" And if indeed I cast the brand away, Surely a precious thing, one worthy note, Should thus be lost for ever from the earth,Which might have pleased the eyes of many men. What record, or what relic of my lordShould be to aftertime, but empty breath And rumours of a doubt ? But were this kept,Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings, Some one might show it at a joust of arms, Saying, "King Arthur"s sword, Excalibur, Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps Upon the hidden bases of the hills."
So might some old man speak in the aftertime To all the people, winning reverence.
But now much honour and much fame were lost. " So spake he, clouded with his own conceit,And hid Excalibur the second time,
Drawn by John Rowell
"Swiftly strode from ridge to ridge. "
And so strode back slow to the wounded King. Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily: "What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard ? " And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere :
"I heard the water lapping on the crag, And the long ripple washing in the reeds. "To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath: "Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me!
Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice,
And the third time may prosper, get thee hence.
But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur,
I will arise and slay thee with my hands. " Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran,And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged Among the bulrush-beds, and clutched the sword, And strongly wheeled and threw it. The great brand Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon,And, flashing round and round, and whirled in an arch,Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night, with noises of the northern sea.
So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur. But, ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,And caught him by the hilt, and brandished himThree times, and drew him under in the mere. And lightly went the other to the King.
Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker breath : "Now see I by thine eyes that this is done.
Speak out; what is it thou hast heard, or seen?" And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere :
"Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems Should blind my purpose, for I never sawNor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die, Not though I live three lives of mortal men, So great a miracle as yonder hilt.
Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him; But, when I looked again, behold an arm, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,That caught him by the hilt, and brandished him Three times, and drew him under in the mere. " And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard: "My end draws nigh: "tis time that I were gone. Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight, And bear me to the margin; yet I fearMy wound hath taken cold, and I shall die. " So saying, from the pavement he half rose, Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm,And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere Remorsefully regarded through his tears,And would have spoken, but he found not words, Then took with care, and, kneeling on one knee, O"er both his shoulders drew the languid hands, And rising bore him through the place of tombs. But, as he walked, King Arthur panted hard,Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed When all the house is mute. So sighed the King,Muttering and murmuring at his ear, " Quick, quick ! I fear it is too late, and I shall die. "But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge, Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walked, Larger than human on the frozen hills.
He heard the deep behind him, and a cry Before. His own thought drove him like a goad. Dry clashed his harness in the icy cavesAnd barren chasms, and all to left and right
The bare black cliff clanged round him, as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rangSharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels- And on a sudden, lo! the level lake,And the long glories of the winter moon.
Tennyson.
Author.-Tennyson (see "The Bugle Song ").
General Notes.-Arthur was a legendary king of Britain of the sixth century, who lived in state with his wife Guinevere at Caerleon orCamelot, in Lyonnesse. Sir Bedivere was the last of the knights of the Round Table. Read the whole poem of which this is part-Morte d"Arthur. Read, also, if you can get it, Sir Thomas Malory"s Morte d"Arthur. Both are full of good stories. Look in your dictionary for samite, mere, hest, topaz, jacinth, joust. See how the sound of the words suits the sense in- "Dry clashed………….heels. " Can yon find other examples?
