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

330

My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die."

So saying, from the pavement he half rose,

335

Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm,
And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes
As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere
Remorsefully regarded thro' 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 thro' the place of tombs.

340

But, as he walk'd, King Arthur panted hard,
Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed
When all the house is mute. So sigh'd 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 walk'd,
Larger than human on the frozen hills.

345

350

He heard the deep behind him, and a cry

Before. His own thought drove him like a goad.
Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves

And barren chasms, and all to left and right

355

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 armèd heels
And on a sudden, lo, the level lake,

And the long glories of the winter moon!

360

Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge, 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 dream — by these
Three Queens with crowns of gold: and from them rose
A cry that shiver'd to the tingling stars,

And, as it were one voice, an agony

Of lamentation, like a wind that shrills

All night in a waste land, where no one comes,

Or hath come, since the making of the world.

Then murmur'd Arthur, "Place me in the barge."
So 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,

365

370

375

And dropping bitter tears against a brow

⚫And loosed the shatter'd casque, and chafed his hands,
And call'd him by his name, complaining loud,

Striped with dark blood: for all his face was white

380

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 curls -
That made his forehead like a rising sun
High from the daïs-throne

were parch'd with dust,

Or, clotted into points and hanging loose,

Mixt with the knightly growth that fringed his lips.
So like a shatter'd column lay the King;
Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest,
From spur to plume a star of tournament,
Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged
Before the eyes of ladies and of kings.

?

Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere:
"Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go
Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?
For now I see the true old times are dead,
When every morning brought a noble chance,

385

390

395

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.
But now the whole Round Table is dissolved
Which was an image of the mighty world,
And I, the last, go forth companionless,
And the days darken round me, and the years,
Among new men, strange faces, other minds."

And slowly answer'd Arthur from the barge: "The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils himself in many ways,

Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?

400

405

I have lived my life, and that which I have done
May He within himself make pure! but thou,
If thou shouldst never see my face again,

410

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer 415
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,

If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer

Both for themselves and those who call them friend?

420

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,
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns
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

425

430

That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,
Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood
With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere
Revolving many memories, till the hull
Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn,
And on the mere the wailing died away.

But when that moan had past for evermore,
The stillness of the dead world's winter dawn
Amazed him, and he groan'd, "The King is gone."
And therewithal came on him the weird rhyme,
"From the great deep to the great deep he goes."

435

440

445

Whereat he slowly turn'd and slowly clomb The last hard footstep of that iron crag;

Thence mark'd the black hull moving yet, and cried, "He passes to be King among the dead,

450

And after healing of his grievous wound

He comes again; but- if he come no more
O me, be yon dark Queens in yon black boat,

Who shriek'd and wail'd, the three whereat we gazed
On that high day, when, clothed with living light,
They stood before his throne in silence, friends

Of Arthur, who should help him at his need?"

Then from the dawn it seem'd there came, but faint

As from beyond the limit of the world,

Like the last echo born of a great cry,

Sounds, as if some fair city were one voice

Around a king returning from his wars.

Thereat once more he moved about, and clomb
Ev'n to the highest he could climb, and saw,
Straining his eyes beneath an arch of hand,

Or thought he saw, the speck that bare the King,
Down that long water opening on the deep
Somewhere far off, pass on and on, and go
From less to less and vanish into light.
And the new sun rose bringing the new year.

455

460

465

ENGLISH POETRY

NOTES

[ABBREVIATIONS: Dict. (any unabridged dictionary, such as the Century, the International, or the Standard); Cl. D. (any good dictionary of classical mythology); Cl. M. (Gayley's Classic Myths in English Literature. Ginn & Company.)]

CHAUCER

THE PROLOGUE TO THE CANTERBURY TALES

The Canterbury Tales were written probably during the last twelve or fifteen years of Chaucer's life, i.e. between 1385 and 1400. It is impossible to conjecture the order in which they were written, or to make any definite guess as to just when the Prologue was composed. Though the Prologue undoubtedly appeared at a later date than some of the Tales, it is measurably certain that this date was not later than 1390. This would place it nearly one hundred years before the invention of the printing-press; over one hundred years before the discovery of America; nearly two hundred and fifty years before the time of Milton's earliest poems. Owing to the remote period of this composition, the student will naturally find certain difficulties which he does not meet in poetry of a later date. He will see constant allusion to beliefs and experiences, very real in Chaucer's time, but utterly foreign to the modern world. Perhaps in no way so well as by the study of this Prologue can we to-day enter into the life of the England of five hundred years ago. We make the acquaintance of a language which, in grammatical construction, in peculiarity of phrase, in form and meaning of word, transports us from the present to an antique world. If we would gain anything like the proper appreciation of Chaucer's verse, we must learn to read it aloud, pronouncing it as nearly as possible as he himself would have pronounced it. The following are a few rules which will apply to a solution of most of the difficulties to be met in mastering this pronunciation: —

1. Vowels were sounded in Chaucer's time very nearly as in Latin: ā long or aa, like a in father; ǎ short, like a in what (never like a in cat); ē long or ee, sometimes like e in there and sometimes like a in fate; ĕ short, like e in met; i (or y) long or ii, like i in machine; Ĭ (or ỹ) short, like i in pin; ō long or 00, like o in old (00 never like oo in pool); Ŏ short, like o in obey (never