In some odd nooks like this; till I, tired out With cutting eights that day upon the pond, I bump'd the ice into three several stars, The parson taking wide and wider sweeps, Now hawking at Geology and schism; Right thro' the world, "at home was little left, 66 "Why yes," I said, “we knew your gift that way At college: but another which you had, I mean of verse (for so we held it then,) What came of that?" "You know," said Frank, "he burnt His epic, his King Arthur, some twelve books"- God knows: he has a mint of reasons: ask. It pleased me well enough." "Nay, nay," said Hall, "Why take the style of those heroic times? Nor we those times; and why should any man Mere chaff and draff, much better burnt." "But I," Said Francis, "pick'd the eleventh from this hearth, And have it: keep a thing, its use will come. I hoard it as a sugar-plum for Holmes.” He laugh`d, and I, though sleepy, like a horse Read, mouthing out his hollow oes and aes, O all day long the noise of battle roll'd Until King Arthur's table, man by man, Ilad fall'n in Lyonness about their Lord, King Arthur: then, because his wound was deep, Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights, 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 Bedivere: "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 Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds, I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how |