The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume Ii Part 9

Ere the sun had cast his light On the water's face, Firm in saddle rode the knight From the holy place,

Merry songs began to sing, Let his matins bide; Rode a good hour pondering, And was turned aside,

Saying, "I will henceforth then Yield this hopeless quest; Tis a dream of holy men This ideal Best!"

"Every good for miracle Heart devout may hold; Grail indeed was that fair well Full of water cold!

"Not my thirst alone it stilled But my soul it stayed; And my heart, with gladness filled, Wept and laughed and prayed!

"Spectral church with cryptic niche I will seek no more; That the holiest Grail is, which Helps the need most sore!"

And he spake with speech more true Than his thought indeed, For not yet the good knight knew His own sorest need.

IV.

_How sir Galahad sought yet again for the Grail._

On he rode, to succour bound, But his faith grew dim; Wells for thirst he many found, Water none for him.

Never more from drinking deep Rose he up and laughed; Never more did prayerful sleep Follow on the draught.

Good the water which they bore, Plenteously it flowed, Quenched his thirst, but, ah, no more Eased his bosom's load!

For the _Best_ no more he sighed; Rode as in a trance; Life grew poor, undignified, And he spake of chance.

Then he dreamed through Jesus' hand That he drove a nail-- Woke and cried, "Through every land, Lord, I seek thy Grail!"

V.

_That sir Galahad found the Grail._

Up the quest again he took, Rode through wood and wave; Sought in many a mossy nook, Many a hermit-cave;

Sought until the evening red Sunk in shadow deep; Sought until the moonlight fled; Slept, and sought in sleep.

Where he wandered, seeking, sad, Story doth not say, But at length sir Galahad Found it on a day;

Took the Grail with holy hand, Had the cup of joy; Carried it about the land, Gleesome as a boy;

Laid his sword where he had found Boot for every bale, Stuck his spear into the ground, Kept alone the Grail.

VI.

_How sir Galahad carried about the Grail._

Horse and crested helmet gone, Greaves and s.h.i.+eld and mail, Caroling loud the knight walked on, For he had the Grail;

Caroling loud walked south and north, East and west, for years; Where he went, the smiles came forth, Where he left, the tears.

Glave nor dagger mourned he, Axe nor iron flail: Evil might not brook to see Once the Holy Grail.

Wilds he wandered with his staff, Woods no longer sad; Earth and sky and sea did laugh Round sir Galahad.

Bitter mere nor trodden pool Did in service fail, Water all grew sweet and cool In the Holy Grail.

Without where to lay his head, Chanting loud he went; Found each cave a palace-bed, Every rock a tent.

Age that had begun to quail In the gathering gloom, Counselled he to seek the Grail And forget the tomb.

Youth with hope or pa.s.sion pale, Youth with eager eyes, Taught he that the Holy Grail Was the only prize.

Maiden worn with hidden ail, Restless and unsure, Taught he that the Holy Grail Was the only cure.

Children rosy in the sun Ran to hear his tale How twelve little ones had won Each of them the Grail.

VII.

_How sir Galahad hid the Grail._

Very still was earth and sky When he pa.s.sing lay; Oft he said he should not die, Would but go away.

When he pa.s.sed, they reverent sought, Where his hand lay prest, For the cup he bare, they thought, Hidden in his breast.

Hope and haste and eager thrill Turned to sorrowing wail: Hid he held it deeper still, Took with him the Grail.

_THE FAILING TRACK_.

Where went the feet that hitherto have come?

Here yawns no gulf to quench the flowing past!

With lengthening pauses broke, the path grows dumb; The gra.s.s floats in; the gazer stands aghast.

Tremble not, maiden, though the footprints die; By no air-path ascend the lark's clear notes; The mighty-throated when he mounts the sky Over some lowly landmark sings and floats.

Be of good cheer. Paths vanish from the wave; There all the s.h.i.+ps tear each its track of gray; Undaunted they the wandering desert brave: In each a magic finger points the way.

No finger finely touched, no eye of lark Hast thou to guide thy steps where footprints fail?

Ah, then, 'twere well to turn before the dark, Nor dream to find thy dreams in yonder vale!

The backward way one hour is plain to thee, Hard hap were hers who saw no trace behind!

Back to confession at thy mother's knee, Back to the question and the childlike mind!

Then start afresh, but toward unending end, The goal o'er which hangs thy own star all night; So shalt thou need no footprints to befriend, Child-heart and s.h.i.+ning star will guide thee right.

_TELL ME._