'Hearest thou this great voice that shakes the world,And wastes the narrow realm whereon we move,And beats upon the faces of the dead,My dead,as though they had not died for me?--O Bedivere,for on my heart hath fallen Confusion,till I know not what I am,Nor whence I am,nor whether I be King.
Behold,I seem but King among the dead.'
Then spake the bold Sir Bedivere:'My King,King everywhere!and so the dead have kings,There also will I worship thee as King.
Yet still thy life is whole,and still I live Who love thee;but who hates thee,he that brought The heathen back among us,yonder stands,Modred,unharmed,the traitor of thine house.'
Then spake the King:'My house hath been my doom.
But call not thou this traitor of my house Who hath but dwelt beneath one roof with me.
My house are rather they who sware my vows,Yea,even while they brake them,owned me King.
And well for thee,saying in my dark hour,When all the purport of my throne hath failed,That quick or dead thou holdest me for King.
King am I,whatsoever be their cry;
And one last act of kinghood shalt thou see Yet,ere I pass.'And uttering this the King Made at the man:then Modred smote his liege Hard on that helm which many a heathen sword Had beaten thin;while Arthur at one blow,Striking the last stroke with Excalibur,Slew him,and all but slain himself,he fell.
So all day long the noise of battle rolled Among the mountains by the winter sea;Until King Arthur's Table,man by man,Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their lord,King Arthur.Then,because his wound was deep,The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,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 today 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,--
Though Merlin sware that I should come again To rule once more;but,let what will be,be,I am so deeply smitten through the helm That without help I cannot last till morn.
Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,Which was my pride:for thou rememberest how 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 rowed across And took it,and have worn it,like a king;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:
Watch what thou seest,and lightly bring me word.'
To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere:
'It is not meet,Sir King,to leave thee thus,Aidless,alone,and smitten through the helm--A little thing may harm a wounded man;
Yet I thy hest will all perform at full,Watch what I see,and lightly bring thee word.'
So saying,from the ruined shrine he stept,And in the moon athwart the place of tombs,Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men,Old knights,and over them the sea-wind sang Shrill,chill,with flakes of foam.He,stepping down By zigzag paths,and juts of pointed rock,Came on the shining levels of the lake.
There drew he forth the brand Excalibur,And o'er him,drawing it,the winter moon,Brightening the skirts of a long cloud,ran forth And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt:
For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks,Myriads of topaz-lights,and jacinth-work Of subtlest jewellery.He gazed so long That both his eyes were dazzled as he stood,This way and that dividing the swift mind,In act to throw:but at the last it seemed Better to leave Excalibur concealed There in the many-knotted waterflags,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 performed my mission which I gave?
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,And the wild water lapping on the crag.'
To whom replied King Arthur,faint and pale:
'Thou hast betrayed thy nature and thy name,Not rendering true answer,as beseemed Thy fealty,nor like a noble knight:
For surer sign had followed,either hand,Or voice,or else a motion of the mere.
This is a shameful thing for men to lie.
Yet now,I charge thee,quickly go again,As thou art lief and dear,and do the thing I bade thee,watch,and lightly bring me word.'
Then went Sir Bedivere the second time Across the ridge,and paced beside the mere,Counting the dewy pebbles,fixed in thought;But when he saw the wonder of the hilt,How curiously and strangely chased,he smote His palms together,and he cried aloud:
'And if indeed I cast the brand away,Surely a precious thing,one worthy note,Should thus be lost for ever from the earth,Which might have pleased the eyes of many men.
What good should follow this,if this were done?
What harm,undone?Deep harm to disobey,Seeing obedience is the bond of rule.
Were it well to obey then,if a king demand An act unprofitable,against himself?
The King is sick,and knows not what he does.
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."So might some old man speak in the aftertime To all the people,winning reverence.
But now much honour and much fame were lost.'
So spake he,clouded with his own conceit,And hid Excalibur the second time,And so strode back slow to the wounded King.
Then spoke King Arthur,breathing heavily:
