
 Heard the wild youth, and no reply made he, 
 
 But braced his belt and grip'd his spear, and straight 
 
 As the bird flies, he flew. " My son, to thee," 
 Next said the Prophet, " a more urgent fate 
 
 And a more perilous duty are consign'd; 
 
 Mark, the strong arm requires the watchful mind.
 
 248 KING ARTHUR. book xn. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " Thou hast to pass the Saxon sentinels ; 
 
 Thou hast to thread the Saxon hosts alone ; 
 Many are there whom thy far Rhine expels 
 
 His swarming war-hive, — and their tongue thine own ; 
 Take from yon Teuton dead the maiFd disguise, 
 Thy speech their ears, thy garb shall dupe their eyes ; 
 
 XL. 
 
 " The watch-pass ( Vingdlf * J wins thee thro' the van, 
 The rest shall danger to thy sense inspire, 
 
 A nd that quick light in the hard sloth of man 
 
 Coil'd, till sharp need strike forth the sudden fire. 
 
 The encampment traversed, where the woods behind 
 
 Slope their green gloom, thy stealthy pathway wind ; 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " Keep to one leftward track, amidst the chase 
 Clear' d for the hunter's sport in happier days ; 
 
 Till scarce a mile from the last tent, a space 
 
 Clasping grey crommell stones, will close the maze. 
 
 There, in the centre of that Druid ring, 
 
 Arm'd men will stand around the Cymrian King : — 
 
 * Vingolf. Literally, " The Abode of Friends;" the name for the place in 
 which the heavenly goddesses assemble.
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 249 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " Tell him to set upon the tallest pine 
 
 Keen watch, and wait, until from Carduel's tower, 
 
 High o'er the wood, a starry light shall shine; 
 Not that the signal, tho' it nears the hour, 
 
 But when the light shall change its hues, and form 
 
 One orb blood-dyed, as sunsets red with storm ; 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 "Then, while the foe their camp unguarded leave, 
 And round our walls their tides tempestuous roll, 
 
 To yon wood pile, the Saxon fortress, cleave; 
 Be Odin's Idol the Deliverer's 2,oal. 
 
 Say to the King, ' In that funereal fane 
 
 Complete thy mission, and thy guide regain! 13 
 
 i» 
 
 XL.IV. 
 
 While spoke the seer, the Teuton's garb of mail 
 The son of Faul had donn'd, and bending now, 
 
 He kiss'd his father's cheek. — "And if I fail," 
 He murmured, " leave thy blessing on my brow, 
 
 My father !" Then the convert of the wild 
 
 Look'd up to Heaven, and mutely bless'd his child. 
 
 m 3
 
 250 KING ARTHUR. book xii. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 
 " Thou wend with me, proud sire of dauntless men 
 Resumed the seer : — " On thine arm let my age 
 
 Lean, as shall thine upon their children I" — Then 
 The loreless savage — the all-gifted sage, 
 
 By the strong bonds of will and heart allied ; 
 
 Went towards the towers of Carduel, side by side. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 To Crida's camp the swift song rushing flies ; 
 
 Round Odin's* shrine wild Priests, rune-muttering, 
 Task the weird omens hateful to the skies; 
 
 Pale by the idol stands the grey-hair'd king ; 
 And, from without, the unquiet armament 
 Booms, in hoarse surge, its chafing discontent. 
 
 * As throughout this twelfth book, Odin representing more than the mere 
 Woden of the Saxons, assumes the general character of the great War God of 
 the universal Teuton Family, and as it would be here both perplexing and 
 pedantic to mark the faint distinctions between the two ; so in this portion 
 of the work, whether in narrative, or in the dialogue of the Saxons, 
 the former appellation of the Deity of the North (Odin) will be uniformly 
 preserved.
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 251 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 For in defeat (when first that multitude 
 
 Shrunk from a foe, and fled the Cymrian sword,) 
 
 The pride of man the wrath of gods had viewed ; 
 Religious horror smote the palsied horde ; 
 
 The field refused, till priest, and seid, and charm, 
 
 Explore the offence, and wrath divine disarm. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 All day, all night, glared fires, dark-red and dull 
 With mystic gums, before the Teuton god, 
 
 And waved o'er runes which Mimer's trunkless skull 
 Had whisper'd Odin —the Diviner's rod ; 
 
 And rank with herbs which baleful odours breathed, 
 
 The bubbling hell juice in the caldron seethed. 
 
 XL1X. 
 
 Now towards that hour when into coverts dank 
 Slinks back the wolf ; when to her callow brood 
 
 Veers, thro' still boughs, the owl; when from the bank 
 The glow-worm wanes ; when heaviest droops the 
 wood, 
 
 Ere the faint twitter of the earliest lark, — 
 
 Ere dawn creeps chill and timorous thro' the dark ;
 
 252 KING ARTHUR. book xii. 
 
 L. 
 
 About that hour, of all the dreariest, 
 
 A flame leaps up from the dull fire's repose, 
 
 And shoots weird sparks along the runes, imprest 
 On stone and elm-bark, ranged in ninefold rows ; 
 
 The vine's deep flush the purpling seid assumes, 
 
 And the strong venom coils in maddening fumes. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Pale grew the elect Diviner's altered brows ; 
 
 Swell'd the large veins, and writhed the foaming lips; 
 And as some swart and fateful planet glows 
 
 Athwart the disk to which it brings eclipse ; 
 So that strange Pythian madness whose control 
 Seems half to light and half efface the soul, 
 
 LII. 
 
 Broke from the horror of his glaring look ; 
 
 His breath that died in hollow gusts away ; 
 Seized by the grasp of unseen tempests, shook 
 
 To its rack'd base the spirit-house of clay ; 
 Till the dark Power made firm the crushing spell ; 
 And from the man burst forth the voice of hell.
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 253 
 
 LIII. 
 
 "The god — the god ! lo, on his throne he reels ! 
 
 Under his knit brows glow his wrathful eyes ! 
 At his dread feet a spectral Valkyr kneels, 
 
 And shrouds her face ! And cloud is in the skies, 
 And neither sun nor star, nor day nor night, 
 But in the cloud a steadfast Cross of Light ! 
 
 LIV. 
 
 " The god — the god ! hide, hide me from his gaze ! 
 
 Its awful anger burns into the brain ! 
 Spare me, O spare me ! Speak, thy child obeys ! 
 
 What rites appease thee, Father of the Slain * ? 
 What direful omen do these signs foreshow ? 
 What victim ask'st thou ? Speak; the blood shall flow !' 
 
 LV. 
 
 Sunk the Possest One — writhing with wild throes ; 
 
 And one appalling silence dusk'd the place, 
 As with a demon's wing. Anon, arose, 
 
 Calm as a ghost, the soothsayer : form and face 
 Rigid with iron sleep ; and hollow fell 
 From stonelike lips the hateful oracle. 
 
 * Father of the Slain, Yalt'ailer. — Odin.
 
 254 KING ARTHUR. book xn. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 "A cloud where Noma's nurse the thunder lowers ; 
 
 A curse is cleaving to the Teuton race ; 
 Before the Cross the stricken Valkyr cowers ; 
 
 The Herr-god trembles on his column'd base ; 
 A virgin's loss aroused the Teuton strife ; 
 A virgin's love hath charm'd the Avenger's life ; 
 
 LVII. 
 
 "A virgin's blood alone averts the doom ; 
 
 Revives the Valkyr, and preserves the god. 
 Whet the quick steel — she comes, she comes, for whom 
 
 The runes glow'd blood-red to the soothsayer's rod! 
 O king, whose wrath the Odin-born array' d, 
 Regain the lost, and yield the Christian maid !" 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 As if that voice had quicken'd some dead thing 
 To give it utterance, so, w r hen ceased the sound, 
 
 The dull eye fix'd, and the faint shuddering 
 
 Stirr'd all the frame ; then sudden on the ground 
 
 Fell heavily the lumpish inert clay, 
 
 From which the demon noiseless rush'd away.
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 255 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Then the grey priests and the grey king creep near 
 The corpselike man ; and sit them mutely down 
 
 In the still fire's red vaporous atmosphere ; 
 The bubbling caldron sings and simmers on ; 
 
 And thro' the reeks that from the poison rise, 
 
 Looks the wolf's blood-lust from those cruel eyes. 
 
 LX. 
 
 So sat they, musing fell ; — when hark, a shout 
 Rang loud from rank to rank, re-echoing deep ; 
 
 Hark to the tramp of multitudes without ! 
 
 Near and more near the thickening tumults sweep ; 
 
 King Crida wrathful rose ; " what steps profane 
 
 Thy secret thresholds, Father of the Slain ?" 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Frowning he strode along the lurid floors, 
 
 And loud, and loud the invading footsteps ring; 
 
 His hand impetuous flings apart the doors : — 
 " Who dare insult the god, and brave the king?" 
 
 Swift thro' the throng a bright-hair'd vision came ; 
 
 Those stern lips falter with a daughter's name !
 
 256 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Those hands uplifted, or to curse or smite, 
 
 Fold o'er a daughter's head their tremulous joy ! 
 
 Oh, to the natural worship of delight, 
 
 How came the monstrous dogma — to destroy ! 
 
 Sure, Heaven foreshow'd its gospel to the wild 
 
 In earth's first bond — the father and the child ! 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 While words yet fail'd the bliss of that embrace, 
 The muttering priests, unmoved, each other eyed ; 
 
 Then to the threshold came their measur'd pace: — 
 " Depart, Profane," their Pagan pontiff cried, 
 
 " Depart, Profane, too near your steps have trod 
 
 To altars darkened with an angry God. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 " Dire are the omens ! Skulda rides the clouds, 
 Her sisters tremble* at the Urdar spring; 
 
 The hour demands us — shun the veil that shrouds 
 The Priests, the God, the Victim, and the King." 
 
 Shuddering, the crowds retreat, and whispering low, 
 
 Spread the contagious terrors where they go. 
 
 * " Her sisters tremble," &c, that is, the other two Fates (the Present and 
 the Past) tremble at the Well of Life.
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 257 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Then the stern Elders came to Crida's side, 
 
 And from their lock'd embrace unclasp' d his hands : 
 
 u Lo," said their chieftain, " how the gods provide 
 Themselves the offering which the shrine demands! 
 
 By Odin's son be Odin's voice obey'd ; 
 
 The lost is found — behold, and yield the maid !" 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 As when some hermit saint, in the old day 
 
 Of the soul's giant war with Solitude, 
 From some bright dream which rapt his life away 
 
 Amidst the spheres — unclosed his eyes, and view'd, 
 'Twixt sleep and waking, vaguely horrible, 
 The grausame tempter of the gothic hell ; 
 
 LXVI I. 
 
 So, on the father's bliss abruptly broke 
 The dreadful memory of his dismal god ; 
 
 And his eyes pleading ere his terrors spoke, 
 
 Look'd round the brows of that foul brotherhood. 
 
 Then his big voice came weak and strangely mild, 
 
 " What mean those words ? — why glare ye on my child ?
 
 258 KING ARTHUR. book xn. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 " Do ye not know her ? Elders, she is mine, — 
 My flesh, my blood, mine age's youngest-born ! 
 
 Why are ye mute ? Why point to yonder shrine ? 
 Ay," — and here haughty with the joy of scorn, 
 
 He raised his front. — " Ay, be the voice obeyed ! 
 
 Priests, ye forget, — it was a Christian maid !" 
 
 L.XIX. 
 
 He ceased, and laugh'd aloud, as humbled fell 
 Those greedy looks, and mutteringly replied 
 
 Faint voices, " True, so said the Oracle !" 
 When the arch Elder, with an eager stride 
 
 Reach'd child and sire, and cried, " See Crida, there 
 
 On the maid's breast the cross that Christians wear ! 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Those looks, those voices, thrilPd thro' Genevieve, 
 With fears as yet vague, shapeless, undefin'd ; 
 
 " Father," she murmured, " Father, let us leave 
 These dismal precincts ; how those eyes unkind 
 
 Freeze to my soul ; sweet father, let us go ; 
 
 My heart to thine would speak! why frown'st thou so ? 

 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 259 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 "Tear from thy breast that sign, unhappy one ! 
 
 Sign to thy country's wrathful gods accurst ! 
 Back, priests of Odin, I am Odin's son, 
 
 And she my daughter; in my war shield nurst, 
 Reared at your altars ! Trample down the sign, 
 O child, and say — the Saxon's God is mine !" 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Infant, who came to bid a war relent, 
 
 And rob ambition of its carnage-prize, 
 Is it on thee those sombre brows are bent ? 
 
 For thee the death-greed in those ravening eyes ? 
 Thy task undone, thy gentle prayer unspoken ? 
 Ay, press the cross : it is the martyr's token ! 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 She press'd the cross with one firm faithful hand, 
 While one — {that trembled!) — clasp'd her father's 
 knees ; 
 
 As clings a wretch, that sinks in sight of land, 
 To reeds swept with him down the weltering seas, 
 
 And murmured, " Pardon ; Him whose agony 
 
 Was earth's salvation, I may not deny !
 
 260 KING ARTHUR. book xii 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 " Him who gave God the name I give to thee, 
 i Father,' — in Him, in Christ, is my belief!" 
 
 Then Crida turned unto the priests, — " Ye see," 
 Smiling, he said, "that I have done with grief: 
 
 Behold the victim ! be the God obey'd ! 
 
 The son of Odin dooms the Christian maid !" 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 He said, and from his robe he wrench'd the hand, 
 And, where the gloom was darkest, stalk' d away. 
 
 But whispering low, still pause the hellish band ; 
 And dread lest Nature yet redeem the prey, 
 
 And deem it wise against such chance to arm 
 
 The priesthood's puissance with the host's alarm ; 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 To bruit abroad the dark oracular threats, 
 
 From which the Virgin's blood alone can save; 
 
 Gird with infuriate fears the murtherous nets, 
 And plant an army to secure a grave ; 
 
 The whispers cease — the doors one gleam of day 
 
 Gi ve _ an d then close;— the blood hound slinks away.
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 261 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Around the victim — where, with wandering hand, 
 Tho' her blind tears, she seems to search thro' space, 
 
 For him who had forsaken, — circling stand 
 The solemn butchers ; calm in every face 
 
 And death in every heart; till from the belt 
 
 Stretched one lean hand and grasp' d her where she knelt. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 And her wild shriek went forth and smote the shrine, 
 Which echoed, shrilling back the sharp despair, 
 
 Thro' the waste gaps between the shafts of pine 
 To the' unseen father's ear. Before the glare 
 
 Of the weird fire, the sacrifice they chain 
 
 To stones impress'd with rune and shamble-stain. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Then wait (for so their formal rites compel) 
 Till from the trance that still his senses seals, 
 
 Awakes the soothsayer of the oracle ; 
 
 At length with tortured spasms, and slowly, steals 
 
 Back the reluctant life — slow as it creeps 
 
 To one hard-rescued from the drowning deeps.
 
 262 KING ARTHUR. book xii. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 And when from dim, uncertain, swimming eyes 
 The gaunt long ringers put the shaggy hair, 
 
 And on the priests, the shrine, the sacrifice, 
 Dwelt the fixed sternness of the glassy stare, 
 
 Before the god they led the demon-man, 
 
 And, circling round the two, their hymn began. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 So rapt in their remorseless ecstacy, 
 
 They did not hear the quick steps at the door, 
 
 Nor that loud knock, nor that impatient cry ; 
 
 Till shook, — till crash'd, the portals on the floor, — 
 
 Crash'd to the strong hand of the fiery thane ; 
 
 And Harold's stride came clanging up the fane. — 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 But from his side bounded a shape as light 
 As forms that glide thro' Elfheim's limber air ; 
 
 Swift to the shrine — where on those robes of white 
 The gloomy hell fires scowled their sullen glare, 
 
 Thro' the death-chaunting choir, — she sprang, — she 
 prest, 
 
 And bowed her head upon the victim's breast ;
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 263 
 
 lxxxiii. 
 
 And cried, " With thee, with thee, to live or die, 
 With thee, my Genevieve !" the Elders raised 
 
 Their hands in wrath, when from as stern an eye 
 And brow erect as theirs, they shrunk amazed — 
 
 And Harold spoke, " Ye priests of Odin, hear ! 
 
 Your gods are mine, their voices I revere. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 " Voices in winds, in groves, in hollow caves, 
 Oracular dream, or runic galdra sought; 
 
 But ages ere from Don's ancestral waves 
 
 Such wizard signs the Scythian Odin brought, 
 
 A voice that needs no priesthood's sacred art, 
 
 Some earlier God placed in the human heart. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 " I bow to charms that doom embattled walls; 
 
 To dreams revealing no unworthy foe ; 
 A warrior's god in Glory's clarion calls ; 
 
 Where war-steeds snort, and hurtling standards flow; 
 But when weak women for strong men must die, 
 My Man's proud nature gives your Gods the lie!
 
 264 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 COOK XII. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 " If, — not yon seer by fumes and dreams beguil'd, 
 But, Odin's self stood where his image stands, 
 
 Against the god I would protect my child ! 
 
 Ha, Crida! — come! — thy child in chains! — those 
 hands 
 
 Lifted to smite '.—and thou, whose kingly bann 
 
 Arms nations, — wake, O statue, into man !" 
 
 L.XXXVII. 
 
 For from his lair, and to his liegeman's side 
 
 Had Crida listening strode : When ceased the 
 Thane, 
 
 His voice, comprest and tremulous, replied, — 
 
 " The life thou plead'st for doth these shrines profane. 
 
 In Odin's son a father lives no more ; 
 
 Yon maid adores the God our foes adore." 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 " And I — and I, stern king !" — Genevra cries, 
 " Her God is mine, and if that faith is crime, 
 
 Be just — and take a twofold sacrifice !" 
 
 " Cease," cried the Thane, — " is this, ye Powers, a 
 time 
 
 For kings and chiefs to lean on idle blades, — 
 
 Our leaders dreamers, and our victims maids ?
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 265 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 a 
 
 Be varying gods by varying tribes addrest, 
 I scorn no gods that worthy foes adore ; 
 
 Brave was the arm that humbled Harold's crest, 
 And large the heart that did his child restore. 
 
 To all the valiant, Gladsheim's Halls unclose* ; 
 
 In Heaven the comrades were on Earth the foes 1 . 
 
 xc. 
 
 "And if our Gods are wrath, what wonder, when 
 Their traitor priests creep whispering coward fears ; 
 
 Unnerve the arms and rot the hearts of men, 
 And filch the conquest from victorious spears ? — 
 
 Yes, reverend Elders, one such priest I found, 
 
 And cheer'd my bandogs on the meaner hound !" 
 
 xci. 
 
 " Be dumb, blasphemer," cried the Pontiff seer, 
 " Depart, or dread the vengeance of the shrine ; 
 
 Depart, or armies from these floors shall hear 
 
 How chiefs can mock what nations deem divine ; 
 
 Then, let her Christian faith thy daughter boast, 
 
 And brave the answer of the Teuton host \" 
 
 * Gladsheim, Heaven; Walhalla, ("the Hall of the Chosen,") did not 
 jxclude brave foes who fell in battle. See note (i). 
 
 VOL. II. N
 
 266 KING ARTHUR. book xii. 
 
 xcii. 
 
 A paler hue shot o'er the hardy face 
 Of the great Earl, as thus the Elder spoke ; 
 
 But calm he answered, " Summon Odin's race; 
 On me and mine the Teuton's wrath invoke ! 
 
 Let shuddering fathers learn what priests can dream, 
 
 And warriors judge if / their Gods blaspheme ! 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 « 
 
 But peace, and hearken. — To the king I speak : — 
 With mine own lithsmen, and such willing aid 
 As Harold's tromps arouse, — yon walls I seek; 
 
 Be Cymri's throne the ransom of the maid. 
 On Carduel's wall, if Saxon standards wave, 
 Let Odin's arms the needless victim save ! 
 
 xciv. 
 
 " Grant me till noon to prove what men are worth, 
 Who serve the War God by the warlike Deed ; 
 
 Refuse me this, King Crida, and henceforth 
 
 Let chiefs more prized the Mercian armies lead ; 
 
 For I, blunt Harold, join no cause with those 
 
 Who, wolves for victims, are as hares to foes !"
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 267 
 
 xcv. 
 
 Scornful he ceased, and leaned upon his sword ; 
 
 Whispering the Priests, and silent Crida, stood. 
 A living Thor to that barbarian horde 
 
 Was the bold Thane, — and ev'n the men of blood 
 Felt Harold's loss amid the host's dismay- 
 Would rend the clasp that link'd the wild array. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 At length out spoke the priestly chief, " The gods 
 Endure the boasts, to bow the pride, of men ; 
 
 The Well of Wisdom sinks in Hell's abode ; 
 The Laeca shines beside the bautasten*, 
 
 And Truth too oft illumes the eyes that scorned 
 
 In the death-flash from which in vain it warned. 
 
 xcvu. 
 " Be the delay the pride of man demands 
 
 Vouchsafed, the nothingness of man to show ! 
 The gods unsoftened, march thy futile bands : 
 
 Till noon we spare the victim ; — seek the foe ! 
 But when with equal shadows rests the sun — 
 The altar reddens, or the walls are won !" 
 
 * The Scin Laeca, or shining corpse, that was seen before the hautasten, or 
 burial-stone of a dead hero, was supposed to possess prophetic powers, and 
 to guard the treasures of the grave. 
 
 N 2
 
 268 KING ARTHUR. book xii. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 " So be it," the Thane replied, and sternly smil'd ; 
 
 Then towards the sister-twain, with pitying brow, 
 Whispering he came, — " Fair friend of Harold's child, 
 
 Let our own gods at least be with thee now ; 
 Pray that the Asas bless the Teuton strife, 
 And guide the swords that strike for thy sweet life." 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 " Alas !" cried Genevieve, " Christ came to save, 
 Not slay : He taught the weakest how to die; 
 
 For me, for me, a nation glut the grave ! 
 
 That nation Christ's, and — No, the victim /! 
 
 Not now for life, my father, see me kneel, 
 
 But one kind look, — and then, how blunt the steel !" 
 
 c. 
 
 And Crida moved not ! Moist were Harold's eyes ; 
 
 Bending, he whisper'd in Genevra's ear, 
 " Thy presence is her safety ! Time denies 
 
 All words but these ; — hope in the brave; revere 
 The gods they serve; — by acts our faith we test; 
 The holiest gods are where the men are best."
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 269 
 
 CI. 
 
 With this he turned, " Ye priests," he called aloud, 
 " On every head within these walls, I set 
 
 Dread weregeld for the compact; blood for blood !" 
 Then o'er his brows he closed his bassinet, 
 
 Shook the black death-pomp of his shadowy plume, 
 
 And his arm'd stride was lost amidst the gloom. — 
 
 en. 
 
 And still poor Genevieve with mournful eyes 
 Gazed on the father, whose averted brows 
 
 Had more of darkness for her soul than lies 
 Under the lids of death. The murmurous 
 
 And lurid air buzz'd with a ghostlike sound 
 
 From patient murder's iron lip ; — and round 
 
 cm. 
 The delicate form which, like a Psyche, seemed 
 
 Beauty sublimed into the type of soul, 
 Fresh from such stars as ne'er on Paphos beamed, 
 
 When first on love the chastening vision stole, — 
 The sister virgin coil'd her clasp of woe ; 
 Ev'n as that Sorrow which the Soul must know
 
 270 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 Till Soul and Love meet never more to part. 
 
 At last, from under his wide mantle's fold, 
 The strain'd arms lock'd on his loud-beating heart, 
 
 (As if the anguish which the king controll'd, 
 The man could stifle,)— Crida toss'd on high ; — 
 And nature conquer'd in the father's cry ! 
 
 cv. 
 
 Over the kneeling form swept his grey hair; 
 
 On the soft upturned eyes prest his wild kiss; 
 And then recoiling with a livid stare, 
 
 He faced the priests, and muttered, " Dotage this ! 
 Crida is old, — come — come," and from the ring 
 Beckoned their chief, and went forth tottering. 
 
 cvi. 
 
 Out of the fane, up where the stair of pine 
 
 Wound to the summit of the camp's rough tower, 
 
 King Crida passed. On moving armour shine 
 The healthful beams of the fresh morning hour ; 
 
 He hears the barb's shrill neigh, — the clarion's swell, 
 
 And half his armies march to Carduel.
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 27l 
 
 CVH. 
 
 Far in the van, like Odin's fatal bird 
 
 Wing'd for its feast, sails Harold's raven plume. 
 
 Now from the city's heart a shout is heard, 
 
 Wall, bastion, tower, their steel-clad life resume; 
 
 Far shout ! faint forms ! yet seem they loud and clear 
 
 To that strain'd eyeball and that feverish ear. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 But not on hosts that march by Harold's side, 
 
 Gazed the stern priest, who stood with Crida there ; 
 
 On sullen gloomy groupes — discattered wide, 
 Grudging the conflict they refused to share, 
 
 Or seated round rude tents and piled spears; 
 
 Circling the mutter of rebellious fears ; 
 
 cix. 
 
 Or, near the temple fort, with folded arms 
 
 On their broad breasts, waiting the deed of blood ; 
 
 On these he gazed — to gloat on the alarms 
 That made him monarch of that multitude ! 
 
 Not one man there had pity in his eye. 
 
 And the priest smil'd, — then turned to watch the sky.
 
 2J2 KING ARTHUR. book xii. 
 
 ex. 
 
 And the sky deepened, and the time rush'd on. 
 
 And Crida sees the ladders on the wall ; 
 And dust-clouds gather round his gonfanon ; 
 
 And thro* the dust-clouds glittering rise and fall 
 The meteor lights of helms, and shields, and glaives : 
 Up o'er the rampires mount the labouring waves ; 
 
 CXI. 
 
 And joyous rings the Saxon's battle shout ; 
 
 And Cymri's angel cry wails like despair ; 
 And from the Dragon Keep a light shines out, 
 
 Calm as a single star in tortured air, 
 To whose high peace, aloof from storms, in vain 
 Looks a lost navy from the violent main. 
 
 cxu. 
 
 Now on the nearest wall the Pale Horse stands ; 
 
 Now from the wall the Pale Horse lightens down ; 
 And flash and vanish, file on file, the bands 
 
 Into the rent heart of the howling town j 
 And the Priest paling frownM upon the sun, — 
 Though the sky deepened and the time rush'd on.
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 273 
 
 CXII1. 
 
 When from the camp around the fane, there rose 
 Ineffable cries of wonder, wrath, and fear, 
 
 With some strange light that scares the sunshine, glows 
 O'er Sabra's waves the crimson'd atmosphere, 
 
 And dun from out the widening, widening glare, 
 
 Like Hela's serpents, smoke-reeks wind thro' air. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 Forth look'd the king, appall'd ! and where his masts 
 Soared from the verge of the far forest-land, 
 
 He hears the crackling, as when vernal blasts 
 Shiver Groninga's pines — " Lo, the same hand," 
 
 Cried the fierce priest, " which sway'd the soothsayer's 
 rod, 
 
 Writes now the last runes of thine angry god '." 
 
 cxv. 
 
 And here and there, and wirbelling to and fro, 
 
 Confused, distraught, pale thousands spread the plain; 
 
 Some snatch their arms in haste, and yelling go 
 
 Where the fleets burn ; some creep around the fane 
 
 Like herds for shelter; prone on earth lie some 
 
 Shrieking, " The Twilight* of the Gods hath come !" 
 
 * The Twilight of the Gods(Ragnorbk), viz., the Last Day, when the world 
 shall be destroyed in fire. 
 
 N 3
 
 274 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK X1F. 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 And the great glare hath reddened o'er the town, 
 And seems the strife it gildeth to appall ; 
 
 Flock back dim straggling Saxons, gazing down 
 The lurid vallies from the jagged wall, 
 
 Still as on Cuthite towers Chaldean seers, 
 
 When some red portent flamed into the spheres. 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 And now from brake and copse — from combe and dell, 
 Gleams break; — steel flashes; — helms on helms arise ; 
 
 Faint heard at first, — now near, now thunderous, — swell 
 The Cymrian mingled with the Baltic cries ; 
 
 And, loud alike in each, — exulting came 
 
 War's noblest music — a Deliverer's name. 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 " Arthur ! — for Arthur ! — Arthur is at hand ! 
 
 Woe, Saxons, woe !" Then from the rampart height 
 Vanish'd each watcher; while the rescue-band 
 
 Sweep the clear slopes ; and not a foe in sight ! 
 And now the beacon on the Dragon keep 
 Springs from pale lustre into hues blood-deep.
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 275 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 And on that tower stood forth a lonely man ; 
 
 Full on his form the beacon glory fell ; 
 And joy revived each sinking Cymrian ; 
 
 There, the still Prophet watched o'er Carduel ! 
 Back o'er the walls, and back thro' gate and breach, 
 Now ebbs the war, like billows from the beach. 
 
 cxx. 
 
 Along the battlements swift crests arise, 
 
 Swift followed by avenging, smiting brands, 
 
 And fear and flight are in the Saxon cries ! 
 The portals vomit bands on hurtling bands ; 
 
 And lo, wide streaming o'er the helms, — again 
 
 The Pale Morse flings on angry winds its mane ! 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 And facing still the foe, but backward borne 
 
 By his own men, towers high one kingliest chief; 
 
 Deep thro' the distance rolls his shout of scorn, 
 And the grand anguish of a hero's grief. 
 
 Bounded the Priest ! — " The Gods are heard at last ! 
 
 Proud Harold flyeth ; — and the noon is past !
 
 27G 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 " Come, Crida, come !" Up as from heavy sleep 
 The grey-hair'd giant raised his awful head ; 
 
 As, after calmest waters, the swift leap 
 Of the strong torrent rushes to its bed, — 
 
 So the new passion seized and changed the form, 
 
 As if the rest had braced it for the storm. 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 No grief was in the iron of that brow ; 
 
 Age cramp'd no sinew in that mighty arm ; 
 " Go," he said, sternly, " where it fits thee, thou : 
 
 Thy post with Odin — mine with Managarm* ! 
 Let priests avert the dangers kings must dare ; 
 My shrine yon Standard, and my Children — there /" 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 So from the height he swept — as doth a cloud 
 That brings a tempest when it sinks below ; 
 
 Swift strides a chief amidst the jarring crowd ; 
 Swift in stern ranks the rent disorders grow; 
 
 Swift, as in sails becalm'd swells forth the wind, 
 
 The wide mass quickens with the one strong mind. 
 
 * Managarm, the Monster Wolf (symbolically, war ). " He will be 
 filled with the blood of men who draw near their end," &c. (Prose 
 Edda.)
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 277 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 Meanwhile the victim to the Demon vow'd, 
 
 Knelt ; every thought wing'd for the Angel goal, 
 
 And ev'n the terror which the form had bow'd 
 
 Searched but new sweetness where it shook the soul. 
 
 Self was forgot, and to the Eternal Ear 
 
 Prayer but for others spoke the human fear. 
 
 cxxv I. 
 And when at moments from that rapt communion 
 
 With the Invisible Holy, those young arms 
 Clasp'd round her neck, to childhood's happy union 
 
 In the old days recalled her ; such sweet charms 
 Did Comfort weave, that in the sister's breast 
 Grief like an infant sobb'd itself to rest. 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 Up leapt the solemn priests from dull repose : 
 The fires were fann'd as with a sudden wind ; 
 
 While shrieking loud, " Hark, hark, the conquering foes 
 Haste, haste, the victim to the altar bind !" 
 
 Rush'd to the shrine the haggard Slaughter-Chief. - 
 
 As the strong gusts that whirl the fallen leaf
 
 278 KING ARTHUR. book hi. 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 V the month when wolves descend, the barbarous hands 
 Plunge on the prey of their delirious wrath, 
 
 Wrench 'd from Genevra's clasp ; — Lo, where she stands, 
 On earth no anchor, — is she less like Faith ? 
 
 The same smile firmly sad, the same calm eye, 
 
 The same meek strength ; — strength to forgive and die ! 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 " Hear us, O Odin, in this last despair ! 
 
 Hear us, and save !" the Pontiff call'd aloud ; 
 " By the Child's blood we shed, thy children spare !" 
 
 And the knife glitter'd o'er the breast that bow'd. 
 Dropp'd blade ; — fell priest ! — blood chokes a gurgling 
 
 groan ; 
 Blood, — blood not Christian, dyes the altar stone ! 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 Deep in the doomer's breast it sank — the dart ; 
 
 As if from Fate it came invisibly ; 
 Where is the hand ? — from what dark hush shall start 
 
 Foeman or fiend ? — no shape appalls the eye, 
 No sound the ear ; — ice-lock'd each coward breath ; 
 The Power the Deathsmen call'd, hath heard them — 
 Death !
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 279 
 
 CXXXI. 
 
 While yet the stupor stuns the circle there, 
 
 Fierce shrieks — loud feet — come rushing thro 5 the 
 doors ; 
 
 Women with outstretched arms and tossing hair, 
 And flying warriors, shake the solemn floors ; 
 
 Thick as the birds storm-driven on the decks 
 
 Of some lone ship — the last an ocean wrecks. 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 And where on tumult, tumult whirl' d and roared, 
 Shrill' d cries, " The fires around us and behind, 
 
 And the last Fire-God, and the Flaming Sword*!' 5 
 And from without, like that destroying wind 
 
 In which the world shall perish, grides and sweeps 
 
 Victory — swift-cleaving thro' the battle deeps ! — 
 
 CXXXII I. 
 
 Victory, by shouts of terrible rapture known, 
 Thro' crashing ranks it drives in iron rain ; 
 
 Borne on the wings of fire it blazes on ; 
 It halts its storm before the fortress fane ; 
 
 And thro' the doors, and thro' the chinks of pine, 
 
 Flames its red breath upon the paling shrine. 
 
 * " And the last Fire-God and the Flaming Sword," i.e., Surtur the genius, 
 who dwells in the region of fire (Muspelheim), whose flaming sword shall 
 vanquish the gods themselves in the last day. (Prohe Edda.)
 
 280 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 Roused to their demon courage by the dread 
 
 Of the wild hour, the priests a voice have found ; 
 
 To pious horror show their sacred dead, 
 
 Invoke the vengeance, and explore the ground ; 
 
 When, like the fiend in monkish legends known, 
 
 Sprang a grim image on the altar stone ! 
 
 cxxxv. 
 
 The wolf's hide bristled on the shaggy breast, 
 
 Over the brows, the forest buffalo 
 With horn impending arnrd the grisly crest, 
 
 From which the swart eye sent its savage glow : 
 Long shall the Saxon dreams that shape recall, 
 And ghastly legends teem with tales of Faul* ! 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 Needs here to tell, that when, at Merlin's hest, 
 Faul led to Harold's tent the Saxon maid, 
 
 The wrathful Thane had chased the skulking priest 
 From the paled ranks, that evil Bodef dismay' d :- 
 
 And the grim tidings of the rite to come 
 
 Flew lip to lip thro' that awed Heathendom. 
 
 * Faul is indeed the name of one of the malignant Powers peculiarly 
 dreaded by the Saxons, — a name that I cannot discover to have been known 
 to the other branches of the Great Teuton Family. 
 
 f Bode, Saxon word for messenger.
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 281 
 
 CXXXVII. 
 
 Foretaught by Merlin of her mission there, 
 Scarce to her father's heart Genevra sprung 
 
 Than (while most softenM) her impassioned prayer 
 Pierced to its human deeps ; and, roused and stung 
 
 By that keen pity, keenest in the brave, — 
 
 Strength felt why strength is given, and rush'd to save. 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 Amidst those quick emotions, half forgot, 
 
 Followed the tutored furtive Aleman ; 
 On, when the portals crash'd, still heeded not, 
 
 Stole his light step behind the striding Thane. 
 From coign to shaft the practised glider crept, 
 A shadow, lost where shadows darkest slept. 
 
 cxxxix. 
 
 And safe and screened the idol god behind, 
 
 He who once lurked to slay, kept watch to save : — 
 
 Now there he stood ! And the same altar shrined 
 The wild man, the wild god ! and up the nave 
 
 Flight flowed on flight ; and near and loud, the name 
 
 Of 'Arthur ' borne as on a whirlwind came.
 
 282 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 CXL. 
 
 Down from the altar to the victim's side, 
 
 While yet shrunk back the priests — the savage leapt, 
 And with quick steel gash'd the strong cords that tied; 
 
 When round them both the rallying vengeance swept; 
 Raised every arm ; — O joy ! — the enchanted glaive 
 Shines o'er the threshold ! is there time to save ? 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 Whirls thro' the air a torch,— it flies — it falls 
 Into the centre of the murderous throng ! 
 
 Dread herald of dread steps ! the conscious halls 
 Quake where the falchion flames and fleets along: ; 
 
 Tho' crowd on crowd behold the falchion cleave ! — 
 
 The Silver Shield rests over Genevieve ! 
 
 CXLII. 
 
 Bright as the shape that smote the Assyrian, 
 The fulgent splendour from the arms divine 
 
 Pal'd the hell fires round God's elected Man, 
 And burst like Truth upon the demon-shrine. 
 
 Among the thousands stood the Conquering One, 
 
 Still, lone, and unresisted as a sun !
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 283 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 Now thro' the doors, commingling side by side, 
 Saxon and Cymrian struggle hand in hand ; 
 
 For there the war, in its fast ebbing tide, 
 
 Flings its last prey — there, Crida takes his stand ; 
 
 There his co-monarchs hail a funeral pyre 
 
 That opes Walhalla from the grave of fire. 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 And as a tiger swept adown a flood 
 
 With meaner beasts, that dyes the howling water 
 Which whirls it onward, with a waste of blood ; 
 
 And gripes a stay with fangs that leave the slaughter,- 
 So where halts Crida, groans and falls a foe — 
 And deep in gore his steps receding go. 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 And his large sword has made in reeking air 
 
 Broad space (thro' which, around the golden ring 
 
 That crownlike clasps the sweep of his grey hair), 
 Shine the tall helms of many a Teuton king. 
 
 Lord of the West — broad-breasted Chevaline ; 
 
 And Ymrick's son of Hengist's giant line ;
 
 284 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 Fierce Sibert, throned by Britain's kingliest river, 
 And Elrid, honoured in Northumbrian homes ; 
 
 And many a sire whose stubborn soul for ever 
 
 Shadows the fields where England's thunder comes. 
 
 High o'er them all his front grey Crida rears, 
 
 As some old oak whose crest a forest clears. 
 
 CXLVII. 
 
 High o'er them all, that front fierce Arthur sees, 
 And knows the arch invader of the land. 
 
 Swift thro' the chiefs — swift path his falchion frees ; 
 Corpse falls on corpse before the avenger's hand ; 
 
 For fair-hair'd JEWa, Cantia's maids shall wail, 
 
 Hurl'd o'er the dead, rings Elrid's crashing mail ; 
 
 CXLVIII. 
 
 His follower's arms stunn'd Sibert's misfht receive, 
 And from the sure death snatch their bleeding lord ; 
 
 And now behold, O fearful Genevieve, 
 
 O'er thy doom'd father shines the charmed sword ! 
 
 And shaking, as it shone, the glorious blade, 
 
 The hand for very wrath the death delay'd.
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 285 
 
 CXLIX. 
 
 " At last, at last we meet, on Cymri's soil ; 
 
 And foot to foot ! Destroyer of my shrines, 
 And murderer of my people ! Ay, recoil 
 
 Before the doom thy quailing soul divines ! 
 Ay — turn thine eyes, — nor hosts nor flight can save ! 
 Thy foe is Arthur — and these halls thy grave \" 
 
 CL. 
 
 a 
 
 Flight," laughed the king, whose glance had wandered 
 round, 
 
 Where thro' the throng had pierced a woman's cry, 
 " Flight for a chief, by Saxon warriors crown'd, 
 
 And from a Walloon! — this is my reply !" 
 And, both hands heaving up the sword enorme, 
 Swept the swift orbit round the luminous form ; 
 
 CLI. 
 
 Full on the gem the iron drives its course, 
 
 And shattering clinks in splinters on the floor; 
 
 The foot unsteadied by the blow's spent force, 
 Slides on the smoothness of the soil of gore ; 
 
 Gore, quench the blood-thirst! guard, O soil, the guest! 
 
 For Freedom's heel is on the Invader's breast !
 
 286 KING ARTHUR. book xii. 
 
 CLII. 
 
 When, swift beneath the flashing of the blade, 
 When, swift before the bosom of the foe, 
 
 She sprang, she came, she knelt, — the guardian maid ! 
 And, startling vengeance from the righteous blow, 
 
 Cried, " Spare, Oh spare, this sacred life to me, 
 
 A father's life ! — I would have died for thee!" 
 
 CLIII. 
 
 While thus within, the Christian God prevails, 
 
 Without the idol temple, fast and far, 
 Like rolling storm-wrecks, shattered by the gales, 
 
 Fly the dark fragments of the Heathen War, 
 Where, thro' the fires that flash from camp to wave, 
 Escape the land that locks them in its grave ? 
 
 CLIV. 
 
 When by the Hecla of their burning fleet 
 Dismay'd amidst the marts of Carduel, 
 
 The Saxons rush'd without the walls to meet 
 
 The Viking's swords, which their mad terrors swell 
 Into a host — assaulted, rear and van, 
 Scarce smote the foe before the flight began.
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 287 
 
 CLV. 
 
 In vain were Harold's voice, and name, and deeds, 
 Unnerved by omen, priest, and shapeless fear, 
 
 And less by man than their own barbarous creeds 
 AppalPd, — a God in every shout they hear, 
 
 And in their blazing barks behold unfurl* d, 
 
 The wings of Muspell* to consume the world. 
 
 CLVI. 
 
 Yet still awhile the heart of the great Thane, 
 And the stout few that gird the gonfanon, 
 
 Build a steel bulwark on the midmost plain, 
 That stems all Cymri, — so Despair fights on. 
 
 When from the camp the new volcanoes spring, 
 
 With sword and fire he comes, — the Dragon King ! 
 
 CLVII. 
 
 Then all, save Harold, shriek to Hope farewell ; 
 
 Melts the last barrier ; through the clearing space, 
 On towards the camp the Cymrian chiefs compel 
 
 The ardent followers from the tempting chace ; 
 Thro' Crida's ranks to Arthur's side they gain, 
 And blend two streams in one resistless main. 
 
 * Muspell, Fire ; Muspelheim, the region of Fire, the final destroyer.
 
 288 KING ARTHUR. book xii. 
 
 CLVIII. 
 
 True to his charge as chief, mid all disdain 
 Of recreant lithsmen — Harold's iron soul 
 
 Sees the storm sweep beyond it o'er the plain; 
 And lofty duties, yet on earth, control 
 
 The yearnings for Walhalla : — Where the day 
 
 Paled to the burning ships — he towered away. 
 
 CLXIX. 
 
 And with him, mournful, drooping, rent and torn, 
 But captive not — the Pale Horse dragg'd its mane. 
 
 Beside the fire-reflecting waves, forlorn, 
 
 As ghosts that gaze on Phlegethon — the Thane 
 
 Saw listless leaning o'er the silent coasts, 
 
 The spectre wrecks of what at morn were hosts. 
 
 CLX. 
 
 Tears rush'd to burning eyes, and choked awhile 
 The trumpet music of his manly voice, 
 
 At length he spoke : " And are ye then so vile ! 
 A death of straw ! Is that the Teuton's choice ? 
 
 By all our gods, I hail that reddening sky, 
 
 And bless the burning fleets which flight deny !
 
 hook xii. KING ARTHUR. 288 
 
 CLXI. 
 
 " Lo, yet the thunder clothes the charger's mane, 
 As when it crested Hengist's helmet crown ! 
 
 What ye have lost — an hour can yet regain ; 
 Life has no path so short as to renown ! 
 
 Shrunk if your ranks, — when first from Albion's shore 
 
 Your sires carved kingdoms, were their numbers more ? 
 
 CLXII. 
 
 " If not your valour, let your terrors speak. 
 
 Where fly ? — what path can lead ye from the foes ? 
 Where hide ? — what cavern will not vengeance seek ? 
 
 What shun ye? Death ? — Death smites ye in repose! 
 Back to your king ; from Hela snatch the brave — 
 We best escape, when most we scorn, the grave." 
 
 CLXIII. 
 
 Roused by the words, tho' half reluctant still, 
 The listless ranks re-form their slow array, 
 
 Sullen but stern they labour up the hill, 
 
 And gain the brow! — In smouldering embers lay 
 
 The castled camp, and slanting sunbeams shed 
 
 Light o'er the victors — quiet o'er the dead. 
 
 vol. ir. o
 
 290 KING ARTHUR. book xii. 
 
 CLXIV. 
 
 Hush'd was the roar of war — the conquered ground 
 Waved with the glitter of the Cymrian spears ; 
 
 The temple fort the Dragon standard crown'd ; 
 And Christian anthems peal'd on Pagan ears ; 
 
 The Mercian halts his bands — their front surveys ; 
 
 No fierce eye kindles to his fiery gaze. 
 
 CLXV. 
 
 One dull, disheartened, but not dastard gloom 
 Clouds every brow, — like men compelled to die, 
 
 Who see no hope that can elude the doom, 
 Prepared to fall but powerless to defy. 
 
 Not those the ranks, yon ardent hosts to face ! 
 
 The Hour had conquered earth's all conquering race. 
 
 CLXVI. 
 
 The leader paused, and into artful show, 
 Doubling the numbers with extended wing, 
 
 " Here halt," he said, " to yonder hosts I go 
 With terms of peace or war to Cymri's king." 
 
 He turned, and towards the Victor's bright array, 
 
 With tromp and herald, strode his bitter way.
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 291 
 
 CLXVII. 
 
 Before the signs to war's sublime belief 
 Sacred, the host disparts its hushing wave. 
 
 Moved by the sight of that renowned chief, 
 
 Joy stills the shout that might insult the brave ; 
 
 And princeliest guides the stately foeman bring, 
 
 Where Odin's temple shrines the Christian king. 
 
 CLXVIII. 
 
 The North's fierce idol, roll'd in pools of blood, 
 Lies crush'd before the Cross of Nazareth. 
 
 Crouch'd on the splintered fragments of their god, 
 Silent as clouds from which the tempest's breath 
 
 Has gone, — the butchers of the priesthood rest. — 
 
 Each heavy brow bent o'er each stoney breast. 
 
 CLXIX. 
 
 Apart, the guards of Cymri stand around 
 
 The haught repose of captive Teuton kings; 
 With eves disdainful of the chains that bound, 
 
 And fronts superb — as if defeat but flings 
 A kinglier grandeur over fallen power : — 
 So suns shine larger in their setting hour. 
 
 o 2
 
 292 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XI t. 
 
 CLXX. 
 
 From these remote, unchained, unguarded, leant 
 On the gnarl'd pillar of the fort of pine, 
 
 The Saturn of the Titan armament, 
 
 His looks averted from the altered shrine 
 
 Whence iron Doom the Antique Faith has hurl'd, 
 
 For that new Jove who dawns upon the world ! 
 
 CLXXI. 
 
 And one broad hand conceal'd the monarch's face ; 
 
 And one lay calm on the low-bended head 
 Of the forgiving child, whose young embrace 
 
 Clasp'd that grey wreck of Empire ! All had fled 
 The heart of pride : — Thrones, hosts, the gods ! yea all 
 That scaled the heaven, strew'd Hades with their fall! 
 
 CLXXII. 
 
 But Natural Love, the household melody 
 
 Steals thro' the dearth, — resettling on the breast; 
 
 The bird returning with the silenc'd sky, 
 Sings in the ruin, and rebuilds its nest. 
 
 Home came the Soother that the storm exil'd, — 
 
 And Crida's hand lay calm upon his child !
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 293 
 
 CLXXIII. 
 
 Beside her sister saint, Genevra kneeleth, 
 
 Mourning her father's in her Country's woes ; 
 
 And near her, hushing iron footsteps, stealeth 
 The noblest knight the wondrous Table knows — 
 
 Whispering low comfort into thrilling ears — 
 
 When Harold's plume floats up the flash of spears. 
 
 CLXXIV. 
 
 But the proud Earl, with warning hand and eye, 
 Repells the yearning arms, the eager start; 
 
 Man amidst men, his haughty thoughts deny 
 To foes the triumph o'er his father's heart ; 
 
 Quickly he turn'd — where shone amidst his ring 
 
 Of subject planets, the Hyperion King. 
 
 CLXXV. 
 
 There Tristan graceful — Agrafayn uncouth ; 
 
 And Owaine comely with the battle-scar, 
 And Geraint's lofty age, to venturous youth 
 
 Glory and guide, as to proud ships a star ; 
 And Gawaine, sobered to his gravest smile, 
 Lean on the spears that lighten through the pile.
 
 294 KING ARTHUR. book xii. 
 
 CLXXVI. 
 
 There stood the stoic Alemen sedate, 
 
 Blocks hewn from man, which love with life inspired; 
 There, by the Cross, from eyes serene with Fate, 
 
 Look'd into space the Mage ! and carnage-tired, 
 On ./Egis shields, like Jove's still'd thunders, lay 
 Thine ocean giants, Scandinavia ! 
 
 CLXXVII. 
 
 But lo, the front, where conquest's auriole 
 Shone, as round Genius marching at the van 
 
 Of nations; — where the victories of the soul 
 Stamped Nature's masterpiece, perfected Man : 
 
 Fair as young Honour's vision of a king 
 
 Fit for bold hearts to serve, free lips to sing 1 
 
 CLXXVIII. 
 
 So stood the Christian Prince in Odin's hall, 
 Gathering in one, Renown's converging rays ; 
 
 But, in the hour of triumph, turn, from all 
 
 War's victor pomp, the memory and the gaze ; 
 
 Miss that last boon the mission should achieve, 
 
 And rest where droops the dove-like Genevieve.
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 295 
 
 CLXXIX. 
 
 Now at the sight of Mercia's haughty lord, 
 A loftier grandeur calms yet more his brow ; 
 
 And leaning lightly on his sheathless sword, 
 
 Listening he stood, while spoke the Earl : — " I bow 
 
 Not to war's fortune, but the victor's fame ; 
 
 Thine is so large, it shields thy foes from shame. 
 
 CLXXX. 
 
 " Prepared for battle, proffering peace I come, 
 
 On yonder hills eno' of Saxon steel 
 Remains, to match the Cymrian Christendom ; 
 
 Not slaves with masters, men with men would deal. 
 We cannot leave your land, our chiefs in gyves, — 
 While chains gall Saxons, Saxon war survives. 
 
 CLXXXI. 
 
 " Our kings, our women, and our priests release, 
 And in their name I pledge (no mean return) 
 
 A ransom worthy of both nations — Peace ; 
 
 Peace with the Teuton ! On your hills shall burn 
 
 No more the beacon ; on your fields, no more 
 
 The steed of Hengist plunge its hoofs in gore.
 
 296 KING ARTHUR. book xn. 
 
 CLXXXII. 
 
 iC Peace while this race remains — (our sons, alas, 
 We cannot bind !) Peace with the Mercian men : 
 
 This is the ransom. Take it, and we pass 
 Friends from a foeman's soil ; reject it, — then 
 
 Firm to this land we cling, as if our own, 
 
 Till the last Saxon falls, or Cymri's throne I" 
 
 CLXXXIII. 
 
 Abrupt upon the audience dies the voice, 
 And varying passions stir the murmurous groupes ; 
 
 Here, to the wiser ; there, the haughtier choice : 
 Youth rears its crest ; but age forboding droops ; 
 
 Chiefs yearn for fame ; the crowds to safety cling ; 
 
 The murmurs hush, and thus replies the King : — 
 
 CLXXXIV. 
 
 " Foe, thy proud speech offends no manly ear. 
 
 So would I speak, could our conditions change. 
 Peace gives no shame, where war has brought no fear ; 
 
 We fought for freedom, — we disdain revenge ; 
 The freedom won, no cause for war remains, 
 And loyal Honour binds more fast than chains.
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 297 
 
 CLXXXV. 
 
 " The Peace thus proffered, with accustomed rites, 
 Hostage and oath, confirm, ye Teuton kings, 
 
 And ye are free ! Where we, the Christians, fight, 
 Our Valkyrs sail with healing on their wings ; 
 
 We shed no blood but for our fatherland ! — 
 
 And so, frank soldier, take this soldier's hand !" 
 
 CLXXXVI. 
 
 Low o'er that conquering hand, the high-soul'd foe 
 Bow'd the war plum'd upon his raven crest ; 
 
 Caught from those kingly words, one generous glow 
 Chaced Hate's last twilight from each Cymrian 
 breast ; 
 
 Humbled, the captives hear the fetters fall, 
 
 Power's tranquil shadow — Mercy, awes them all ! 
 
 CLXXXVII. 
 
 Dark scowl the Priests; — with vengeance Priestcraft 
 dies ! 
 Slow looks, where Pride yet struggles, Crida rears ; 
 On Crida's child rest Arthur's soft'ning eyes ; 
 And Crida's child is weeping happy tears ; 
 And Lancelot, closer at Genevra's side, 
 Pales at the compact that may lose the bride. 
 
 o 3
 
 298 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 CLXXXVIII. 
 
 When from the altar by the holy rood, 
 
 Come the deep accents of the Cymrian Mage, 
 
 Sublimely bending o'er the multitude 
 
 Thought's Atlas temples crown' d with Titan age, 
 
 O'er Druid robes the beard's broad silver streams, 
 
 As when the vision rose on virgin dreams. 
 
 CLXXXIX. 
 
 " Hearken, ye Scythia's and Cirameria's sons, 
 Whose sires alike by golden rivers dwelt, 
 
 When sate the Asas on their hunter thrones ; 
 When Orient vales rejoiced the shepherd Celt ; 
 
 While Eve's young races towards each other drawn, 
 
 Roved lingering round the Eden gates of dawn. 
 
 cxc. 
 
 " Still the old brother-bond in these new homes, 
 After long woes, shall bind your kindred races ; 
 
 Here, the same God shall find the sacred domes ; 
 And the same land-marks bound your resting-places, 
 
 What time, o'er realms to Ileus and Thor unknown, 
 
 Both Celt and Saxon rear their common throne.
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 299 
 
 CXCI. 
 
 " Meanwhile, revere the Word the viewless Hand 
 Writes on the leaves of kingdom-dooming stars ; 
 
 Thro' Prydain's Isle of Pines, from sea to land, 
 Where yet Rome's eagle leaves the thunder scars, 
 
 The sceptre-sword of Saxon kings shall reach, 
 
 And new-horn nations speak the Teuton's speech. 
 
 cxcu. 
 
 " All save thy mountain empire, Dragon king ! 
 
 All save the Cymrian's Ararat — Wild Wales* ! 
 Here Cymrian bards to fame and God shall sing — 
 
 Here Cymrian freemen breathe the hardy gales, 
 And the same race that Ileus the Guardian led, 
 Rise from these graves — when God awakes the dead !" 
 
 CXCIII. 
 
 The Prophet paused, and all that pomp of plumes 
 Bowed as the harvest which the south wind heaves, 
 
 When, while the breeze disturbs, the beam illumes, 
 And blessings gladden in the trembling sheaves. 
 
 He paused, and thus renewed : " Thrice happy, ye 
 
 Founders of shrines and sires of kings to be ! 
 
 " " Their Lord they shall praise, 
 
 And their language they shall preserve; 
 Their land they shall lose, 
 Except Wild Wales!" 
 
 PllOPHECY OF TALIIiSSIX.
 
 300 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 ROOK XII. 
 
 CXCIV. 
 
 " Hear, Harold, type of the strong Saxon soul, 
 
 Supple to truth, untameable by force, 
 Thy dauntless blood thro' Gwynedd's chiefs shall roll*, 
 
 Thro' Scotland's monarchs take its fiery course, 
 And flow with Arthur's, in the later days, 
 Thro' Ocean-Csesars, either zone obevs. 
 
 CXCA'. 
 
 " Man of the manly heart, reward the foe 
 
 Who braved thy sword, and yet forbore thy breast, 
 
 Who loved thy child, yet could the love forego 
 And give the sire; — thy looks supply the rest, 
 
 I read thine answer in thy generous glance ! 
 
 Stand forth — bold child of Christian Chevisaunce !" 
 
 CXCVI. 
 
 Then might ye see a sight for smiles and tears, 
 Young Lancelot's hand in Harold's cordial grasp, 
 
 While from his breast the frank-eyed father rears 
 The cheek that glows beneath the arms that clasp ; 
 
 "Shrink'st thou," hesaid, "from bonds by fate re veal'd? — 
 
 Go — rock my grandson in the Cymrian's shield !" 
 
 * This prediction refers to the marriage of the daughter of Griffith ap 
 Llewellyn (Prince of Gwynedd, or North Wales, whose name and fate are not 
 unfamiliar to those who have read the romance of " Harold, the Last of the 
 Saxon Kings") with Fleance. From that marriage descended the Stuarts, and 
 indeed the reigning family of Great Britain.
 
 book xii. KING ARTHUR. 301 
 
 CXCVII. 
 
 " And ye," the solemn voice resumed, " O kings ! 
 
 Hearken, Pendragon, son of Odin hear ! 
 There is a mystery in the heart of things, 
 
 Which Truth and Falsehood, seek alike with fear, 
 To Truth from Heaven, to Falsehood breathed from 
 
 hell, 
 Comes yet to both the unquiet oracle. 
 
 CXCVIII. 
 
 " Not vainly, Crida, priest, and rune, and dream, 
 Warned thee of fates commingling into one 
 
 The silver river and the mountain stream ; 
 From Odin's daughter and Pendragon's son, 
 
 Shall rise those kings that in remotest years 
 
 Shall grasp the birthright of the Saxon spears. 
 
 CXCIX. 
 
 " The bright decree that seem'd a curse to Fate, 
 Blesses both races when fulfill'd by love ; 
 
 Saxon, from Arthur shall thy lineage date, 
 
 Thine eagles, Arthur, from thy Saxon dove*f). 
 
 The link of peace let nuptial garlands weave, 
 
 And Cymri's queen be Saxon Genevieve \" 
 
 * Sec Note 2.
 
 302 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 cc. 
 
 Perplexed, reluctant with the pangs of pride, 
 And shadowy doubts from dark religion thrown, 
 
 Stern Crida lingering turned his face aside; 
 Then rise the elders from the idol stone ; 
 
 From fallen chains the kindred Teutons spring, 
 
 Low murmurs rustle round the moody king ; 
 
 cci. 
 On priest and warrior, while they whisper, dwells 
 
 The searching light of that imperious eye ; 
 Warrior and priest, the prophet word compels ; 
 
 And overmasters like a destiny — 
 When towards the maid the radiant conqueror drew, 
 And said, " Enslaver, it is mine to sue !" 
 
 ecu. 
 
 To Crida, then, " Proud chief, I do confess 
 The loftier attribute 'tis thine to boast. 
 
 The pride of kings is in the power to bless, 
 
 The kingliest hand is that which gives the most; 
 
 Priceless the gift I ask thee to bestow, — 
 
 But doubly royal is a generous foe \"
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 303 
 
 CCIII. 
 
 Then forth — subdued, yet stately, Crida came, 
 And the last hold in that rude heart was won : 
 
 " Hero, thy conquest makes no more my shame, 
 He shares thy glory who can call thee i Son 1 / 
 
 So may this love-knot bind and bless the lands !" 
 
 Faltering he spoke — and joined the plighted hands. 
 
 CCIV. 
 
 There flock the hosts as to a holy ground, 
 
 There, where the dove at last may fold the wing ! 
 
 His mission ended, and his labours crownM, 
 Fair as in fable stands the Dragon King — 
 
 Below the Cross, and by his prophet's side, 
 
 With CarduePs knighthood kneeling round his bride. 
 
 ccv. 
 What gallant deeds in gentle lists were done, 
 
 What lutes made joyaunce sweet in jasmine bowers, 
 Let others tell : — Slow sets the summer sun ; 
 
 Slow fall the mists, and closing, droop the flowers ; 
 Faint in the gloaming dies the vesper bell, — 
 And Dream-land sleeps round golden Carduel.
 
 NOTES TO BOOK XII. 
 
 1 "To all the valiant Gladsheim's halls unclose, 
 
 In Heaven the comrades were on earth the foes." 
 
 Page 265, stanza lxxxLx., line 5 — G, 
 
 Harold's disdain of the notions of the Saxon Priesthood when they 
 oppose his own purpose or offend his native humanity, is in accordance 
 with many anecdotes of the fierce followers of Odin, who at one time are 
 represented as submissively respectful to soothsayer and omen, — and, at 
 another, as haughtily scornful of both ; — resembling in this the heroes of 
 the Iliad, — where, (to say nothing of the passionate inconsistencies of 
 Agamemnon and Achilles,) Hector himself departs from his usual piety 
 when Polydamas (Book XII.) interprets an omen into a warning not to 
 storm the Grecian ships, — and exclaims, in the spirit almost of modern 
 philosophy, 
 
 "Without a sign his sword the brave man draws, 
 And asks no omen but his country's cause." 
 
 In the distinctions, however, between the manly belief of Harold and 
 the more servile superstition of Crida, it is intended to intimate the qualities 
 and impressions from which the Christian religion would make its earliest 
 proselytes. We must remember, that it was not very long after the date, 
 which the establishment of the Mercian kingdom fixes to the events of 
 this poem, that the various kings of the Heptarchy were converted. 
 
 s " Saxon, from Arthur shall thy lineage date, 
 Thine eagles, Arthur, from thy Saxon dove." 
 
 Page 301, stanza cxeix., line 3-4. 
 According to Welch genealogists Arthur left no son; and I must 
 therefore invite the believer in Merlin's prophecy to suppose that it was 
 by a daughter that Arthur's line was continued, and the royalty of Britain 
 restored to the Cymrian kings, through the House of Tudor. The reader 
 will pardon me, by the way, if I have somewhat perplexed him, now and 
 then, by a similarity between the names of " Genevieve" and "Genevra." 
 Both are used by the French Fabliasts as synonymous withGuenever; and 
 the more shrewd will perhaps perceive that the reason why the name of 
 Lancelot's mistress has been made almost identical with that of Arthur's, 
 is to vindicate the fidelity of the Cymrian Queen Guenever from that 
 scandal which the levity of the French romance writers has most impro-
 
 perly, and without any warrant from graver authorities, cast upon it, in 
 connection with Lancelot. It is to be presumed that those ancient slan- 
 derers were misled by the confusion of names, and that it was his own 
 Genevra, and not Arthur's Genevieve, who received Lancelot's homage. — 
 But indeed my Lancelot is altogether a different personage from the 
 Lancelot whom the Fabliasts represent as Arthur's nephew. 
 
 LONDON: PRINTED BY T. B. HARBISON, ST. MARTIN'S LANE
 
 ERRATUM. 
 
 Vol. II. 
 Stanza XV., line 1. 
 
 For . the astronomic feat, 
 Read the astronomic fiat.
 
 
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