*
An Arthurian Miscellany

My Dear Children

I strung the following lines together hoping to give you pleasure. The stories are taken from a book called 'Morte d'Arthur' which you will read when you are older, and will see that I have often used the very words of the translator

Your Loving Granny

1 The Birth of King Arthur

2 Arthur Made King

3 The Message

4 The Marriage of King Arthur

5 The Sancgreal

6 The Death of King Arthur

" The Birth Of King Arthur.\"

'To horse! to horse! my noble lord,'

Thus spake the fair Igraine,

'Ride hard -- ride fast all through the night,

Nor stay, nor slack the rein.'

'Now why such haste to leave the Court?'

The Duke of Cornwall cried.

'Ah me,' she said, 'King Uther wills

Thy wife should be his bride.'

Fast, fast they rode all through the night,

Nor stayed, nor slacked the rein,

Until the towers of Tintagel

Rose shining o'er the plain.

But on the morrow, messengers

Came riding from the King:

'Uther Pendragon bids the Duke

Himself and wife to bring

Back to fair London town.' -- 'Unto

The King this answer give:

Nor self nor wife shall tread his halls

So long as either live.'

Then sware the King a dreadful oath,

Or ere the fortieth day

He would unearth him from his lair,

And waste, and burn, and slay.

Alack for right 'gainst regal might!

It boots but ill to tell

How in a sally 'gainst the King

The brave Duke Cornwall fell.

The towers he manned, the wife he loved,

Became King Uther's prey,

And from her home at Tintagel

Igraine was borne away.

And when her baby boy was born,

In cloth of gold with state

'Twas given to a beggar-man,

Who waited at the gate.

But this was Merlin, in disguise

Of beggar old and grey,

The great enchanter, Merlin hight,

Who bore the babe away

Unto a holy, saintly man,

Who christened him by name

Of Arthur -- prince of chivalry,

First on the scroll of fame.

And good Sir Ector's noble wife

Nurtured the baby fair,

And brought him up in gentle ways,

Befitting England's heir.

Eftsoons King Uther sickend

He spake to non or great or small,

By day nor eke by night.

Then Merlin rose in council full,

And spake both loud and high:

'God's will be done, but I will make

Him speak or ere he die!'

So in hot haste, without delay,

Unto the King he hied,

Knelt down beside the royal couch:

'Wilt thou, O Sire,' he cried

'That Arthur, thy own son, shall rule

O'er England in thy stead?'

The noble vassals gathered round,

Listening astonishd.

For naught knew they of infant son,

But every Baron there

Mighty of men, and strong of arm,

Wended to be the heir.

King Uther Pendragon turned round

Upon his dying bed,

And to the knights assembled there

And to great Merlin said:

'May God Almighty bless my son!

Bid him use fitting holy prayers

That my poor soul may live:

'And claim the crown right worshipful

On pain of blessing lost.'

With that he turned him o'er again,

And yielded up the ghost.

They buried him with regal pomp,

While all his Barons wept,

As did Igraine, his beauteous queen --

But Uther calmly slept.

" Arthur Made King.\"

When Uther passed away, the realm

Fell in great jeopardy,

For many wended to be king

Through might and bravery.

Then Merlin to the Archbishop

Of Canterbury went,

And they together council took

This evil to prevent.

Thus they agreed -- that every lord,

On pain of curses deep,

And every gentleman-at-arms

A solemn tryst should keep,

On Christmas day, at London town,

Since Christ, as all do know,

Was then created Lord of all

So who should reign o'er England fair

By miracle might show.

Some nobles made them passing clean

From vice or crime, for fear

Their prayers might enter gracelessly,

Within Christ Jesus' ear.

Inside the church on Christmas day

(It was St. Paul's, I ween),

A mightly host of knights and lords

And commoners is seen.

But ere they read the early mass,

Or early matins sing,

Unto the Lord Archbishop there

This startling news they bring:

'Outside, within the churchyard gate,

Near to the altar stone,

There stands a large square marble slab

'And in the anvil, of pure steel

A naked sword doth sit,

Of finest point, and all around

Are golden letters writ:

'"Whoso from out this marble stone

With his own powerful hand

Shall pluck this sword, he shall be Lord

And King of all England."'

The Lord Archbishop ordered then

That none should touch the stone,

But all within the church should pray

Until High Mass was done,

And when all prayers were finishd

(This was his Grace's will),

Ten knights of stainless troth and fame

That jousts and tournaments be held

That all who willed their prowess try

To pluck the sword away.

Thereto there flocked a gallant host

Sir Ector brought young Arthur there,

And his own son, Sir Kay.

But then befel a woful chance --

Sir Kay had lost his sword,

In sooth, had left it at his home.

Then uttered he this word:

'O foster brother! backward speed,

Ride fast for love of me,

And when thou reachest Ector's house,

My sword bring back to me.'

'That will I,' said the gallant youth,

But when he reached the castle gate

He found the wardour gone,

And all the inmates, great and small,

Baffled and wroth he turned his horse

And to the churchyard went.

'Ten thousand pities 'twere,' he said,

'My dearest brother Kay

Should at the joust withouten sword

Appear in disarray.

Whereat he lighted from his horse,

And tied it to the stile,

While to the tent he bent his steps

And loitered there awhile,

To see if the ten guards were there --

He recked not that they went

With all the world, both rich and poor,

To the great tournament.

So when he found no knights were there

But to the jousting gone,

Lightly yet fierce the sword he seized,

And pulled it from the stone,

And to Sir Kay delivered it,

Then said, 'Full well I ween

I have the sword, and I must be

The King of all Englnd.

But when he showed it to his sire

Sir Ector gave command

That to the church he should repair

but he,

Fearing his sire's rebuke,

Told how his foster brother came

When all the knights were gone,

And light and fiercely plucked the sword

Whereat they all assayed,

But none save Arthur there availed

To sunder out the blade.

And thrice again he made assay,

Sir Ector and Sir Kay fell down

Upon their bended knee.

'O father! why,' young Arthur said,

'Your homage pay to me?'

'Because that God has willed it so.

Thou art no son of mine:

'Twas Merlin brought thee to my arms

From some far nobler line.

'But, O my liege! for King thou art,

Wilt thou to mine and me,

Who nurtured thee and brought thee up,

A gracious sovereign be?

But Arthur wept and made great dole

At what Sir Ector said,

That he no sire or mother had,

Then sweetly answerd:

'Else were I much to blame! I am

Beholden so to you,

Command me, and may God me help

I will your bidding do.'

'Sir,' said Sir Ector, 'I will ask

No more than that of all

The lands you govern, my son Kay

I here my promise give,

That none but he that office fill

While he or I shall live.'

Then happd it that on Twelfth day

The Barons all assay

To pluck the sword, but none prevail

Save Arthur on that day.

Then waxed they wroth, and Candlemas

Was fixed for the assay,

Yet still no knight but Arthur

Could pluck the sword away.

Then at high feast of Eastertide,

Also at Pentecost,

None but young Arthur loosed the sword --

The knights their temper lost.

But when the Lord Archbishop came,

All cried with one accord,

'We will have Arthur for our King,

God wills him for our lord.'

And down on bended knee they fell

And thus he won Excalibur

And all fair England too.

Soon Scotland, and the North, and Wales,

To him obeisance made,

Won by prowess of his knights

And of his trusty blade.

" The Message.\"

On battlemented Camelot

Within, King Arthur's noble knights

Their wassail late were keeping.

'What ho! Sir Wardour, ope the gate,

I bear a message to your lord

From Ryence of renown.'

Then up and spake the white-haired thrall

That kept the castle gate,

'It ill befits our courtesy

To one who comes so late,

'Who travel-stained and weary seems,

But tell me first your quest, I pray,

And who may Ryence be?'

'My quest I tell but to thy chief:

Enough for thee, I ween,

That Ryence reigns o'er Wales, and eke

O'er Ireland's mountains green,

And isles unnumbered round about,

Now glittering in the sheen.'

The wardour oped the castle door,

The herald crossed in silence o'er,

And entered with a frown,

And when within the banquet hall,

He never bowed the head,

Nor bent the knee, but strode right on

And to King Arthur said:

'King Ryence vanquished in fair fight

He summons " thee" that one to be,

Or proffers thee a boon.

'He bids thee here on bended knee

Thy lawful homage pay,

Or he will come with fire and sword

To waste, and burn, and slay.

'King Ryence hath a sammet cloak

All purfled round with hair --

With human hair torn from the chins

Of kings he slew in war.

'But still there is one little spot

Uncovered at the base:

Flay thou thy chin, and send thy beard

To fill the vacant place.'

Then started up King Arthur's knights

Each stamped his maild heel in ire,

Each drew his trusty sword.

King Arthur rose with manly grace

And to the herald spake,

'Quail not before my noble knights,

But back this answer take:

'Say that of all the messages

E'er sent from king to king,

This is the shamefullest and worst

That herald e'er did bring.

Tis plain Ryence has never been

He lacks the soul -- he lacks the speech

Of common courtesy.

'Tell him, no homage do I owe,

As for my beard, it is too scant

'And if he come, as now he boasts,

With fire and sword to slay,

On " both" his bended knees he shall

To " me" his homage pay.'

The herald left the hall -- the King

Thus broke the deep silnce:

'Now is there any here,' he said,

'That knoweth King Ryence?'

Then answered him one night Naram,

In body few can match his strength,

In pride none him excel.

'I doubt not he will war with you

Full strong and powerfully.'

'Well!' said the King, 'I will ordain

For him, as he shall see.'

" The Marriage Of King Arthur.\"

Then happed it on Allhallowmas,

That Bors, the King of Gaul,

And Ban of Benwick, over seas,

Came at King Arthur's call.

They came with full three hundred knights,

All chosen, brave, and true,

To vanquish Arthur's enemies

Who fierce and fiercer grew.

And while they kept high festival

Beneathen cloth of gold,

A thrall came riding in hot haste

How that King Ryence of North Wales

Had gone with sword and lance

From out his mountain fastnesses

'Gainst King Leodogrance.

Now Arthur loved this king for aid

In war, and friendly troth,

But hated Ryence of North Wales,

So at this news was wroth.

King Bors and Ban made ready then

Their chivalry from France,

And all the country rose in arms

To aid Leodogrance.

Full twenty thousand men-at-arms

Rode with King Arthur hard,

Until within six days they reached

The towers of Cameliard.

And then and there the mighty host

Engaged in dreadful fight,

They slaughtered twice five thousand souls

And put Ryence to flight.

'Twas then King Arthur first beheld

The lovely Guinever,

The King's fair daughter -- ever since

He loved but only her.

When that the kingdom freedom gat

From wars and jealous strife,

The barons begged King Arthur then

To wed a loving wife.

With Merlin too was counsel ta'en,

Who deemed it good and wise,

And asked the King if any maid

Found favour in his eyes.

Then answered Arthur, 'There is one,

I deem her passing fair,

The daughter of my trusty friend,

The lovely Guinever.

'To him my father gave a prize

I value more than gold,

The huge Round Table at whose board

Sate knights a hundred told

'And fifty more. Sir,' Merlin said,

'I grant you passing well,

For beauty and for fairness too

No maid can her excel.

'But an ye loved her not, I could

Another damsel find,

Whose beauty and whose goodness should

Be equal in your mind.

'But 'tis not meet a man should wed

For where his heart is set, he will

Be quick his feet to move.'

'Ah! that is true,' the King replied,

Nor list what Merlin said,

How grief and sorrow would ensue

If he the maid should wed,

But sent him to Leodogrance,

In goodly company,

To plead his suit, and ask the King

What might his pleasure be?

Leodogrance was overjoyed

To welcome Merlin's suite,

Exclaiming that it pleased him well

Arthur's demands to meet.

But said, 'What can I proffer him

With Guinever for dower?

For gold and land he does not lack,

He has such ample store.

'But I the huge Round Table have,

Uther Pendragon gave

To me is trusted friend, and that

His son shall gladly have.

'Alack for hap and woful change!

Full many a gallant knight

Who sate thereat has perished since,

Slain in the bloody fight.

'But still a hundred knights remain,

They shall escort my daughter when

She leaveth Cameliard.'

So Merlin, knights, and Guinever

Journeyed by land and sea,

Till they came nigh to London town,

A goodly company.

Then did King Arthur joy to see

The cavalcade arrive,

Bearing the Table that he prized

And Guinever to wive.

He spake out openly and loud,

'This maid I long have loved,

And more than land or precious gold

These gifts my heart have moved.

'For nothing is so lief to me

To wed her, and to crown her queen,

We quickly will prepare.

'Let Merlin search through all the land

If fifty knights be found,

To fill the places vacant left

Beside the Table Round.'

But only eight-and-twenty knights

Of prowess and good fame

Could Merlin find to fill the seats.

Then Canterbury came --

He came with pomp right royally

Upon each chair, the while he prayed,

The eight-and-twenty sate.

When they arose and homage paid

To Arthur, as was fit,

Were golden letters found on each,

Telling who there should sit.

But two were void, and so anon

Came riding young Gawaine,

To beg the king to dub him knight,

Nor did he beg in vain

Then forthwithal a poor man came,

And with him his fair son:

'Oh, where shall I King Arthur find?'

He questioned every one.

'Yonder he stands -- what wilt with him?'

Down on his bended knee

He dropped and said, 'O blessed King!

O flower of chivalry!

'May Jesu save thee! here I come

A humble suppliant,

Hearing that on your wedding-day

Ye any boon would grant.

'Sir, I have thirteen stalwart sons,

But this thou seest here

'Will nothing do but bend the bow,

He loves to watch the feasts and games,

And mix where battles are.

'Make him, my King, a gallant knight.'

but all the while

He watchd well the son,

And found that he fair-visaged was,

And passingly well made.

'What is thy name, and where thy sword?'

He to the young man said.

'My name is Tor, and here is my sword.'

'Unsheath it and alight.'

The youth leaped from his meagre steed,

Kneeling in Arthur's sight.

'Oh make me, sir, a knight, I pray,

Knight of the Table Round!'

Smiting him on the neck with sword,

'May'st thou be ever found,'

King Arthur said, 'I pray to God,

A good knight and a true!

But to be knight of Table Round

For when the King was wed

All solemnly at Camelot,

And the high feast was made,

By Merlin's order every knight

Sat silent, one and all,

Each in his siege in solemn state

Within the banquet hall.

Till, as the portals open flew,

Rushed in a hart milk-white,

A snow-white brachet followed on,

And then, O wondrous sight!

Twice thirty coal-black hounds pursued

The hart with yell and cry,

And when the brachet wounded her

She moand piteously,

And gave a sudden bound that threw

One knight upon the ground,

Wherefrom he soon arose and seized

By force the snow white hound.

Quick out of hall, he leaped to horse,

Bearing his prize away,

Riding as if for life and death,

That no man could him stay.

Anon there came on palfrey white

A lady fair and gay,

Who begged the King to give her back

Her brachet stolen away.

That can I not,' said Arthur. Then

A knight in full array

Came riding in, armed cap-a-pie

And bore the maid away.

By force he snatched her that she made

Such dole with shriek and cry,

That all within the banquet hall

Rejoiced to see them fly.

Then Merlin spake: 'Ye may not treat

These shames as poor and slight,

Else much disworship will arise

But order noble men,

Gawaine, and Pellinore, and Tor,

To fetch them back again.'

'That will I,' said the King. 'Gawaine,

Bring back the milk-white hart.

To you, King Pellinore, behoves

To play a nobler part:

'The Knight and Lady you shall meet

Bring them again before this court,

Or sacrifice their life.

'And you, Sir Tor, your valour test,

And knightly honour gain,

For bringing back the brachet white

Within this hall again.'

It little boots me now to tell

Suffice it that they all returned

Their task accomplishd.

Then Arthur stablished all the knights;

To such as were too poor

He granted lands and tenements

Dividing up his store.

And solemnly he charged them all

No outrage e'er to do,

Murder, cruelty, and vice,

And treason to eschew.

He said, 'To him that asketh you

Mercy and pardon give,

Under the ban of forfeiting

'The penalty of death be yours,

If damsels in distress

Or gentlewomen plead in vain

For succour or redress.

'And let no man for worldly goods,

Or lands, or sordid pelf,

In wrongful quarrel battle make

Or glorify himself.

'Swear,' said King Arthur -- every knight

Uprose to do his will --

'Swear faithfully and loyally

My precepts to fulfil.'

'Twas done -- in every future year,

As Pentecost came by,

King Arthur's knights were bound by oath

To truth and chivalry.

And thus was stablished in our land

Long may they last, nor ever fail

Till time itself shall die!

" The Sancgreal.\"

It chanced, when Lancelot du Lake

Had freed from durance vile

The fairest lady in the land,

He journeyed on awhile,

Until King Pelles spied the knight,

Whose castle stood hard by,

And begged him to alight and share

His hospitality.

So courteously and graciously

The twain passed through the gate,

Then sat within the banquet hall,

The viands to await.

But lo! through window opened wide,

Without or voice or sound,

A gentle dove came gliding in,

And floated round and round.

Within her beak a censer hung

Cast in pure molten gold,

Whence clouds of fragrance issued forth

Which o'er the table rolled.

It seemed as Araby the blest,

And every spicy isle,

Had garnered all their treasures up,

To waft them there the while.

And forthwithal upon the board

All kinds of meats were spread,

And drinks that might the palate please

Were likewise furnishd.

A damsel passing fair and young,

Most beauteous to behold,

Came gliding in -- betwixt her hands

She bare a vase of gold.

And thereunto the King kneeled down,

Devoutly and with grace,

To say his prayers, as also did

Each soul within the place.

Then spake Sir Lancelot du Lake

And askd of the King,

'What may this mean? I pray you tell.'

'This is the richest thing,'

Replied King Pelles, 'that a man

E'en the Round Table, when this comes,

Shall be abolishd.

'And wit thou well, thou here hast seen

The holy Sangreal --

The blessed gift -- the cherished hope

Sought for and prayed of all.'

In after years when Lancelot

Had wedded sweet Elaine,

King Pelles' child, within those walls,

The wonder happed again.

For Lancelot's nephew, young Sir Bors,

To Corben Castle rode,

And in the banquet-hall he saw

and when

She said the lovely boy

Was Lancelot's child, he kneeld down

And wept for very joy,

And prayed to God, that when the child

To years of manhood grew,

He might prove worthy of his sire,

As brave a knight and true.

Then through the window opened wide,

Without or voice or sound,

A gentle dove came gliding in,

And floated round and round.

Within her beak a censer hung

Formed of pure molten gold,

Whence clouds of fragrance issued forth,

Which o'er the table rolled.

It seemed as Araby the blest,

And every spicy isle,

Had garnered all their treasures up

To waft them there awhile.

And forthwithal upon the board

All kinds of meats were spread,

And drinks that might the palate please

Were also furnishd.

A damsel passing fair and young,

Most beauteous to behold,

Came gliding in, betwixt her hands

Bearing a vase of gold.

She spake, 'This babe Sir Galahad,

Sir Bors, I bid you wit,

In future on Siege Perilous

As knight shall surely sit --

'A nobler knight than is his sire' --

Her words rang through the hall --

'For as he lives, he surely shall

Achieve the Sancgreal.'

She vanished then. As of afore,

King Pelles spoke out loud:

'No knight shall win, or honour have,

Save he that loveth God.

'Be he a knight of high degree,

Or be he e'er so brave,

An he nor love nor feareth God,

No honour shall he have.'

Replied Sir Bors, 'Within these halls

(I wot not what they mean)

Most strange and weird adventures hap,

And wondrous sights are seen.

I will be shriven with good will

And be confessd clean.'

So was he shriven of his sins,

And in the dead of night

Most marvellous adventures happed,

Too lengthy here to write.

When morning broke, to Camelot

For Arthur had returned from France

Victorious, and decreed

That feasts and tournaments be held

Upon that very day,

And all his knights at Table Round

Should sit in full array.

But when uncovered was the siege

Hight Perilous, behold,

The name of young Sir Galahad

Shone forth in molten gold.

But no one at the Table wot

Who Galahad might be,

Till long years afterward he came

Out from the nunnery

Where holy women reared the child

Till he to manhood grew,

And taught him to be good and wise,

Noble, and brave, and true.

At Pentecost, he having first

Performed the holy rite,

On bended knee he begged to be

Installd as a knight.

Sir Lancelot surveyed the youth,

And found him passing fair,

With limbs well knit, of stature tall,

Graceful beyond compare.

He struck him with his sword, and said,

'Sir Galahad, arise!

God grant the virtue ne'er may fade

Now shining through your eyes!'

Sir Galahad then hasted forth,

He broke their spears, he threw the knights

Save twain who would not yield.

He then unhorsed, unlaced him helm

At Guinever's request,

Who, looking on his visage, spake,

For, as you plainly see,

His face and mien bespeak him sprung

From true nobility.'

Then all to the great minster sped

To offer evensong,

King, Queen, the knights of Table Round,

With all the motley throng.

Then back to Camelot to sup,

Where in the lofty hall,

Each sitting as toforehand, lo!

This marvel did befall:

The thunder growled, and cracked ahead

As though the walls would rive.

Each knight made sign of cross, as though

The priest had stood to shrive.

But in the midst of crash and blast

A sunbeam entered there,

By seven times brighter than the day,

When day is bright and clear.

It shed such lustre over all,

And each seemed fairer in that light

Than e'er he seemed before.

No word was spoke, no sound was made,

As they all dumb had been:

The holy Grail in white samite

Came softly gliding in.

And as afore the hall was filled

With perfumes where it moved,

And every knight had meats and drinks

As each one wished and loved.

As quickly as it glided in,

It quick evanishd;

None knew from whence or whitherward

The holy vision fled.

King Arthur rose with reverence,

Bowing full low his head:

'Thank Jesu Christ our Lord for this

So precious boon,' he said.

Then up and spake Gawaine, 'I vow

By all I hold most dear,

In quest of this most holy Grail,

To wander for a year.

'And eke a day nor e'er return

Until it reappear

Unto my longing eyes more bright

And openly than here!'

Then rose up all the knights around,

And vowed, with one accord,

With heart and soul to join the quest,

For love of Christ their Lord.

King Arthur spake with troubled mien,

'Alas! Gawaine, Gawaine!

With this avow and promise made,

Ye have me well nigh slain.

'Alas! this morn I held secure

A band so brave and true,

The fairest fellowship on earth

That knighthood ever knew.

'Ye have bereft me of this band.

For when they once depart from hence,

I ne'er shall meet them more.

'For many in the quest will die --

Those that I loved so well.

How close I held them to my heart,

No words of mine can tell.

'And thus it now forthinketh me,

For 'twas an old, old usage

To have their company.'

This spake he, with the gathering tears

Slow trembling in his eyes,

Fresh from his o'ercharged heart, so full

Of loving memories.

Next morn, the band of gallant knights

Through the great minster pass,

And kneel below the altar stair

To celebrate the mass.

And then 'to horse!' The eager crowd

Maidens forlorn and gentlefolk

With wistful eyes are there:

The rich, the poor, the camp, the court,

They bid farewell with many a sob

And many a bitter tear.

They mount, they ride, their glittering plumes

Ah! what remains save aching hearts

To those they leave behind?

" The Death Of King Arthur.\"

False Mordred spake to Guinever,

'Arthur, thy lord, is dead,

And has appointed me to reign

O'er England in his stead.

'We will be crowned right royally.

We there high festival will make

For fifteen days at least,

'And thou shalt be my wedded wife.'

She shrank in mute dismay,

Knowing King Arthur had embarked

His troops from Cardiff Bay:

Full threescore thousand gallant men,

With his tried friend Gawaine,

To 'venge an insult, they had gone

Trust in thy subtle woman's wit

Born of thy woman's fears.

She answered him in gentle guise,

'I may not say thee nay,

But grant me that I journey first

To London town, I pray,

To buy some guards and trinkets fine

To grace my bridal day.'

False Mordred granted her request,

Then quick she hied to London town,

And bade her men repair

Unto the Tower, the which she filled

With food, and arms, and men,

Nor aught that Mordred said or did

Could lure her forth again.

He sued her with false honeyed words,

He stormed the Tower with mighty guns,

It was of no avail.

Within her fortress Guinever

Sent scornful answers true:

'Thou art a traitor to thy king,

Which thou full soon shalt rue.

'Ere I come forth to thee, false knight,

E'en though my lord be dead,

I liever by this sword will die

Than ever I thee wed.'

When Mordred heard that Arthur's host

Was coming over sea,

In eager haste to be avenged

For this foul treachery,

He writ to all the barons round

To come from far and near,

And studied words of treason dark

He whispered in their ear:

How that with Arthur evermore

Was naught but war and strife,

While he, Sir Mordred, gave them peace,

And joy, and bliss of life.

Then many that King Arthur had

Raised up from low estate,

And granted lands, now slanderous words

And evil 'gainst him spake.

Now, all ye Englishmen, behold

What mischief happened here:

This King, who was the noblest king,

And knight withouten peer,

Who loved the fellowship of none

But good and brave, who spent

His life redressing crime and wrong,

Was held in discontent.

This old, " old" custom of the land

Is not forgot, they say,

That Englishmen are ne'er content,

Not even at this day.

This is their great default -- no thing

Pleaseth this people long.

Thus happed it that false Mordred's force

Waxed numerous and strong.

They met at Dover. Arthur's fleet

Came sailing o'er the sea,

Bearing its freight of human worth,

A goodly company.

Then was there launching of great boats

And small, in eager haste

To lift King Arthur from the realm

Whereto God had him placed.

They rushed ashore -- ah, woe is me

For many a noble slain,

For barons bold, and gentle knights,

Among them Sir Gawaine.

When Arthur saw his sister's son

Fall with a deadly blow,

He took him gently in his arms,

And kissed his pallid brow.

'Gawaine,' he cried, 'my only joy!

I pray thee, do not die,

And leave me, in this cold bleak world,

To utter misery.

'For now I will confess to thee

That I have loved thee so,

I cannot bear, withouten thee,

This life of grief and woe.'

The dying man thrice oped his eyes,

And gasped amid his pain

Some words of comfort to the King,

Then never spake again.

King Arthur mourned with bitter grief

The friend he loved so well,

At Dover Castle buried him

Within a small chapelle,

Where even to this day his skull

Is shown, as travellers tell.

Meanwhile the battle hurtled on

King Arthur's troops victorious

Drave Mordred back again.

But then there happed a wondrous thing,

For in the dead of night

A vision to King Arthur came,

Warning him not to fight.

Gawaine, surrounded by a troop

Of ladies fair and bright,

Whom he had rescued from foul wrong,

Or aided in the right,

Thus spake: 'God sends us here to you

For if you fight to-morrow morn,

You surely will be slain.

'Wait only till Sir Lancelot

With aid shall reappear.'

Thus having said, he vanishd

As into empty air.

In council it was then decreed

That when the morrow came,

When both the armies were afield,

A herald should proclaim

A truce, with gold and lands in pledge,

If Mordred would accede.

The morning broke, the herald cried,

Each party was agreed.

But each, mistrustful of his foe,

Gave orders to his men

To stand prepared for deadly fight,

Should aught occur again

To mar the truce. Just then from out

Some heather on the right

An adder glided forth, and stung

Upon his foot a knight,

Who thought no harm, but drew his sword

To strike the reptile dead,

Whereat both armies yelled aloud

As by one impulse led.

At sound of trumpets, beams, and horns,

They hasted on to fight,

And never in this Christian land

Was seen more doleful sight.

Oh! there was rushing, riding fast,

And many a grim word spoke,

Foining and striking everywhere,

And many a deadly stroke.

They stinted not, but madly fought

At night a hundred thousand dead

Stark on the common lay.

When Arthur gazed across the down,

And saw his valiant host

All slain, save two poor wounded knights,

'Would that I too had been

Like these, my comrades, stricken dead,

Ere I this day had seen!

'Now would to God I wist me where

That traitor foul may be,

Who brought such mischief to the realm

And misery to me!'

Thereat he suddenly turned round,

And spied, across the plain,

False Mordred leaning on his sword

Among a heap of slain.

Then cried he to a wounded knight

Yclept Sir Bedevere,

'Yonder I spy the traitor false.

'For tide me life, or tide me death,

I see him there alone

He shall not 'scape my vengeance now

As he before hath done.'

With both his hands he seized the spear,

Crying, 'Thy hour is come --

Die, traitor, die!' rushed headlong on,

And drave the weapon home.

But with his sword the dying man

Smote Arthur on the head,

Piercing his helmet to the brain,

Then fell down stark and dead.

When noble Arthur fell to earth

Thrice in a deadly swoon,

Sir Lucan and Sir Bedevere

Thrice raised him up, and soon

They led him on betwixt them both

Softly and tenderly,

Until they reached a chapel small

Close by the moaning sea.

And while they sat and hearkened there,

All in the broad moonlight,

They saw the pillers on the down

Rob many a noble knight

Of brooch, and beads, and jewels rare,

Of many a goodly ring,

Which much distressed Sir Bedevere,

Who begged the dying King

To haste to some securer spot,

Where they could hide away.

Arthur replied, 'My time flees fast,

I have not long to stay.

'Now hie thee to yon waterside,

And throw my trusty sword,

My own Excalibur, therein,

And quickly bring me word

'What there thou see'st. It shall be done,'

Replied the willing knight.

But when he saw that noble sword,

With precious stones bedight

On haft and pommel, to himself

He reasoned in this wise:

'If I destroy this richest sword,

But harm and loss arise,

'For an I throw it in the stream,

No good to him or me.'

Whereon he hid Excalibur

Under the nearest tree.

When he gat back unto the King,

'What saw'st thou there?' quoth he.

'Naught but the waves and winds,' he said,

'Moaning most dolefully.'

Then said King Arthur, 'Truth is good,

As thou art lief and dear to me,

Go back and throw it in.'

Sir Bedevere returned again,

But thought it sin and shame

To cast away the noble sword,

So acted just the same.

He hid the sword amid the grass,

Then, on his bended knee,

Told Arthur his command was done.

'Say then what didst thou see?'

'Sire,' said he, 'I saw nothing there

while I remained,

Naught else to me did hap.'

'Ah, traitor!' said King Arthur, 'all

Thou hast betrayed me twice, and now

Thou would'st me quite undo.

'Who would have wend that thou, who wast

So lief and dear to me,

And called a noble knight, for gain

An if thou disobey me now,

Seizing the weapon fast,

He bound the girdle round the hilt,

And threw it in at last.

When lo! an arm and hand appeared

Above the watery grave,

Caught at the sword, thrice brandished it,

Then vanished in the wave.

When Arthur heard what had befell,

I dread

Too long I tarry here.'

He took the King upon his back,

Close to the waterside,

Where hovd in, fast by the bank,

Wherein there sate a stately queen,

And many ladies fair,

Who shrieked and wept for grief when they

Beheld King Arthur there.

'Now put me in the barge,' he said,

Three queens in sable hood therein

Gently King Arthur laid.

Upon the lap of one of these

His weary head he laid.

'Why have ye tarried, brother dear,

So long from me?' she said.

'Alas! the cold has stricken deep

'

And then they rowed far far away

From sad Sir Bedevere.

Their wailing floated on the wind,

Most pitiful to hear.

Soon as the barge was lost to sight,

Forlorn Sir Bedevere

Wept and bemoaned the livelong night,

Wandering about, in fear

Of armed foes and robbers vile,

Through devious forest ways.

When morning brake, a hermitage

Met his bewildered gaze.

Close by a little chapel stood,

Within, low grovelling on the ground,

A saintly hermit lay

Beside a new-made grave. The knight

Inquired in accents low,

'What man is recent buried there

Down in the grave below?'

'Fair Sir,' the hermit then replied,

A band of lovely ladies brought

Him here last night to me.

'A hundred tapers, too, they brought,

A hundred besants gave,

To lay in earth his lovely form,

His precious soul to save.'

'Alas! that was my honoured lord,'

Replied Sir Bedevere,

'King Arthur, prince of chivalry,

Who now lies buried here.'

Whereat he fell into a swoon.

When he revived again,

He begged the hermit piteously

To let him there remain.

'In life or death I would be near,

Not evermore remove,

By fasting and by prayer to show

My loyalty and love.'

And then he doffed his knightly gear,

Putting on mean array,

And both together wept and prayed

Their weary lives away.

Queen Guinever became a nun

In cloistered Almesbury,

Spending her days in deeds of love

And acts of charity.

Six Ballads About King Arthur