Alfred, Lord Tennyson - Delphi Poets Series

by Lord Tennyson Alfred

  Perilous for good and ill; “for there,” he said,

  “No man could sit but he should lose himself:”

  And once by misadvertence Merlin sat

  In his own chair, and so was lost; but he,

  Galahad, when he heard of Merlin’s doom,

  Cried, “If I lose myself, I save myself!”

  ‘Then on a summer night it came to pass,

  While the great banquet lay along the hall,

  That Galahad would sit down in Merlin’s chair.

  ‘And all at once, as there we sat, we heard

  A cracking and a riving of the roofs,

  And rending, and a blast, and overhead

  Thunder, and in the thunder was a cry.

  And in the blast there smote along the hall

  A beam of light seven times more clear than day:

  And down the long beam stole the Holy Grail

  All over covered with a luminous cloud.

  And none might see who bare it, and it past.

  But every knight beheld his fellow’s face

  As in a glory, and all the knights arose,

  And staring each at other like dumb men

  Stood, till I found a voice and sware a vow.

  ‘I sware a vow before them all, that I,

  Because I had not seen the Grail, would ride

  A twelvemonth and a day in quest of it,

  Until I found and saw it, as the nun

  My sister saw it; and Galahad sware the vow,

  And good Sir Bors, our Lancelot’s cousin, sware,

  And Lancelot sware, and many among the knights,

  And Gawain sware, and louder than the rest.’

  Then spake the monk Ambrosius, asking him,

  ‘What said the King? Did Arthur take the vow?’

  ‘Nay, for my lord,’ said Percivale, ‘the King,

  Was not in hall: for early that same day,

  Scaped through a cavern from a bandit hold,

  An outraged maiden sprang into the hall

  Crying on help: for all her shining hair

  Was smeared with earth, and either milky arm

  Red-rent with hooks of bramble, and all she wore

  Torn as a sail that leaves the rope is torn

  In tempest: so the King arose and went

  To smoke the scandalous hive of those wild bees

  That made such honey in his realm. Howbeit

  Some little of this marvel he too saw,

  Returning o’er the plain that then began

  To darken under Camelot; whence the King

  Looked up, calling aloud, “Lo, there! the roofs

  Of our great hall are rolled in thunder-smoke!

  Pray Heaven, they be not smitten by the bolt.”

  For dear to Arthur was that hall of ours,

  As having there so oft with all his knights

  Feasted, and as the stateliest under heaven.

  ‘O brother, had you known our mighty hall,

  Which Merlin built for Arthur long ago!

  For all the sacred mount of Camelot,

  And all the dim rich city, roof by roof,

  Tower after tower, spire beyond spire,

  By grove, and garden-lawn, and rushing brook,

  Climbs to the mighty hall that Merlin built.

  And four great zones of sculpture, set betwixt

  With many a mystic symbol, gird the hall:

  And in the lowest beasts are slaying men,

  And in the second men are slaying beasts,

  And on the third are warriors, perfect men,

  And on the fourth are men with growing wings,

  And over all one statue in the mould

  Of Arthur, made by Merlin, with a crown,

  And peaked wings pointed to the Northern Star.

  And eastward fronts the statue, and the crown

  And both the wings are made of gold, and flame

  At sunrise till the people in far fields,

  Wasted so often by the heathen hordes,

  Behold it, crying, “We have still a King.”

  ‘And, brother, had you known our hall within,

  Broader and higher than any in all the lands!

  Where twelve great windows blazon Arthur’s wars,

  And all the light that falls upon the board

  Streams through the twelve great battles of our King.

  Nay, one there is, and at the eastern end,

  Wealthy with wandering lines of mount and mere,

  Where Arthur finds the brand Excalibur.

  And also one to the west, and counter to it,

  And blank: and who shall blazon it? when and how? —

  O there, perchance, when all our wars are done,

  The brand Excalibur will be cast away.

  ‘So to this hall full quickly rode the King,

  In horror lest the work by Merlin wrought,

  Dreamlike, should on the sudden vanish, wrapt

  In unremorseful folds of rolling fire.

  And in he rode, and up I glanced, and saw

  The golden dragon sparkling over all:

  And many of those who burnt the hold, their arms

  Hacked, and their foreheads grimed with smoke, and seared,

  Followed, and in among bright faces, ours,

  Full of the vision, prest: and then the King

  Spake to me, being nearest, “Percivale,”

  (Because the hall was all in tumult — some

  Vowing, and some protesting), “what is this?”

  ‘O brother, when I told him what had chanced,

  My sister’s vision, and the rest, his face

  Darkened, as I have seen it more than once,

  When some brave deed seemed to be done in vain,

  Darken; and “Woe is me, my knights,” he cried,

  “Had I been here, ye had not sworn the vow.”

  Bold was mine answer, “Had thyself been here,

  My King, thou wouldst have sworn.” “Yea, yea,” said he,

  “Art thou so bold and hast not seen the Grail?”

  ‘“Nay, lord, I heard the sound, I saw the light,

  But since I did not see the Holy Thing,

  I sware a vow to follow it till I saw.”

  ‘Then when he asked us, knight by knight, if any

  Had seen it, all their answers were as one:

  “Nay, lord, and therefore have we sworn our vows.”

  ‘“Lo now,” said Arthur, “have ye seen a cloud?

  What go ye into the wilderness to see?”

  ‘Then Galahad on the sudden, and in a voice

  Shrilling along the hall to Arthur, called,

  “But I, Sir Arthur, saw the Holy Grail,

  I saw the Holy Grail and heard a cry —

  ‘O Galahad, and O Galahad, follow me.’”

  ‘“Ah, Galahad, Galahad,” said the King, “for such

  As thou art is the vision, not for these.

  Thy holy nun and thou have seen a sign —

  Holier is none, my Percivale, than she —

  A sign to maim this Order which I made.

  But ye, that follow but the leader’s bell”

  (Brother, the King was hard upon his knights)

  “Taliessin is our fullest throat of song,

  And one hath sung and all the dumb will sing.

  Lancelot is Lancelot, and hath overborne

  Five knights at once, and every younger knight,

  Unproven, holds himself as Lancelot,

  Till overborne by one, he learns — and ye,

  What are ye? Galahads? — no, nor Percivales”

  (For thus it pleased the King to range me close

  After Sir Galahad); “nay,” said he, “but men

  With strength and will to right the wronged, of power

  To lay the sudden heads of violence flat,

  Knights that in twelve great battles splashed and dyed

  The strong White Horse in his own heathen blood —
<
br />   But one hath seen, and all the blind will see.

  Go, since your vows are sacred, being made:

  Yet — for ye know the cries of all my realm

  Pass through this hall — how often, O my knights,

  Your places being vacant at my side,

  This chance of noble deeds will come and go

  Unchallenged, while ye follow wandering fires

  Lost in the quagmire! Many of you, yea most,

  Return no more: ye think I show myself

  Too dark a prophet: come now, let us meet

  The morrow morn once more in one full field

  Of gracious pastime, that once more the King,

  Before ye leave him for this Quest, may count

  The yet-unbroken strength of all his knights,

  Rejoicing in that Order which he made.”

  ‘So when the sun broke next from under ground,

  All the great table of our Arthur closed

  And clashed in such a tourney and so full,

  So many lances broken — never yet

  Had Camelot seen the like, since Arthur came;

  And I myself and Galahad, for a strength

  Was in us from this vision, overthrew

  So many knights that all the people cried,

  And almost burst the barriers in their heat,

  Shouting, “Sir Galahad and Sir Percivale!”

  ‘But when the next day brake from under ground —

  O brother, had you known our Camelot,

  Built by old kings, age after age, so old

  The King himself had fears that it would fall,

  So strange, and rich, and dim; for where the roofs

  Tottered toward each other in the sky,

  Met foreheads all along the street of those

  Who watched us pass; and lower, and where the long

  Rich galleries, lady-laden, weighed the necks

  Of dragons clinging to the crazy walls,

  Thicker than drops from thunder, showers of flowers

  Fell as we past; and men and boys astride

  On wyvern, lion, dragon, griffin, swan,

  At all the corners, named us each by name,

  Calling, “God speed!” but in the ways below

  The knights and ladies wept, and rich and poor

  Wept, and the King himself could hardly speak

  For grief, and all in middle street the Queen,

  Who rode by Lancelot, wailed and shrieked aloud,

  “This madness has come on us for our sins.”

  So to the Gate of the three Queens we came,

  Where Arthur’s wars are rendered mystically,

  And thence departed every one his way.

  ‘And I was lifted up in heart, and thought

  Of all my late-shown prowess in the lists,

  How my strong lance had beaten down the knights,

  So many and famous names; and never yet

  Had heaven appeared so blue, nor earth so green,

  For all my blood danced in me, and I knew

  That I should light upon the Holy Grail.

  ‘Thereafter, the dark warning of our King,

  That most of us would follow wandering fires,

  Came like a driving gloom across my mind.

  Then every evil word I had spoken once,

  And every evil thought I had thought of old,

  And every evil deed I ever did,

  Awoke and cried, “This Quest is not for thee.”

  And lifting up mine eyes, I found myself

  Alone, and in a land of sand and thorns,

  And I was thirsty even unto death;

  And I, too, cried, “This Quest is not for thee.”

  ‘And on I rode, and when I thought my thirst

  Would slay me, saw deep lawns, and then a brook,

  With one sharp rapid, where the crisping white

  Played ever back upon the sloping wave,

  And took both ear and eye; and o’er the brook

  Were apple-trees, and apples by the brook

  Fallen, and on the lawns. “I will rest here,”

  I said, “I am not worthy of the Quest;”

  But even while I drank the brook, and ate

  The goodly apples, all these things at once

  Fell into dust, and I was left alone,

  And thirsting, in a land of sand and thorns.

  ‘And then behold a woman at a door

  Spinning; and fair the house whereby she sat,

  And kind the woman’s eyes and innocent,

  And all her bearing gracious; and she rose

  Opening her arms to meet me, as who should say,

  “Rest here;” but when I touched her, lo! she, too,

  Fell into dust and nothing, and the house

  Became no better than a broken shed,

  And in it a dead babe; and also this

  Fell into dust, and I was left alone.

  ‘And on I rode, and greater was my thirst.

  Then flashed a yellow gleam across the world,

  And where it smote the plowshare in the field,

  The plowman left his plowing, and fell down

  Before it; where it glittered on her pail,

  The milkmaid left her milking, and fell down

  Before it, and I knew not why, but thought

  “The sun is rising,” though the sun had risen.

  Then was I ware of one that on me moved

  In golden armour with a crown of gold

  About a casque all jewels; and his horse

  In golden armour jewelled everywhere:

  And on the splendour came, flashing me blind;

  And seemed to me the Lord of all the world,

  Being so huge. But when I thought he meant

  To crush me, moving on me, lo! he, too,

  Opened his arms to embrace me as he came,

  And up I went and touched him, and he, too,

  Fell into dust, and I was left alone

  And wearying in a land of sand and thorns.

  ‘And I rode on and found a mighty hill,

  And on the top, a city walled: the spires

  Pricked with incredible pinnacles into heaven.

  And by the gateway stirred a crowd; and these

  Cried to me climbing, “Welcome, Percivale!

  Thou mightiest and thou purest among men!”

  And glad was I and clomb, but found at top

  No man, nor any voice. And thence I past

  Far through a ruinous city, and I saw

  That man had once dwelt there; but there I found

  Only one man of an exceeding age.

  “Where is that goodly company,” said I,

  “That so cried out upon me?” and he had

  Scarce any voice to answer, and yet gasped,

  “Whence and what art thou?” and even as he spoke

  Fell into dust, and disappeared, and I

  Was left alone once more, and cried in grief,

  “Lo, if I find the Holy Grail itself

  And touch it, it will crumble into dust.”

  ‘And thence I dropt into a lowly vale,

  Low as the hill was high, and where the vale

  Was lowest, found a chapel, and thereby

  A holy hermit in a hermitage,

  To whom I told my phantoms, and he said:

  ‘“O son, thou hast not true humility,

  The highest virtue, mother of them all;

  For when the Lord of all things made Himself

  Naked of glory for His mortal change,

  ‘Take thou my robe,’ she said, ‘for all is thine,’

  And all her form shone forth with sudden light

  So that the angels were amazed, and she

  Followed Him down, and like a flying star

  Led on the gray-haired wisdom of the east;

  But her thou hast not known: for what is this

  Thou thoughtest of thy prowess and thy sins?

  Thou hast not lost thy
self to save thyself

  As Galahad.” When the hermit made an end,

  In silver armour suddenly Galahad shone

  Before us, and against the chapel door

  Laid lance, and entered, and we knelt in prayer.

  And there the hermit slaked my burning thirst,

  And at the sacring of the mass I saw

  The holy elements alone; but he,

  “Saw ye no more? I, Galahad, saw the Grail,

  The Holy Grail, descend upon the shrine:

  I saw the fiery face as of a child

  That smote itself into the bread, and went;

  And hither am I come; and never yet

  Hath what thy sister taught me first to see,

  This Holy Thing, failed from my side, nor come

  Covered, but moving with me night and day,

  Fainter by day, but always in the night

  Blood-red, and sliding down the blackened marsh

  Blood-red, and on the naked mountain top

  Blood-red, and in the sleeping mere below

  Blood-red. And in the strength of this I rode,

  Shattering all evil customs everywhere,

  And past through Pagan realms, and made them mine,

  And clashed with Pagan hordes, and bore them down,

  And broke through all, and in the strength of this

  Come victor. But my time is hard at hand,

  And hence I go; and one will crown me king

  Far in the spiritual city; and come thou, too,

  For thou shalt see the vision when I go.”

  ‘While thus he spake, his eye, dwelling on mine,

  Drew me, with power upon me, till I grew

  One with him, to believe as he believed.

  Then, when the day began to wane, we went.

  ‘There rose a hill that none but man could climb,

  Scarred with a hundred wintry water-courses —

  Storm at the top, and when we gained it, storm

  Round us and death; for every moment glanced

  His silver arms and gloomed: so quick and thick

  The lightnings here and there to left and right

  Struck, till the dry old trunks about us, dead,

  Yea, rotten with a hundred years of death,

  Sprang into fire: and at the base we found

  On either hand, as far as eye could see,

  A great black swamp and of an evil smell,

  Part black, part whitened with the bones of men,

  Not to be crost, save that some ancient king

  Had built a way, where, linked with many a bridge,

  A thousand piers ran into the great Sea.

  And Galahad fled along them bridge by bridge,

  And every bridge as quickly as he crost

  Sprang into fire and vanished, though I yearned

  To follow; and thrice above him all the heavens

  Opened and blazed with thunder such as seemed