THE EPIC.

AT Francis Allen's on the Christmaseve,

The game of forfeits done the girls all
kiss'd
Beneath the sacred bush and past away-
The parson Holmes, the poet Everard
Hall,

The host, and I sat round the wassailbowl,

Then half-way ebb'd: and there we held a talk,

How all the old honor had from Christmas gone,

Or gone, or dwindled down to some odd games

In some odd nooks like this; till I, tired out With cutting eights that day upon the pond,

Where, three times slipping from the outer edge,

I bump'd the ice into three several stars, Fell in a doze; and half-awake I heard The parson taking wide and wider sweeps, Now harping on the church-commission

So all day long the noise of battle roll'd
Among the mountains by the winter sea;
Until King Arthur's table, man by man,
Had fall'n in Lyonness about their Lord,
King Arthur: then, because his wound
was deep,

The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,
Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights,
And bore him to a chapel nigh the field,
A broken chancel with a broken cross,
That stood on a dark strait of barren land.'
On one side lay the Ocean, and on one

Lay a great water, and the moon was full. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedi

vere :

"The sequel of to-day unsolders all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record. Such

a sleep They sleep-the men I loved. I think that we

Shall nevermore, at any future time, Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,

Walking about the gardens and the halls Of Camelot, as in the days that were. 1 perish by this people which I made, Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again

To rule once more—but let what will be, be,

I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, Which was my pride for thou rememberest how

In those old days, one summer noon, an

arm

Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,

Holding the sword, and how I row'd

By zig-zag paths, and juts of pointed rock, Came on the shining levels of the lake. There drew he forth the brand Excali

bur,

Ando'er him, drawing it, the winter moon, Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth

And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt:

For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks,

Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long That both his eyes were dazzled, as he stood,

This way and that dividing the swift mind, In act to throw: but at the last it seem'd Better to leave Excalibur conceal'd There in the many-knotted waterflags, That whistled stiff and dry about the marge.

So strode he back slow to the wounded King.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedi

vere :

"Hast thou perform'd my mission which I gave?

What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?"

across

king:

To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere: "It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus,

Aidless, alone, and smitten thro' the helm. A little thing may harm a wounded man. Yet I thy hest will all perform at full, Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word."

So saying, from the ruin'd shrine he stept

And in the moon athwart the place of tombs,

Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men,

Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. stepping down

He,

""

To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale:

"Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy

name,

Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd
Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight :
For surer sign had follow'd, either hand,
Or voice, or else a motion of the mere.
This is a shameful thing for men to lie.
Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again
As thou art lief and dear, and do the
thing

I bade thee, watch, and lightly bring me word."

Then went Sir Bedivere the second time Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere,

Counting the dewy pebbles, fix'd in thought;

But when he saw the wonder of the hilt, How curiously and strangely chased, he

smote

His palms together, and he cried aloud. "And if indeed I cast the brand away, Surely a precious thing, one worthy note,

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 honor and much fame were lost."

So spake he, clouded with his own conceit,

And hid Excalibur the second time,
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 :

66 Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue,
Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me!
Authority forgets a dying king,
Laid widow'd of the power in his eye
That bow'd the will. I see thee what

hilt;

Either from lust of gold, or like a girl
Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes.
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 clutch'd the sword,

And strongly wheel'd and threw it. The great brand

Made lightnings in the splendor of the

moon,

And flashing round and round, and whirl'd

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 flash'd and fell the brand Excalibur :

"Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems

Should blind my purpose, for I never saw,
Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die,
Not tho' I live three lives of mortal men,
So great a miracle as yonder hilt.
Then with both hands I flung him, wheel-
ing him ;

But when I look'd again, behold an arm, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,

That caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him

Three times, and drew him under in the

Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight,

And bear me to the margin; yet I fear My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die."

So saying, from the pavement he half