The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P Part 47

With that, the Augur, much too wise as yet 31 To hint compulsion, and secure from flight, Arose, resolved each scruple to beset With all which melteth duty in delight-- Here, for awhile, we leave the tempted King, And turn to him who owns the crystal ring.

Oh, the old time's divine and fresh romance! 32 When o'er the lone yet ever-haunted ways Went frank-eyed Knighthood with the lifted lance, And life with wonder charm'd adventurous days!

When light more rich, through prisms that dimm'd it, shone; And Nature loom'd more large through the Unknown.

Nature, not then the slave of formal law! 33 Her each free sport a miracle might be: Enchantment clothed the forest with sweet awe; Astolfo[8] spoke from out the bleeding tree; The fairy wreath'd his dance in moonlit air; On golden sands the mermaid sleek'd her hair--

Then soul learn'd more than barren sense can teach 34 (Soul with the sense now evermore at strife) Wherever fancy wander'd man could reach-- And what is now call'd poetry was life.

If the old beauty from the world is fled, Is it that Truth or that Belief is dead?

Not following, step by step, the devious King, 35 But whither best his later steps are gain'd, Moved the sure index of the fairy ring, And since, at least, a moon hath wax'd and waned What time the pilgrim left the fatherland-- So towards his fresher footsteps veer'd the hand.

Lo, now where pure Sabrina[9] on her breast 36 Hushes sweet Isca, and, like some fair nun That yearns, earth-wearied, for the golden rest, Sees with delighted calm her journey done; And broader, brighter, as she nears her grave, Melts in the deep;--all daylight on the wave.

Across that stream pa.s.s'd sprightly Lancelot, 37 Then, towards those lovely lands which yet retain The Cymrian freedom, rode, and rested not Till, loud on Devon, broke the rough'ning main.

Through rocks abrupt, the strong waves force their way, Here cleave the land--there, hew the indented bay.

The horseman paused. Rude huts lay far and wide; 38 The dipping sea-gulls wheel'd with startled shriek; Drawn on the sands lay coracles of hide,[10]

And all was desolate; when, towards the creek, Near which he halts, he hears the plas.h.i.+ng oar; A boat shoots in; the seamen leap to sh.o.r.e.

Three were their number,--two in youthful prime, 39 One of mid years;--tall, huge of limb the three; Scarce clad, with weapons of a northward clime; Clubs, spears, and s.h.i.+elds--the uncouth armoury Of man, while yet the wild beast is his foe.

Yet something still the lords of earth may show;--

The pride of eye, the majesty of mien, 40 The front erect that looks upon the star: While round each neck the twisted chains are seen Of Teuton chiefs;--(and signs of chiefs they are In Cymrian lands--where still the torque of gold[11]

Or decks the highborn or rewards the bold).

Stern Lancelot frown'd; for in those st.u.r.dy forms 41 The Christian Knight the Saxon foemen fear'd.

"Why come ye hither?--nor compell'd by storms, Nor proffering barter?" As he spoke they near'd The n.o.ble knight;--and thus the elder said, "Nought save his heart the Aleman hath led!

"Ere more I answer, say if this the sh.o.r.e, 42 And thou the friend, of him who owns the dove?

Arthur the king,--who taught us to adore By the man's deeds the G.o.d whose creed is love?"

Then Lancelot answer'd, with a moistening eye, "Arthur's true knight and lealest friend am I."

With that, he leapt from selle to clasp the hand 43 Of him who honour'd thus the absent one: And now behold them seated on the sand, Frank faces smiling in the cordial sun; The absent, there, seem'd present: to unite, In loving bonds, his converts and his knight.

Then told the Aleman the tale by song 44 Already told--and we resume its flow Where the mild hero charm'd the stormy throng And twined the arm that shelter'd, round his foe: Not meanly conquer'd but sublimely won-- Stern Harold vail'd his plume to Uther's son.

The Saxon troop resought the Vandal king, 45 And Arthur sojourn'd with the savage race: More easy such rude proselytes to bring To Christian truth, than, in the wonderous place Where now he rests, proud Wisdom he shall find!

For heaven dawns clearest on the simplest mind.

But when his cause of wrong the Cymrian show'd; 46 The heathen foe--the carnage-crimson'd fields; With one fierce impulse those fierce converts glow'd, And their wild war-howl chimed with clas.h.i.+ng s.h.i.+elds But Arthur wisely shunn'd that last appeal Of falling states,--the stranger's fatal steel.

Yet to the chief (for there at least no fear) 47 And his two sons, a slow consent he gave: Show'd by the prince the stars by which to steer, They hew'd a pine and launch'd it on the wave; Bringing rough forms but dauntless hearts to swell The force that guards the fates of Carduel.

The story heard, the son of royal BAN[12] 48 Questions the paths to which the King was led.

"Know," answered Faul (so hight the Aleman), "That, in our father's days, our warriors spread O'er lands wherein eternal summer dwells, Beyond the snow-storm's siegeless pinnacles;

"And on the borders of those lands, 'tis told, 49 There lies a lake, some dead great city's grave, Where, when the moon is at her full, behold Pillar and palace s.h.i.+ne up from the wave!

And o'er the lake, seen but by gifted seers, Its phantom bark a silent phantom steers.

"It chanced, as round our fires we sate at night, 50 And saga-runes to wile our watch were sung, That with the legends of our father's might And wandering labours, this old tale was strung, Then the roused King much question'd:--what we knew We told, still question from each answer grew.

"That night he slept not--with the morn was gone; 51 And the dove led him where the snow-storms sleep."

Then Lancelot rose, and led his destrier on, And gain'd the boat, and motion'd to the deep, His purpose well the Alemen divine, And launch once more the bark upon the brine.

And ask to aid--"Know, friends," replied the knight, 52 "Each wave that rolleth smooths its frown for me; My sire and mother, by the lawless might Of a fierce foe expell'd and forced to flee From the fair halls of BENOIC, paused to take Breath for new woes, beside a Fairy's lake.

"With them was I, their new-born helpless heir, 53 The hunted exiles gazed afar on home, And saw the fires that dyed like blood the air Pall with the pomp of h.e.l.l the cras.h.i.+ng dome.

They clung, they gazed--no word by either spoken; And in that hush the sterner heart was broken.

"The woman felt the cold hand fail her own; 54 The head that lean'd fell heavy on the sod; She knelt--she kiss'd the lips,--the breath was flown!

She call'd upon a soul that was with G.o.d: For the first time the wife's sweet power was o'er-- She who had soothed till then could soothe no more!

"In the wife's woe, the mother was forgot. 55 At last--(for I was all earth held of him Who had been all to her, and now was not)-- She rose, and look'd with tearless eyes, but dim, In the babe's face the father still to see; And lo! the babe was on another's knee!--

"Another's lip had kiss'd it into sleep, 56 And o'er the sleep another, watchful, smiled;-- The Fairy sate beside the lake's still deep, And hush'd with chanted charms the orphan child!

Scared at the cry the startled mother gave, It sprang, and, snow-like, melted in the wave.

"There, in calm halls of lucent crystalline, 57 Fed by the dews that fell from golden stars, But through the lymph I saw the sunbeams s.h.i.+ne, Nor dream'd a world beyond the glist'ning spars; Buoy'd by a charm that still endows and saves, In stream or sea, the nurseling of the waves.

"In my fifth year, to Uther's royal towers 58 The fairy bore me, and her charge resign'd.

My mother took the veil of Christ--the Hours With Arthur's life the orphan's life entwined.

O'er mine own element my course I take-- All oceans smile on Lancelot of the Lake!"

He said, and waved his hand: around the boat 59 The curlews hover'd, as it shot to sea.

The wild men, lingering, watch'd the lessening float, Till in the far expanse lost desolately, Then slowly towards the hut they bent their way, And the lone waves moan'd up the lifeless bay.

Pa.s.s we the voyage. Hunger-worn, to sh.o.r.e 60 Gain'd man and steed; there food and rest they found In humble roofs. The course, resumed once more, Stretch'd inland o'er not unfamiliar ground: The wanderer smiles, by tower and town, to see Cymri's old oak rebloom in Brettanie.

Nathless, no pause, save such as needful rest 61 Demands, delays him in the friendly land.

No tidings here of Arthur gain'd, his breast Springs to the goal of the quick-moving hand, Howbeit not barren of adventurous days, Sweet danger found him in the devious ways.

What foes encounter'd, or what damsels freed-- 62 What demon spells in lonely forests braving, Leave we to songs yet vocal to the reed On ev'ry bank, beloved by poets, waving; Our task unborrow'd from the muse of old, Takes but the tale by n.o.bler bards untold.

Now as he journeys, frequent more and more 63 The traces of the steps he tracks are found; Fame, like a light, s.h.i.+nes broadening on before His path, and cleaves the shadows on the ground; High deeds and gentle, bruited near and far, Show where that soul went flas.h.i.+ng as a star.

At length he gains the Ausonian Alpine walls; 64 Here, castle, convent, town, and hamlet fade; Lone, through the rolling mists, the hoof-tread falls; Lone, earth's mute giants loom amidst the shade: Yet still, as sure of hope, he tracks the king, Up steep, through gorge, where guides the crystal ring.

One day--along by gloomy chasms his course-- 65 He saw before him indistinctly pa.s.s Through the dun fogs, what seem'd a phantom horse, Like that which oft, amidst the dank mora.s.s, Bestrid by goblin-meteor, starts the eye-- So fleshless flitting--wan and shadowy.

By a bare rock it paused, and feebly neigh'd. 66 As the good knight, descending, seized the rein; Dew-rusted mail the shrunken front array'd; The rich selle rotted with the moulder-stain; And on the selle were slung helm, axe, and mace; And the great lance lay careless near the place.

Then first the seeker's stricken spirit fell; 67 Too well that helmet, with its dragon crest, Speaks of the mighty owner; and too well That steed, so oft by snowy hands carest, When bright-eyed Beauty from the balcon bent To crown the victor-lord of tournament.

Near and afar he searched--he called in vain, 68 By crag and combe, nought answering, and nought seen; Return'd, the charger long refused the rein, Clinging, poor slave, where last its lord had been.

At length the slow, reluctant hoofs obey'd The soothing words; so went they through the shade:

Following the gorge that wound the Alpine wall, 69 Like the huge fosse of some Cyclopean town, (While roaring round, invisible cataracts fall); On the black rocks twilight comes ghostly down, And deep and deeper still the windings go, And dark and darker as to worlds below.