Morte d'Arthur

Original Text: 
Alfred lord Tennyson, Poems, 2 vols. (Boston: W. D. Ticknor, 1842). PR 5550 E42a Victoria College Library (Toronto). Alfred lord Tennyson, Works (London: Macmillan, 1891). tenn T366 A1 1891a Fisher Rare Book Library (Toronto).
1  So all day long the noise of battle roll'd
2Among the mountains by the winter sea;
3Until King Arthur's table, man by man,
4Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their Lord,
5King Arthur: then, because his wound was deep,
6The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,
7Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights,
8And bore him to a chapel nigh the field,
9A broken chancel with a broken cross,
10That stood on a dark strait of barren land.
11On one side lay the ocean, and on one
12Lay a great water, and the moon was full.
13      Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
14"The sequel of to-day unsolders all
15The goodliest fellowship of famous knights
16Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep
17They sleep--the men I loved. I think that we
18Shall never more, at any future time,
19Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,
20Walking about the gardens and the halls
21Of Camelot, as in the days that were.
22I perish by this people which I made,--
23Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again
24To rule once more--but let what will be, be,
25I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm
26That without help I cannot last till morn.
27Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,
28Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how
29In those old days, one summer noon, an arm
30Rose up from out the bosom of the lake,
31Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
32Holding the sword--and how I row'd across
33And took it, and have worn it, like a king:
34And, wheresoever I am sung or told
35In aftertime, this also shall be known:
36But now delay not: take Excalibur,
37And fling him far into the middle mere:
38Watch what thou seëst, and lightly bring me word."
39      To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere:
40"It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus,
41Aidless, alone, and smitten thro' the helm.
42A little thing may harm a wounded man.
43Yet I thy hest will all perform at full,
44Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word."
45      So saying, from the ruin'd shrine he stept
46And in the moon athwart the place of tombs,
47Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men,
48Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang
49Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down
50By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock,
51Came on the shining levels of the lake.
52      There drew he forth the brand Excalibur,
53And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon,
54Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth
55And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt:
56For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks,
57Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth work
58Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long
59That both his eyes were dazzled, as he stood,
60This way and that dividing the swift mind,
61In act to throw: but at the last it seem'd
62Better to leave Excalibur conceal'd
63There in the many-knotted water-flags,
64That whistled stiff and dry about the marge.
65So strode he back slow to the wounded King.
66      Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
67"Hast thou perform'd my mission which I gave?
68What is it thou hast seen, or what hast heard?"
69      And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
70"I heard the ripple washing in the reeds,
71And the wild water lapping on the crag."
72      To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale:
73"Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy name,
74Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd
75Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight:
76For surer sign had follow'd, either hand,
77Or voice, or else a motion of the mere.
78This is a shameful thing for men to lie.
79Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again
80As thou art lief and dear, and do the thing
81I bade thee, watch, and lightly bring me word."
82      Then went Sir Bedivere the second time
83Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere,
84Counting the dewy pebbles, fixed in thought;
85But when he saw the wonder of the hilt,
86How curiously and strangely chased, he smote
87His palms together, and he cried aloud,
88      "And if indeed I cast the brand away,
89Surely a precious thing, one worthy note,
90Should thus be lost forever from the earth,
91Which might have pleased the eyes of many men.
92What good should follow this, if this were done?
93What harm, undone? deep harm to disobey,
94Seeing obedience is the bond of rule.
95Were it well to obey then, if a king demand
96An act unprofitable, against himself?
97The King is sick, and knows not what he does.
98What record, or what relic of my lord
99Should be to aftertime, but empty breath
100And rumours of a doubt? but were this kept,
101Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings,
102Some one might show it at a joust of arms,
103Saying, 'King Arthur's sword, Excalibur,
104Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake;
105Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps
106Upon the hidden bases of the hills.'
107So might some old man speak in the aftertime
108To all the people, winning reverence.
109But now much honour and much fame were lost."
110      So spake he, clouded with his own conceit,
111And hid Excalibur the second time,
112And so strode back slow to the wounded King.
113      Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily:
114"What is it thou hast seen, or what hast heard?"
115      And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
116"I heard the water lapping on the crag,
117And the long ripple washing in the reeds."
118      To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath:
119"Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue,
120Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me!
121Authority forgets a dying king,
122Laid widow'd of the power in his eye
123That bow'd the will. I see thee what thou art,
124For thou, the latest-left of all my knights,
125In whom should meet the offices of all,
126Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt;
127Either from lust of gold, or like a girl
128Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes.
129Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice,
130And the third time may prosper, get thee hence:
131But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur,
132I will arise and slay thee with my hands."
133      Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran,
134And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged
135Among the bulrush-beds, and clutch'd the sword,
136And strongly wheel'd and threw it. The great brand
137Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon,
138And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an arch,
139Shot like a streamer of the northern morn,
140Seen where the moving isles of winter shock
141By night, with noises of the northern sea.
142So flash'd and fell the brand Excalibur:
143But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm
144Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
145And caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him
146Three times, and drew him under in the mere.
147And lightly went the other to the King.
148      Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker breath:
149"Now see I by thine eyes that this is done.
150Speak out: what is it thou hast heard, or seen?"
151      And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
152"Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems
153Should blind my purpose, for I never saw,
154Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die,
155Not tho' I live three lives of mortal men,
156So great a miracle as yonder hilt.
157Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him;
158But when I look'd again, behold an arm,
159Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
160That caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him
161Three times, and drew him under in the mere."
162      And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard:
163"My end draws nigh; 't is time that I were gone.
164Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight,
165And bear me to the margin; yet I fear
166My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die."
167      So saying, from the pavement he half rose,
168Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm,
169And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes
170As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere
171Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears,
172And would have spoken, but he found not words,
173Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee,
174O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands,
175And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs.
176      But, as he walk'd, King Arthur panted hard,
177Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed
178When all the house is mute. So sigh'd the King
179Muttering and murmuring at his ear, "Quick, quick!
180I fear it is too late, and I shall die."
181But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge,
182Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walk'd
183Larger than human on the frozen hills.
184He heard the deep behind him, and a cry
185Before. His own thought drove him like a goad.
186Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves
187And barren chasms, and all to left and right
188The bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he based
189His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang
190Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels--
191And on a sudden, lo! the level lake,
192And the long glories of the winter moon.
193      Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge
194Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern,
195Beneath them; and descending they were ware
196That all the decks were dense with stately forms
197Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream--by these
198Three Queens with crowns of gold--and from them rose
199A cry that shiver'd to the tingling stars,
200And, as it were one voice, an agony
201Of lamentation, like a wind, that shrills
202All night in a waste land, where no one comes,
203Or hath come, since the making of the world.
204      Then murmur'd Arthur, "Place me in the barge,"
205And to the barge they came. There those three Queens
206Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept.
207But she that rose the tallest of them all
208And fairest, laid his head upon her lap,
209And loosed the shatter'd casque, and chafed his hands,
210And call'd him by his name, complaining loud
211And dropping bitter tears against his brow
212Striped with dark blood: for all his face was white
213And colourless, and like the wither'd moon
214Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east;
215And all his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops
216Of onset; and the light and lustrous curls--
217That made his forehead like a rising sun
218High from the daïs-throne--were parch'd with dust;
219Or, clotted into points and hanging loose,
220Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips.
221So like a shatter'd column lay the King;
222Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest,
223From spur to plume a star of tournament,
224Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged
225Before the eyes of ladies and of kings.
226      Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere:
227"Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go?
228Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?
229For now I see the true old times are dead,
230When every morning brought a noble chance,
231And every chance brought out a noble knight.
232Such times have been not since the light that led
233The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh.
234But now the whole ROUND TABLE is dissolved
235Which was an image of the mighty world;
236And I, the last, go forth companionless,
237And the days darken round me, and the years,
238Among new men, strange faces, other minds."
239      And slowly answer'd Arthur from the barge:
240"The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
241And God fulfils Himself in many ways,
242Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
243Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?
244I have lived my life, and that which I have done
245May He within Himself make pure! but thou,
246If thou shouldst never see my face again,
247Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer
248Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice
249Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
250For what are men better than sheep or goats
251That nourish a blind life within the brain,
252If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer
253Both for themselves and those who call them friend?
254For so the whole round earth is every way
255Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.
256But now farewell. I am going a long way
257With these thou seëst--if indeed I go--
258(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)
259To the island-valley of Avilion;
260Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,
261Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
262Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard-lawns
263And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea,
264Where I will heal me of my grievous wound."
265      So said he, and the barge with oar and sail
266Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan
267That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,
268Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood
269With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere
270Revolving many memories, till the hull
271Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn,
272And on the mere the wailing died away.
Publication Start Year: 
1842
RPO poem Editors: 
J. D. Robins
RPO Edition: 
2RP 2.379.
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