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"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
Again she said: 'I woo thee not with gifts.
Sequel of guerdon could not alter me
To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am,
So shalt thou find me fairest.

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My love hath told me so a thousand times.
Methinks I must be fair, for yesterday,
When I past by, a wild and wanton pard,
Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail
Crouch'd fawning in the weed. Most loving is
she?

Yet, indeed,

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If gazing on divinity disrobed
Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair,
Unbias'd by self-profit, O, rest thee sure
That I shall love thee well and cleave to thee,
So that my vigour, wedded to thy blood,
Shall strike within thy pulses, like a God's,
To push thee forward thro' a life of shocks, 160
Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow
Sinew'd with action, and the full-grown will,
Circled thro' all experiences, pure law,
Commeasure perfect freedom. '†

"Here she ceas'd,
And Paris ponder'd and I cried, 'O Paris,
Give it to Pallas!' but he heard me not,
Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me!

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And cast the golden fruit upon the board, 180 And bred this change; that I might speak my

"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes,
The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh
Half-whisper'd in his ear, 'I promise thee
The fairest and most loving wife in Greece.'
She spoke and laugh'd; I shut my sight for
fear;

But when I look'd, Paris had raised his arm,
And I beheld great Here's angry eyes,
As she withdrew into the golden cloud,
And I was left alone within the bower;
And from that time to this I am alone,
And I shall be alone until I die.

"Yet, mother Ida, harken ere I die. Fairest-why fairest wife? am I not fair?

mind,

And tell her to her face how much I hate
Her presence, hated both of Gods and men.

"O mother, hear me yet before I die.
Hath he not sworn his love a thousand times,
In this green valley, under this green hill,
Even on this hand, and sitting on this stone?
Seal'd it with kisses? water'd it with tears? 230
O happy tears, and how unlike to these!

190 O happy heaven, how canst thou see my face?
O happy earth, how canst thou bear my weight?
O death, death, death, thou ever-floating cloud,
There are enough unhappy on this earth,
Pass by the happy souls, that love to live;
I pray thee, pass before my light of life,
And shadow all my soul, that I may die.
Thou weighest heavy on the heart within,
Weigh heavy on my eyelids; let me die. 240

† The will, tried and perfected by experience until it is redeemed from all temptation to lawlessness, attains and only then to perfect freeIdalia and Paphos, in Cyprus, were places where Venus was especially worshiped.

dom.

§ Note the marked delaying effect of four trochaic words in an iambic line.

6 Eris, or "Strife": whence the apple was called the "Apple of Discord."

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"This mounting wave will roll us shoreward They sat them down upon the yellow sand,

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A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke, Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go; And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke,

Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below.

7 The Death of Enone, a late poem of Tennyson's, describes her death on the funeral pyre of Paris.

8 Sister of Paris, and a prophetess.

* This poem is founded on the story told by Ulys

ses (Odyssey IX, 83-97) of himself and his

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Between the sun and moon upon the shore;
And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland,
Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore
Most weary seem'd the sea, weary the oar,
Weary the wandering fields of barren foam.
Then some one said, "We will return no
more;"

And all at once they sang, “Our island home
Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer

roam.'"

SAINT AGNES' EVE

Deep on the convent-roof the snows
Are sparkling to the moon;
My breath to heaven like vapour goes;
May my soul follow soon!
The shadows of the convent-towers
Slant down the snowy sward,
Still creeping with the creeping hours
That lead me to my lord.
Make Thou my spirit pure and clear

As are the frosty skies,
Or this first snowdrop of the year

That in my bosom lies.

men arriving at the land of the lotos and partaking of the "flowery food" which caused for

getfulness of home. These five Spenserian stanzas, which are followed in the original by a long "Choric Song," contain some distinct echoes of Thomson's Castle of Indolence, which see (p. 344).

1 A tall sedge.

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As these white robes are soil'd and dark,

To yonder shining ground;

As this pale taper's earthly spark,

To yonder argent round;

So shows my soul before the Lamb,

My spirit before Thee;

So in mine earthly house I am,

To that I hope to be.

Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far,
Thro' all yon starlight keen,

Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star,

In raiment white and clean.

He lifts me to the golden doors;
The flashes come and go;

All heaven bursts her starry floors,
And strows her lights below,
And deepens on and up! the gates

Roll back, and far within

For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits,

To make me pure of sin.

The Sabbaths of Eternity,

One Sabbath deep and wide

A light upon the shining sea

The Bridegroom with his bride!

SIR GALAHAD*

My good blade carves the casques of men,
My tough lance thrusteth sure,
My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure.

The shattering trumpet shrilleth high,
The hard brands shiver on the steel,
The splinter'd spear-shafts crack and fly,
The horse and rider reel;
They reel, they roll in clanging lists,
And when the tide of combat stands,
Perfume and flowers fall in showers,
That lightly rain from ladies' hands.

How sweet are looks that ladies bend

On whom their favours fall! For them I battle till the end,

Between dark stems the forest glows,
I hear a noise of hymns.
Then by some secret shrine I ride;

I hear a voice, but none are there;
The stalls are void, the doors are wide,
The tapers burning fair.
Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth,
The silver vessels sparkle clean,
The shrill bell rings, the censer swings,
And solemn chants resound between.

24 Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres
I find a magic bark.

I leap on board; no helmsman steers;
I float till all is dark.

A gentle sound, an awful light!

Three angels bear the Holy Grail;
With folded feet, in stoles of white,

On sleeping wings they sail.
Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!
My spirit beats her mortal bars,
As down dark tides the glory slides,
And starlike mingles with the stars.

36 When on my goodly charger borne
Thro' dreaming towns I go,

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The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,2
The streets are dumb with snow.
The tempest crackles on the leads,
And, ringing, springs from brand and mail;

But o'er the dark a glory spreads,
And gilds the driving hail.

I leave the plain, I climb the height;
No branchy thicket shelter yields;
But blessed forms in whistling storms
Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields.

A maiden knight-to me is given
Such hope, I know not fear;

I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven
That often meet me here.

I muse on joy that will not cease,
Pure spaces clothed in living beams,
Pure lilies of eternal peace,
Whose odours haunt my dreams;
And, stricken by an angel's hand,
This mortal armour that I wear,
This weight and size, this heart and eyes,
Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air.

The clouds are broken in the sky,
And thro' the mountain-walls

A rolling organ-harmony

Swells up and shakes and falls.
Then move the trees, the copses nod,
Wings flutter, voices hover clear:

1 vault, cell

* See Malory's account on pages 100, 105-108.

2 Cp. Hamlet, I, i, 158.

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70

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Should banded unions persecute
Opinion, and induce a time

When single thought is civil crime, And individual freedom mute,

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So all day long the noise of battle roll 'd Among the mountains by the winter sea, 16 Until King Arthur's table, man by man, Had fallen in Lyonesse about their lord, King Arthur; then, because his wound was

deep,

The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,

* Founded on an old ballad, which may be read in Percy's Reliques.

† The original reading, "broadens slowly down." which was changed for the sake of euphony, gave a more correct emphasis.

1 Jove's thunderbolt.

2 Supposed to have been in Cornwall.

* See Malory's account on pages 108-110. This fragment was the germ of the Idylls of the King. It was written in 1835, and was incorporated in the "Passing of Arthur" when that was published in 1869.

Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights,
And bore him to a chapel nigh the field,
A broken chancel with a broken cross,
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
Shall never more, at any future time,
Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,
Walking about the gardens and the halls
Of Camelot, as in the days that were.
I perish by this people which I made,-
Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again
To rule once more but let what will be be,
I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm
That without help I cannot last till morn.
Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,
Which was my pride; for thou rememberest
how

Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth work
Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long
That both his eyes were dazzled, as he stood,

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10 This way and that dividing the swift mind,
In act to throw; but at the last it seem'd
Better to leave Excalibur conceal'd
There in the many-knotted water-flags,
That whistled stiff and dry about the marge.
So strode he back slow to the wounded king.
Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
"Hast thou perform'd my mission which I
gave?

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What is it thou hast seen, or what hast heard?'"

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: "I heard the ripple washing in the reeds, 70 And the wild water lapping on the crag."

In those old days, one summer noon, an arm
Rose up from out the bosom of the lake,
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
Holding the sword-and how I row'd across
And took it, and have worn it, like a king;5
And, wheresoever I am sung or told
In aftertime, this also shall be known.
But now delay not; take Excalibur,
And fling him far into the middle mere;

To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale:

"Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy name, Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight; For surer sign had follow'd, either hand, Or voice, or else a motion of the mere. 30 This is a shameful thing for men to lie. Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again As thou art liefs and dear, and do the thing 80 I bade thee, watch, and liatly bring me word."

Then went Sir Bedivere the second time Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere, Counting the dewy pebbles, fix'd in thought:

Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me But when he saw the wonder of the hilt,

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50 What record, or what relic of my lord
Should be to aftertime, but empty breath
And rumours of a doubt? but were this kept,
Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings,
Some one might show it at a joust of arms,
Saying, 'King Arthur's sword, Excalibur,
Wrought by the lonely maiden of the lake;
Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps
Upon the hidden bases of the hills.'

And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt;
For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks,

3 The capital of Arthur.

4 See pages 96, 99, etc. 5 See page 98.

6 into the mid-lake

7 quickly

8 beloved

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