The bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels And on a sudden, lo! the level lake, And the long glories of the winter moon. Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge, 190 Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, Beneath them; and descending they were ware That all the decks were dense with stately forms Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dreamby these Three Queens with crowns of gold-and from them rose 200 A cry that shiver'd to the tingling stars, barge," And to the barge they came. There those three Queens Put forth their hands, and took the king, and wept. But she that rose the tallest of them all And fairest, laid his head upon her lap, And loosed the shatter'd casque, and chafed his hands, And call'd him by his name, complaining loud, 210 And dropping bitter tears against his brow Striped with dark blood: for all his face was white And colourless, and like the wither'd moon Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east; And all his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops Of onset; and the light and lustrous curlsThat made his forehead like a rising sun High from the daïs-throne-were parch'd with dust; Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips. 220 So like a shatter'd column lay the king; Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere: chance, 230 And every chance brought out a noble knight. Such times have been not since the light that led The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. / : 66 But now the whole ROUND TABLE is dissolved barge: 'The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me? done 240 May He within himself make pure! but thou, If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, 250 If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend? For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. But now farewell. I am going a long way With these thou seëst-if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) To the island-valley of Avilion ; Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, 260 And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound." So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood 270 With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere If thou shouldst ever come by choice or chance To Modena, where still religiously Among her ancient trophies is preserved Within that reverend tower, the Guirlandine), Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace, Dim at noonday, discovering many a glimpse Perhaps the two, for groves were their delight, 'T is of a lady in her earliest youth, She sits inclining forward as to speak, 20 26 Her lips half open, and her finger up, An emerald-stone in every golden clasp; And on her brow, fairer than alabaster, |