TO THE REV. F. D. MAURICE.-THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 147
THE COMING OF ARTHUR. LEODOGBAN, the King of Cameliard, Had one fair daughter, and none other child; And she was fairest of all flesh on earth, Guinevere, and in her his one delight.
And indeed He seems to me Scarce other than my own ideal knight, "Who reverenced his conscience as his king; Whose glory was, redressing human wrong; Who spake no slander, no, nor listen'd to it; Who loved one only and who clave to her-" Her-over all whose realms to their last isle, Commingled with the gloom of imminent war, The shadow of His loss moved like eclipse, Darkening the world. We have lost him: he is gone: Ruled in this isle, and ever waging war
We know him now: all narrow jealousies Are silent: and we see him as he moved, How modest, kindly, all accomplish'd, wise, With what sublime repression of himself, And in what limits, and how tenderly; Not swaying to this faction or to that; Not making his high place the lawless perch Of wing'd ambitions, nor a vantage-ground For pleasure: but thro' all this tract of years Wearing the white flower of a blameless life, Before a thousand peering littlenesses,
In that fierce light which beats upon a throne, And blackens every blot; for where is he, Who dares foreshadow for an only son A lovelier life, a more unstain'd, than his? Or how should England dreaming of his sons Hope more for these than some inheritance Of such a life, a heart, a mind as thine, Thou noble Father of her Kings to be, Laborious for her people and her poor- Voice in the rich dawn of an ampler day- Far-sighted summoner of War and Waste To fruitful strifes and rivalries of peace- Sweet nature gilded by the gracious gleam Of letters, dear to Science, dear to Art, Dear to thy land and ours, a Prince indeed, Beyond all titles, and a household name, Hereafter, thro' all times, Albert the Good.
Break not, O woman's-heart, but still endure; Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure, Remembering all the beauty of that star Which shone so close beside Thee, that ye made One light together, but has past and left The Crown of lonely splendor.
For many a petty king ere Arthur came
Each upon other, wasted all the land; And still from time to time the heathen host Swarm'd overseas, and harried what was left. And so there grew great tracts of wilderness, Wherein the beast was ever more and more, But man was less and less, till Arthur came. For first Aurelius lived and fought and died, And after him King Uther fought and died, But either fail'd to make the kingdom one. And after these King Arthur for a space, And thro' the puissance of his Table Round, Drew all their petty princedoms under him, Their king and head, and made a realm, and reign'd
And thus the land of Cameliard was waste, Thick with wet woods, and many a beast therein, And none or few to scare or chase the beast; So that wild dog and wolf and boar and bear Came night and day, and rooted in the fields, And wallow'd in the gardens of the king. And ever and anon the wolf would steal The children and devour, but now and then, Her own brood lost or dead, leut her fierce teat To human sucklings: and the children, housed In her foul den, there at their meat would growl And mock their foster-mother on four feet, Till, straighten'd, they grew up to wolf-like men, Worse than the wolves: and King Leodogran Groan'd for the Roman legions here again, And Cæsar's eagle: then his brother king, Rience, assail'd him: last a heathen horde, Reddening the sun with smoke and earth with blood, And on the spike that split the mother's heart Spitting the child, brake on him, till, amazed, He knew not whither he should turn for aid.
And Arthur yet had done no deed of arms, But heard the call, and came: and Guinevere Stood by the castle walls to watch him pass; But since he neither wore on helm or shield The golden symbol of his kinglihood, But rode a simple knight among his knights, And many of these in richer arms than he, She saw him not, or mark'd not, if she saw, One among many, tho' his face was bare. But Arthur, looking downward as he past, Felt the light of her eyes into his life Smite on the sudden, yet rode on, and pitch'd His tents beside the forest: and he drave The heathen, and he slew the beast, and fell'd The forest, and let in the sun, and made Broad pathways for the hunter and the knight, And so return'd.
For while he linger'd there, A doubt that ever smoulder'd in the hearts Of those great Lords and Barons of his realm Flash'd forth and into war: for most of these Made head against him, crying, "Who is he That he should rule us? who hath proven him King Uther's son? for lo! we look at him, And find nor face nor bearing, limbs nor voice, Are like to those of Uther whom we knew. This is the son of Gorlois, not the king. This is the son of Anton, not the king."
And Arthur, passing thence to battle, felt Travail, and throes and agonies of the life, Desiring to be join'd with Guinevere; And thinking as he rode, "Her father said That there between the man and beast they die. Shall I not lift her from this land of beasts Up to my throne, and side by side with me? What happiness to reign a lonely king, Vext O ye stars that shudder over me, O earth, that soundest hollow under me, Vext with waste dreams? for saving I be join'd To her that is the fairest under heaven, I seem as nothing in the mighty world, And cannot will my will, nor work my work Wholly, nor make myself in mine own realm Victor and lord; but were I join'd with her, Then might we live together as one life, And reigning with one will in everything Have power on this dark land to lighten it, And power on this dead world to make it live."
And Arthur from the field of battle sent Ulfius, and Brastias, and Bedivere, His new-made knights, to King Leodogran, Saying, "If I in aught have served thee well, Give me thy daughter Guinevere to wife."
Whom when he heard, Leodogran in heart Debating-"How should I that am a king, However much he holp me at my need, Give my one daughter saving to a king, And a king's son"-lifted his voice, and call'd A hoary man, his chamberlain, to whom He trusted all things, and of him required
Who taught him magic; but the scholar ran Before the master, and so far, that Bleys Laid magic by, and sat him down, and wrote All things and whatsoever Merlin did In one great annal-book, where after years Will learn the secret of our Arthur's birth."
To whom the king Leodrogan replied, "O friend, had I been holpen half as well By this King Arthur as by thee to-day, Then beast and man had had their share of me: But summon here before us yet once more Ulfius, and Brastias, and Bedivere."
Then, when they came before him, the king said, "I have seen the cuckoo chased by lesser fowl, And reason in the chase: but wherefore now Do these your lords stir up the heat of war, Some calling Arthur born of Gorlois, Others of Anton? Tell me, ye yourselves, Hold ye this Arthur for King Uther's son ?"
And Ulfius and Brastias answer'd, “Ay." Then Bedivere, the first of all his knights, Knighted by Arthur at his crowning, spake,For bold in heart and act and word was he, Whenever slander breathed against the king,
"Sir, there be many rumors on this head: For there be those who hate him in their hearts, Call him baseborn, and since his ways are sweet, And theirs are bestial, hold him less than man: And there be those who deem him more than man And dream he dropt from heaven: but my belief In all this matter-so ye care to learn- Sir, for ye know that in King Uther's time The prince and warrior Gorlois, he that held Tintagil castle by the Cornish sea,
Was wedded with a winsome wife, Ygerne : And daughters had she borne him,-one whereof Lot's wife, the Queen of Orkney, Bellicent, Hath ever like a loyal sister cleaved To Arthur,-but a son she had not borne. And Uther cast upon her eyes of love: But she, a stainless wife to Gorlois, So loathed the bright dishonor of his love That Gorlofs and King Uther went to war: And overthrown was Gorloïs and slain. Then Uther in his wrath and heat besieged Ygerne within Tintagil, where her men, Seeing the mighty swarm about their walls, Left her and fled, and Uther enter'd in, And there was none to call to but himself So, compass'd by the power of the king, Enforced she was to wed him in her tears, And with a shameful swiftness; afterward, Not many moons, King Uther died himself, Moaning and wailing for an heir to rule After him, lest the realm should go to wrack. And that same night, the night of the new year, By reason of the bitterness and grief That vext his mother, all before his time Was Arthur born, and all as soon as born Deliver'd at a secret postern-gate
To Merlin, to be holden far apart Until his hour should come; because the lords Of that fierce day were as the lords of this, Wild beasts, and surely would have torn the child Piecemeal among them, had they known; for each But sought to rule for his own self and hand,
His counsel: "Knowest thou aught of Arthur's birth?" And many hated Uther for the sake
Then spake the hoary chamberlain and said, "Sir King, there be but two old men that know: And each is twice as old as I; and one Is Merlin, the wise man that ever served King Uther thro' his Liagic art; and one Is Merlin's master (so they call him) Bleys,
Of Gorlois: wherefore Merlin took the child, And gave him to Sir Anton, an old knight And ancient friend of Uther; and his wife Nursed the young prince, and rear'd him with her
And no man knew: and ever since the lords Have foughten like wild beasts among themselves,
So that the realm has gone to wrack: but now, This year, when Merlin (for his hour had come) Brought Arthur forth, and set him in the hall, Proclaiming, 'Here is Uther's heir, your king,' A hundred voices cried, 'Away with him! No king of ours! a son of Gorlois he: Or else the child of Anton and no king, Or else baseborn.' Yet Merlin thro' his craft And while the people clamor'd for a king, Had Arthur crown'd; but after, the great lords Banded, and so brake out in open war."
Then while the king debated with himself If Arthur were the child of shamefulness, Or born the son of Gorloïs, after death, Or Uther's son, and born before his time, Or whether there were truth in anything Said by these three, there came to Cameliard, With Gawain and young Modred, her two sons, Lot's wife, the Queen of Orkney, Bellicent; Whom as he could, not as he would, the king Made feast for, saying, as they sat at meat,
"A doubtful throne is ice on summer seasYe come from Arthur's court: think ye this kingSo few his knights, however brave they beHath body enow to beat his foemen down ?"
"O king," she cried, "and I will tell thee: few, Few, but all brave, all of one mind with him; For I was near him when the savage yells Of Uther's peerage died, and Arthur sat Crowned on the dais, and his warriors cried, 'Be thou the king, and we will work thy will Who love thee.' Then the king in low deep tones, And simple words of great authority,
Bound them by so strait vows to his own self, That when they rose, knighted from kneeling, some Were pale as at the passing of a ghost, Some flush'd, and others dazed, as one who wakes Half-blinded at the coming of a light.
"But when he spake and cheered his Table Round With large, divine, and comfortable words Beyond my tongue to tell thee-I beheld From eye to eye thro' all their Order flash A momentary likeness of the king; And ere it left their faces, thro' the cross And those around it and the crucified, Down from the casement over Arthur, smote Flame-color, vert, and azure, in three rays, One falling upon each of three fair queens, Who stood in silence near his throne, the friends Of Arthur, gazing on him, tall, with bright, Sweet faces, who will help him at his need.
"And there I saw mage Merlin, whose vast wit And hundred winters are but as the hands Of loyal vassals toiling for their liege.
"And near him stood the Lady of the lake,Who knows a subtler magic than his own,Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. She gave the king his huge cross-hilted sword, Whereby to drive the heathen out: a mist Of incense curl'd about her, and her face Wellnigh was hidden in the minster gloom, But there was heard among the holy hymns A voice as of the waters, for she dwells Down in a deep, calm, whatsoever storms May shake the world, and, when the surface rolls, Hath power to walk the waters like our Lord.
"There likewise I beheld Excalibur Before him at his crowning borne, the sword That rose from out the bosom of the lake, And Arthur row'd across and took it,-rich With jewels, elfin Urim, on the hilt,
Bewildering heart and eye,-the blade so bright That men are blinded by it,-on one side, Graven in the oldest tongue of all this world, 'Take me,' but turn the blade and you shall see, And written in the speech ye speak yourself, 'Cast me away!' and sad was Arthur's face Taking it, but old Merlin counsell'd him, Take thou and strike! the time to cast away Is yet far off;' so this great brand the king Took, and by this will beat his foemen down."
Thereat Leodogran rejoiced, but thought To sift his doubtings to the last, and ask'd, Fixing full eyes of question on her face, "The swallow and the swift are near akin, But thou art closer to this noble prince, Being his own dear sister;" and she said, "Daughter of Gorloïs and Ygerne am I;" "And therefore Arthur's sister," asked the King. She answer'd, "These be secret things," and sign'd To those two sons to pass and let them be. And Gawain went, and breaking into song Sprang out, and follow'd by his flying hair Ran like a colt, and leapt at all he saw: But Modred laid his ear beside the doors, And there half heard; the same that afterward Struck for the throne, and, striking, found his doom.
And then the Queen made answer, "What know If For dark my mother was in eyes and hair, And dark in hair and eyes am I; and dark Was Gorloïs, yea, and dark was Uther too, Wellnigh to blackness, but this king is fair Beyond the race of Britons and of men. Moreover always in my mind I hear A cry from out the dawning of my life, A mother weeping, and I hear her say, 'Oh that ye had some brother, pretty ono, To guard thee on the rough ways of the world.""
"Ay," said the King, "and hear ye such a cry? But when did Arthur chance upon thee first?"
"O king!" she cried, "and I will tell thee true: He found me first when yet a little maidBeaten I had been for a little fault Whereof I was not guilty; and out I ran And flung myself down on a bank of heath, And hated this fair world and all therein, And wept, and wish'd that I were dead; and heI know not whether of himself he came, Or brought by Merlin, who, they say, can walk Unseen, at pleasure-he was at my side, And spake sweet words, and comforted my heart, And dried my tears, being a child with me. And many a time he came, and evermore, As I grew, greater grew with me; and sad At times he seem'd, and sad with him was I, Stern too at times, and then I loved him not, But sweet again, and then I loved him well. And now of late I see him less and less, But those first days had golden hours for me, For then I surely thought he would be king.
"But let me tell thee now another tale: For Bleys, our Merlin's master, as they say, Died but of late, and sent his cry to me, To hear him speak before he left his life. Shrunk like a fairy changeling lay the mage, And when I enter'd, told me that himself And Merlin ever served about the king, Uther, before he died, and on the night When Uther in Tintagil past away Moaning and wailing for an heir, the two Left the still king, and passing forth to breathe, Then from the castle gateway by the chasm Descending thro' the dismal night-a night
In which the bounds of heaven and earth were lost
Beheld, so high upon the dreary deeps
It seem'd in heaven-a ship, the shape thereof A dragon wing'd, and all from stem to stern Bright with a shining people on the decks, And gone as soon as seen: and then the two Dropt to the cove and watch'd the great sea fall, Wave after wave, each mightier than the last, Till, last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame:
And down the wave and in the flame was borne A naked babe, and rode to Merlin's feet,
Then Arthur charged his warrior whom he loved And honor'd most, Sir Lancelot, to ride forth And bring the Queen ;-and watch'd him from the gates:
And Lancelot past away among the flowers, (For then was latter April) and return'd Among the flowers, in May, with Guinevere. To whom arrived, by Dubric the high saint, Chief of the church in Britain, and before The stateliest of her altar-shrines, the king That morn was married, while in stainless whits, The fair beginners of a nobler time,
Who stoopt and caught the babe, and cried, 'The And glorying in their vows and him, his knights King!
Here is an heir for Uther!' and the fringe
Of that great breaker, sweeping up the strand, Lash'd at the wizard as he spake the word, And all at once all round him rose in fire, So that the child and he were clothed in fire. And presently thereafter follow'd calm, Free sky and stars: And this same child,' he said, Is he who reigns; nor could I part in peace Till this were told.' And saying this the seer Went thro' the strait and dreadful pass of death, Not ever to be question'd any more
Save on the further side; but when I met Merlin, and ask'd him if these things were truth, The shining dragon and the naked child Descending in the glory of the seas,-
He laugh'd as is his wont, and answer'd me In riddling triplets of old time, and said:
"Rain, rain, and sun! a rainbow in the sky! A young man will be wiser by and by: An old man's wit may wander ere he die.
Rain, rain, and sun! a rainbow on the lea! And truth is this to me, and that to thee; And truth or clothed or naked let it be.
Rain, sun, and rain! and the free blossom blows: Sun, rain, and sun! and where is he who knows? From the great deep to the great deep he goes.'
"So Merlin, riddling, anger'd me; but thou Fear not to give this king thine only child, Guinevere so great bards of him will sing Hereafter, and dark sayings from of old Ranging and ringing thro' the minds of men, And echo'd by old folks beside their fires For comfort after their wage-work is done, Speak of the king; and Merlin in our time Hath spoken also, not in jest, and sworn, Tho' men may wound him, that he will not die, But pass, again to come; and then or now Utterly smite the heathen underfoot, Till these and all men hail him for their king."
She spake and King Leodogran rejoiced, But musing "Shall I answer yea or nay?" Doubted and drowsed, nodded and slept, and saw, Dreaming, a slope of land that ever grew, Field after field, up to a height, the peak Haze-hidden, and thereon a phantom king, Now looming, and now lost; and on the slope The sword rose, the hind fell, the Lerd was driven, Fire glimpsed; and all the land from roof and rick In drifts of smoke before a rolling wind Stream'd to the peak, and mingled with the haze And made it thicker; while the phantom king Sent out at times a voice; and here or there Stood one who pointed toward the voice, the rest Slew on and burnt, crying, "No king of ours, No son of Uther, and no king of ours;"
Till with a wink his dream was changed, the haze Descended, and the solid earth became
As nothing, and the king stood out in heaven, Crown'd; and Leodogran awoke, and sent Ulfius, and Brastias, and Bedivere
Back to the court of Arthur answering yea.
Stood round him, and rejoicing in his joy. And holy Dubric spread his hands and spake, "Reign ye, and live and love, and make the world Other, and may thy Queen be one with thee, And all this Order of thy Table Round Fulfill the boundless purpose of their king."
Then at the marriage feast came in from Rome, The slowly-fading mistress of the world, Great lords, who claim'd the tribute as of yore. But Arthur spake, "Behold, for these have sworn To fight my wars, and worship me their king; The old order changeth, yielding place to new; And we that fight for our fair father Christ, Seeing that ye be grown too weak and old To drive the heathen from your Roman wall, No tribute will we pay:" so those great lords Drew back in wrath, and Arthur strove with Rome.
And Arthur and his knighthood for a space Were all one will, and thro' that strength the king Drew in the petty princedoms under him, Fought, and in twelve great battles overcame The heathen hordes, and made a realm and reign'd
THE brave Geraint, a knight of Arthur's court, A tributary prince of Devon, one
Of that great order of the Table Round, Had wedded Enid, Yniol's only child,
And loved her, as he loved the light of Heaven. And as the light of Heaven varies, now
At sunrise, now at sunset, now by night With moon and trembling stars, so loved Geraint To make her beauty vary day by day, In crimsons and in purples and in gems. And Enid, but to please her husband's eye, Who first had found and loved her in a state Of broken fortunes, daily fronted him In some fresh splendor; and the Queen herself, Grateful to Prince Geraint for service done, Loved her, and often with her own white hands Array'd and deck'd her, as the loveliest, Next after her own self, in all the court. And Enid loved the Queen, and with true heart Adored her, as the stateliest and the best And loveliest of all women upon earth. And seeing them so tender and so close, Long in their common love rejoiced Geraint. But when a rumor rose about the Queen, Touching her guilty love for Lancelot, Though yet there lived no proof, nor yet was heard The world's loud whisper breaking into storm, Not less Geraint believed it; and there fell A horror on him, lest his gentle wife, Thro' that great tenderness to Guinevere, Had suffered or should suffer any taint In nature: wherefore going to the king, He made this pretext, that his princedom lay Close on the borders of a territory, Wherein were bandit earis, and caitiff knights,
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