The Quest Of The Sancgreal

*

An Arthurian Miscellany
When Merlin's wisdom for the king ordain'd

The Table Round in likeness of the world,

He placed therein the sieges for each knight

Should sit thereat, and prophesied that one

Who there broke bread the Sancgreal should achieve,

Should win the holy vessel that contain'd

The Saviour's blessed blood, that had been brought

To this far land, after that Christ had died,

By Joseph who had given Him his tomb,

And hid away from common sight of men,

Till he should come so worthy of this grace

That all would say but One e'er lived before

As pure from evil and so brave in deed.

And Merlin made a siege where he might sit,

And call'd the name of it "Siege Perilous,"

Marking it next to Launcelot's at the board,

And giving signs should show fulfillment near.

So, ever at the feasts King Arthur held,

They look'd to see a token of the time;

And more than once, elated by good cheer,

Some gallant sir essay'd that empty seat,

But none e'er sat therein but got a hurt;

And years went by, but still the mystic siege

Waited the coming guest for whom was laid

Trencher and goblet as for all the rest.

At Pentecost 'twas custom of the king

To know adventure ere they went to meat;

So, as they whiled away the lagging hours,

One Whitsuntide, upon the river's bank

That runs to Camelot, a marvel came.

For, lo! a great stone floated down the stream,

Wherin was upright stuck a fair, rich sword,

And golden letters in the marble taught

The best knight in the world to take it thence.

Then unto Launcelot spoke the courteous king,

"Brave sir, the blade is yours!" But Launcelot said,

"Not so, my liege: the best knight in the world,

You do forget, is he shall sit unharm'd

Beside me at the feast! And he that strives

To take that sword and fails shall get a wound

Full sore to heal; for, see, its name is writ

In precious stones upon the shining hilt."

And Arthur read, in rays of diamond light,

The one word "Justice," while Sir Gawaine strove,

And then Sir Percivale, to stir the sword;

But both their hands upon the weapon slipp'd,

And stain'd its edge with blood, until the prince

Forbade endeavor more. "For thus," he said,

"My own Excalibur defied all strength,

Until my destined grasp the handle siezed.

This too is fix'd by Fate, and he shall wield

Its keenness rightly will be worthy sure

To have us bow our heads to him. And now

Let's in to dine, and toast our unknown peer!"

And, ere each lord was served in his own place,

Came in an aged man, clothed all in white,

And with him a young knight in crimson robed,

Upon whose shoulders hung a mantle furr'd

With royal ermine, -- whose beardless visage bore

The smile of innocence, uplifted, calm

With the mild majesty of one who knows

None greater than his equal, yet who feels

His own soul humble in the sight of God.

And silent round the watching forms they walk'd

Until the elder lifted off the cloth

Laid o'er "Siege Perilous," wherein was writ,

In letters bright as stars, that all could see,

The name of "Galahad;" and that young knight

Sat down therein, and show'd no sign of harm,

The while his comrade bless'd him and went forth.

Then bow'd the king to him, and all the knights

Rose up, and gave him welcome with their hands;

And, after they had dined, the monarch spoke:

"Fair sir, I see the scabbard at thy side

Does lack a sword. Without, a marvel waits:

Wouldst win a weapon, and thy rare right prove

To fill that siege? for prophesy has rank'd

Him 'best knight in the world' should sit therein;

And so a stone proclaims that he shall take

The blade therefrom shall bear the same proud fame!"

Then Galahad and Arthur, side by side,

Went from the palace to the river's bank,

Where in his hand with ease the stranger held

The trial-sword, and slid it in the case

So smoothly that the good king, wondering, said,

"Surely those two were for each other made!"

And after jousting in the meadow's midst,

Whereat Sir Galahad exceeded all,

The court rode quiet back to Camelot;

And, as they sat at supper in a maze

Of listening wonder at this young knight's words,

A sudden thunder crash'd across his speech,

And shook the pillars of the hall; and sounds

Of rushing wings stirr'd through the darkness deep

That rested there an instant; when a light

Six times more clear than beams of noontide sun

Shone o'er them all, and glorified each face,

So that they all upon their neighbors look'd,

Struck dumb with awe, as through the silence rose

Angelic voices; then an odor rich

Fill'd their senses, and the taste of each

Knew that was long'd for most and liked the best;

While every soul felt such ecstatic joy

That love's great bliss seem'd but the barren type

Of this exceeding rapture; and then came

Their breath once more, and all things look'd the same.

Then whisper'd they into each other's ears

That there had been the Holy Greal of Christ;

Till Gawaine spoke aloud, and took a vow

That, as its blessing came in part to all,

Though fate ordain'd but one should fully win

The dangerous quest, that, just to know again

Such rare, high feeling, he would seek himself

The Sacred Vessel, which perchance if seen,

Its power might waft his soul so far from earth

That it might float into the gate of heaven,

Since but its unseen presence made them seem

Like olden gods at their ambrosial feasts!

Then rose they all, and with uplifted hands

Echoed Sir Gawaine's oath; and Arthur said,

"This promise smites my heart; for I do know

Such quest will rob me of my dearest friends,

And break the knightly fellowship we keep

So fair and true that all the world admires.

For never king has had such gallant peers;

And never more shall gather at my board

All those who leave me to my sorrow here!

For kings must fret on thrones, while crownless heads

Find Glory's laurel upon danger's field!"

And when the lords had arm'd themselves, they met

In the great court-yard, waiting by their steeds

Until the king had brought the weeping queen

To give their last farewell; and as the sun,

Slow sinking, cast o'er all a golden light,

They stood upon the palace-steps, both clad

In sparkling jewels and their royal robes;

And as, unhelmetted, with gauntlets off,

The knights came singly by to kiss their hands,

The quick sobs broke from Guinevere's fair breast,

And more than once the shining drops fell down

On some bow'd head; while Arthur, pale and sad,

Would take no homage, but with tender clasp

Press'd each to his full heart, and no one spoke.

And when at last Sir Launcelot came anear,

And held the ladye's palm within his own,

She sank, half fainting, on her husband's arm.

So Galahad but touch'd his maiden lips

To fingers cold as ice, that listless hung,

As wearied of the weight of their rich rings.

At last, when crested helmets were all donn'd

And bow'd in parting to the horses' manes,

The knights together through the gateway rode;

And Arthur watch'd them as their mail'd array

Wound down the path, until on burnish'd shields

The sun's last lingering rays no longer glanced,

Then with a sigh bore in the drooping queen.

And there was weeping of the rich and poor

As through the streets of Camelot they rode,

Where many a dame, with voice nigh choked with tears,

Did send her prayers with that gay cavalcade;

While ever and anon would leave the ranks

A favor'd sir, to catch upon his lance

Some scarf or token of his lady's grace,

Cast off from balconies where fair forms lean'd.

And so they journey'd to a castle's gates

Wherein the lord made cheer, till in the morn

They parted from each other, and all took,

In pairs or singly, their own different roads.

When many days had gone, Sir Gawaine met

Sir Ector in the way, and both reveal'd

That, after wandering long in beaten paths,

Neither had found adventure that had seem'd

To bring them nearer to the Holy Greal.

"In sooth," quoth Gawaine, "I am weary now

Of this new quest, and loath to follow it."

"And so," said Ector, "all the knights I saw

Upon my travels do complain the same.

Nor can I hear of Launcelot or Bors,

Or e'en of Galahad, the three we thought

Were sure to make the world ring with their deeds;

And truly, if they fail, not even we

Need strive in further search! Let's stop and rest."

And so they enter'd in an ancient church

That stood near by, and laid their bodies down

Upon the altar-steps, and thus there came

Into their sleep a marvellous dream to each.

First, Gawaine thought he saw into a field

Full strewn with herbs, wherein a rack of bulls

Stood proud and black, save one, all snowy white,

That ever kept its head bent down to graze;

But soon the rest went from the meadow forth,

To seek some pasture-ground they deem'd more rich,

And came back lean and weak, yet would not crop

The fresh, green grass their one wise comrade ate

And strove to lead them to and fully share!

But Ector dream'd that Launcelot and himself

Sprang from one chair upon two saddled steeds;

That one soon met Sir Launcelot on the way,

Who beat and spoil'd him, and then clothed him o'er

In knotted robes, and set him on an ass;

That thus he rode until he came, athirst,

To a fair well, and stoop'd him down to drink;

But always from his lips the waters sank,

Until at last he sadly journey'd on.

And when the knights awoke, they told their dreams,

And, as they talk'd, between them sudden rush'd,

Vanishing quick away, a hand that held

A clear light burning, and upon the wrist

A plain, strong bridle hung; and then they rose

To seek some hermit he could meaning give

To these their visions.

Ere they came anigh

To the lone cave where dwelt the holiest man

In all the realm, they met an armd knight,

Who kept the road, and so they drew a lot

To joust with him to have their pathway clear;

And Gawaine won, and ran his sharp lance through

The stranger's breast, and bore him to the ground.

And when they raised his visor, Ector groan'd;

"For see," he spoke, "thy hasty hand has slain

Our own sworn brother of the Table Round,

That with ourselves set out on this same quest."

"'Tis sad," his comrade said; "but then he stood

So stubborn in our way: besides, his course

Was towards the points we just have left behind;

Thus turn'd, he never could have reach'd the goal!"

And, as his soul departed, they went on.

Then, as they came unto the mountain rough,

They tied their coursers to a rock, and strode

Across the stones afoot, until they reach'd

A garden-patch, wherein a hermit stoop'd

To pick the worts that served for his sole food.

And when he heard the ringing of their mail,

He turn'd his aged form and ask'd their need.

So Gawaine told his dream, and counsel ask'd

Of his great wisdom; and, without more words,

He answer'd thus: "The herbs that strew'd the field

Were Patience and Humility; the rack

Was the Round Table, and the bulls its knights;

The meadow was the world, and that white steer

Was he shall keep himself so pure in life

His eyes shall see the glory of the Lord!

Those black were dyed with sins; and, as their heads

Would stoop not down to taste the precious food,

They shall on waste lands enter, and find death!"

And as Sir Gawaine ponder'd on this speech,

The good seer read Sir Ector's vision too:

"The chair ye left was pride, and, as your steeds

Were higher, ye were so much prouder there.

Sir Launcelot has been cast adown, and clothed

In garments of repentance, and the ass

Betokeneth meekness; but that fair well

Was God's rich grace, that would not touch his soul:

So now he journeys lonely on his way,

Till in due time he shall go back, and quench

His eager thirst within those waters clear.

The hand ye saw was charity; the light

Was hope; the bridle, abstinence, which holds

The heart's desires and leads the will from sin.

And as ye were not touch'd by charity,

Nor long time lit by hope, and have not caught

The reins of passion, and not yet have chew'd

The cud of Patience, ye shall never meet

The Holy Greal until ye win all these.

Now go your ways! Ye neither yet have done

True service to your Maker. As ye gave

To folly all the leaves and fruit of youth,

See that ye yield the bare rind to the Lord."

And then he went from them into his cave;

And both the knights, with eyes bent low, slow paced,

Deep musing, down the stony steep, and loosed

Their restless horses, and rode swift away.

And all the peers that started on the quest

Met strange adventures, and some got sore falls,

Some fainted by the way, and many died.

And some went back to Camelot, and lived

In sloth and ease with lemans fair and false;

But these King Arthur would not see at court,

For, though he grieved at parting with his frres,

He welcomed none that broke a knightly oath;

Albeit the queen in secret saw them oft,

To ask if e'er they heard of Launcelot aught.

Sir Galahad, the youngest of the knights,

A stranger, and unproved in gallant feats,

Rode by himself four days without a shield:

His heart was tender yet with dreams of youth,

And, as his life was nearer to his birth,

His soul was closer to his God than theirs

Who had forgotten heaven in the heat

Of earthly conflicts mid the light of fame.

He look'd on nature with such earnest love

His rapturous delight to worship soar'd.

His eyes grew gentler as he turn'd aside

His courser's hoofs lest they should heedless tread

To dust and death a daisy in the grass;

And when, unarm'd, he slept in some cool grove

At night beside his weary steed, the stars

Shed down through stirring leaves a sense of peace

Upon a spirit calm'd by trustful prayer.

He knew no fear, because his conscience lay

Like to a lake reflecting cloudless skies:

Not one dark thing o'ershadow'd its bright rest.

And if his mind dwelt oft on that high fate

The seers foretold for him, 'twas with the hope

That his high achievements might advance the cause

Of Right and Holiness within the world

He thought so fair, yet knew was foul'd by sin!

Once, after even-song, he came at last

To a white abbey, where he met a knight

Of Arthur's table, who reveal'd to him

That in this place was hung a wondrous shield,

Which none e'er bore in fight and kept unscathed.

"And yet," said Bagdemanus, "I will try,

Because my arm is strong, and sure can keep

By its own skill a shield before my breast!"

So in the morn he took it from its place

Behind the altar, and his comrade saw

'Twas all clear white, save in the midst was limn'd

A shining cross, red as if drawn in blood.

And then he started on adventure forth.

But, ere an hour, in haste his squire came back,

Pale with the tidings that his master lay

O'erthrown near by, and still beset by foes!

And Galahad went out with his bare sword

To where the wounded knight exhausted fell.

He seized the buckler from the feeble grasp,

And straightway was assail'd by countless shapes,

Giants and dwarfs, and bravely stood his ground,

Until at last he felt the storied shield

Slow slipping from his hold, while they who thrust

Their spears against it but the stronger grew

When he look'd faint: so his tried soul cried out

Aloud in anguish for God's gracious help;

And at the sacred Name they sudden sank

From his awed sight away; and then he saw

That a great angel, ray'd about with light,

Upheld his form, who bade him always use

The shield of Faith, since wielded with true Prayer

'Twould keep him ever from attacks of Doubts!

And afterwards, as Galahad went on,

He journey'd in a narrow path o'ergrown

With thorns and briers, where he oft was forced

To cut a way and lead his restless horse,--

Where poisonous vines with noxious smells made thick

The darken'd air, for branches interlaced

Barr'd light and progress, and from hidden lairs

Glared fiery eyes at him, and stagnant pools

Mock'd eager thirst. Yet still he onward toil'd;

For this, the monks had told him, was the road

Alone could forward him upon his quest.

Sometimes he long'd to throw aside his arms

And rest his weary limbs; but evermore

He saw some work to do, some goal to win

That brought him nearer to the end, nor dared

To slumber, lest he should be stung to death

By creeping creatures, or waste precious hours.

And, as he had such patience for himself,

He felt deep pity for his faithful steed,

And talk'd to him as tenderly as though

It were a woman that was hurt and worn, --

Oft stopping in his labor to smooth down

The ruffled mane, drawing the drooping head

Across his shoulder, and with gentle touch

Stroking the face, until the startled eyes

Grew wistful with a dumb, beseechful love;

And sometimes he would dip his shrinking hand

Into the slimy waters of black tarns,

To wet the bleeding limbs and panting sides.

And so at last they came unto a break

In one side of the road, where grandly stood

A lofty castle with wide-open gates;

And, more because his courser was so maim'd

Than that himself was tempted at the sight,

He enter'd there, and in the outer court

A damsel met, who led his tired steed

To a clean manger stored with straw and food,

The while across his senses faintly fell

Soft breezes of perfume, that wafted by

Delicious melodies, and drew him on

Through the broad portal to a hall, wherein

The only Presence was a leaping fount.

And, as his footsteps waken'd echoes there,

A hidden door flew wide, through which there danced

A troop of mirthful girls, with sandall'd feet,

To cadences of their own mellow strain,

In which their laughter mingled like the tone

Of silvery chorus threading all the tune.

And, as they forward floated where he stood

Entranced an instant by such lustrous eyes,

Their gauzy robes and loosen'd hair flew back,

And white, soft arms uncurved their wreathing grace

To stretch out rosy palms to meet his own;

He felt e'en through the links of his rough mail

The thrills of each light touch, as, group'd around,

They sang a song of greeting that ran thus: --

Enter in from toil and danger!

Ended here thy weary quest!

Now, no more to ease a stranger,

Thou shalt find reward and rest!

Love the Sancgreal! Love the blest!

Love's own heaven! it is here!

Hail! all hail! Love's happy guest,

Welcome here! welcome here!

Love shall fill thy soul with pleasure!

Love the Sancgreal! Love the dream!

Weaving joys for endless leisure,

Years will but like moments seem!

Love the Sancgreal! Love the blest!

Love's own heaven! it is here!

Hail! all hail! Love's happy guest,

Welcome here! welcome here!

While their bewildering voices fill'd his ear,

Their lithe, fair forms his sight, he, heedless then

Of aught beside, believed their siren words,

And willing follow'd them to fresh surprise.

For, lo! a chamber flooded with a light

Glowing in color without shade or glare,

Wherein were downy couches, spread with stuffs

Of gorgeous dyes deep fringed about with gold,

And poised between rich vases of all flowers

Can thrall the sense with fragrance and bright hues;

And in their midst a table heap'd with fruits

Luscious and ripe, nigh bursting with their juice,

'Mong dainty goblets sparkling with rare wine,

Whose fumes amid the scent of blossoms rose,

Like flames through incense, making warm his blood.

Athirst and hunger'd, wearied out and worn,

Sir Galahad sat not while women stood,

But lean'd with one arm on the board, while they

Gave ready service to allure his taste:

One brought him clusters of the purple grape,

One pour'd its amber essence, as a third

Stripp'd down the golden orange-rinds,

Or peel'd with jewell'd knife the rosy skin

Of mellow apples; while another broke

The brown stems from crisp, russet pears; he craved

The meat borne in upon its silver dish,

And once his hand crept towards the foaming cups;

But something -- either instinct in himself,

Or whisper of an unseen spirit near --

E'er warned him from them all, he knew not why:

So, with cool head and even pulse, he touch'd

No food but simple bread; and as he drain'd

Long draughts of water, while the damsels stared,

One quickly enter'd in their midst, who shone

Among the rest as might the noonday sun

Circled with twinkling stars; and Galahad

Thought for an instant that a minstrel's dream

Had taken shape, to thrill his throbbing heart

With timid wonder that aught out of heaven

Could be so fair. Form, face, voice, movement, dress,

Were all in harmony; and as she stood

Before him, with her vein'd lids droop'd adown,

Giving him welcome in her low, sweet tones,

There rush'd across his soul that one wild wave

Which whelms a proud man's reason, and makes weak

Earth's strongest Samsons. Suddenly he felt

How lone his life had been, how incomplete,

Half lived, divided as a perfect whole,

Ne'er to be rounded to entireness more

Until his being should absorb and blend

With this one woman's. Love, thus born full-grown,

The spirit's mystic Sancgreal seem'd indeed

That he sought outward sign of!

Days went by

As in a vision; hour in hour roll'd,

Till gliding time like flowing stream swept off

Th' unnoted marks of night and morn that show'd

Its course, and bore his life on rapid waves;

A helmless bark cast loose on unknown depths.

He kept mid luxury his simple ways,

Slept not on downy couches, drank no wine,

Wore still his sword and shield, as though might come

Some unexpected foe e'en to those halls;

He would not yield to sloth, or fire his blood,

For fear the fallen nature in his flesh

Should sully, e'en in thought, the image pure

He shrined for worship in his inmost soul.

Daily he touch'd her hand, sat at her feet,

Watching the changing beauty of her face;

His jealous envy mark'd when perfumed breeze

Lifted her golden hair; and if he felt

His breath come quick and fast, his youthful blood

Rushing in quicken'd beats, he stole away

To fight his passion till his lips could touch

Her garment's hem as if it were a saint's!

But once, as wearied of such homage high,

She threw aside the long restraint was worn

To win upon his nobleness, and deem'd

Her art had guided him, by slow degrees,

To point of her desire. Athwart his heart

A sharp pain like an arrow shot; a veil

Dropp'd from his charm'd sight; his bright dreams died!

Gravely and sadly he removed the arms

That clung about him, casting one last look

Of keen reproach upon the angry face,

Then rose and strode away with rapid steps,

Lest he should pause, and turn to love and sin and shame.

He found his waiting steed, and swiftly rode

Into the narrow way so full of thorns,

Oft hiding mid the briers, holding fast

His courser's mouth, lest he should gladly neigh

When groups of nymphs pass'd by in fruitless search.

He knew the Sancgreal must be farther on,

And took no heed of toil and danger now.

His soul was heavy with its broken trust;

And when he saw the idol he had rear'd

Upon his fancies of pure womanhood

Lie shatter'd by a breath, his sorrow left

His life no other aim save his old quest.

Anon Sir Launcelot, after striving long,

Did see on shore, while sailing on the sea,

A stately castle, and across the waves

A clear voice bade him enter there and find

Some part of his desire. He left the ship;

And, as he near'd the gates, he drew his sword,

Because of two fierce lions station'd close;

But something smote him sore upon the arm,

So that his weapon dropp'd; while the same tone

Accused his little faith, that trusted less

His Maker than his steel; then on his brow

He sign'd the cross, and harmless pass'd the beasts,

That crouch'd in homage. All the doors were wide

Of all the rooms, save one, whence music came;

And, as he vainly tried to stir its lock,

There stole across his soul the same deep sense

Of matchless joy had fill'd his peers that day

They took their oath to seek for it again.

Then on the threshold knelt Sir Launcelot down,

For well he wist the Sancgreal was within,

Praying, if ever he had pleased the Lord,

In spite of all his sins, that he might view

The holy thing he sought! And, lo! the door

Was open'd, and so great a light flow'd out

He scarce could see inside a silver stand,

That held the sacred vessel, cover'd o'er

With crimson samite, and bright angels round,

While hovering over with pierced hands and feet

The very Christ in glory ray'd!

He rose

To seize the Greal; but, ere he came anear,

A breath like burning smote him, that he fell,

And could not move or speak; when unseen hands

Lifted his form and bore him gently out.

He lay entranced for days, till time was ripe,

When other knights of his own fellowship,

Led there from different ways, his body found,

And tended him until his speech return'd;

And then he warn'd them, as they linger'd round

The portal closed they often strove to ope,

Lest they too should be smitten like himself

For over-boldness. "For now I know," he said,

"No man shall win the Sancgreal but the one

Whom Christ shall call! Alas! he call'd not me!"

And so they waited, till Sir Galahad,

After long journeys and adventures strange,

Came in their midst. They wonder'd much to see

His visage greatly changed, for all the youth

And bloom had gone from it, although it show'd

Rare beauty still, as from a grace within;

For he had lived with labor, sorrow, strife,

Yet ever meekly, patiently towards God,

And in true charity with men; his love,

His trial, and his grief, had only borne

His pure soul nigher heaven, and made him see

In other hearts the pain was in his own,

And kept him tender even when he smote.

And when they told him that within those walls

The Sancgreal was, he trembled, and his face

Was rapturous with joy; when, lo! a voice

Call'd three times "Galahad," and the closed door,

Barr'd 'gainst the rest, stood open unto him!

His comrades crowded in the hall, while he,

With timid steps, as doubting his own worth,

Went slowly in, and up the altar-steps,

Where stood the Holy Greal on silver stand.

He bow'd his head before it, as a choir

Of clustering angels sang exquisite strains;

While Christ's own self through circling lustre stretch'd

His wounded hand, when roll'd away the cloth

Of samite, and took up the sacred thing

And gave to him; then in sweet tones, that thrill'd

His listeners, bade him bear it o'er the land,

That all who saw it might be bless'd like him.

And then all vanish'd, save the vessel clasp'd

Close to the young knight's breast, who upward look'd

In praiseful ecstasy, while gather'd round

His peers, to gaze on it with solemn eyes,

And feel how lovely 'twas to draw so near

To aught just come from God; and Galahad

Took oath of them to travel as a guard

For their great gift, that all should help proclaim

Its power and good, that more might know delight.

Then journey'd they in company, save one,

Launcelot, who took the tidings to the king

Or ere he went to tell his own far realm.

And ever on their way the people flock'd

About the marvellous prize; the sick were heal'd,

The blind received their sight, and sinful lives

Grew purer, having known in part the bliss

That reigns in Paradise, and heard it said

Its joy would stay with them who merit proved;

The country's guilt was purged, and hope and love

Walk'd hand in hand, like seraphs, mid its homes!

Till they who humbly should have thank'd the Lord

That He had made them servants of His will,

Quarrell'd between themselves which one had done

The most to make the mighty Sancgreal known;

And at the last, in sooth, they question'd oft

The what it really was!

And Galahad,

Sore smitten, could not stay their angry tilts,

E'en when he went among them with his hands

Outholding the bless'd Greal! And then he pray'd

That Christ would take his spirit to Himself,

Where reign'd His peace. God's mercy heard his cry,

And, in full sight of all His angels, bore

The holy vessel from his dying arms

Up to the highest heaven. And only they

Have ever look'd upon the treasure since

Who pray and fast, and through repentant tears

Catch far-off glimpses of its glory's light.

And while he lay upon his couch and watch'd

The soaring messengers, the knights stood round,

E'en mid their mourning, all disputing still,

And asked him, ere he pass'd away, to tell

What he had deem'd the Sancgreal really was!

And Galahad uplifted his weak form,

And with his white face awed them, as his lips,

Quivering with death, spoke out his last, grand words:

"O Men! 'twas Truth! God's own Eternal Truth!"