Page images
PDF
EPUB

Of lamentation, like a wind, that shrills

All night in a waste land, where no one comes,

Or hath come, since the making of the world.

Then murmur'd Arthur, " Place me in the barge," And to the barge they came. There those three Queens 205 Put forth their hands, and took the King, and went. But she, that rose the tallest of them all

And fairest, laid his head upon her lap,

And loosed the shatter'd casque, and chafed his hands,
And call'd him by his name, complaining loud,

And dropping bitter tears against his brow

Striped with dark blood for all his face was white
And colorless, and like the wither'd moon
Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east ;
And all his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops
Of onset; and the light and lustrous curls-
That made his forehead like a rising sun
High from the dais throne were parch'd with dust;

Or, clotted into points and hanging loose,

Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips.
So like a shatter'd column lay the King;
Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest,
From spur to plume a star of tournament,
Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged
Before the eyes of ladies and of kings.

Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere,
"Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go?
Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?
For now I see the true old times are dead,
When every morning brought a noble chance,
And every chance brought out a noble knight.
Such times have been not since the light that led
The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh.
But now the whole ROUND TABLE is dissolved

210

215

220

225

230

Which was an image of the mighty world;
And I, the last, go forth companionless,
And the days darken round me, and the years,
Among new men, strange faces, other minds."

And slowly answered Arthur from the barge: "The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfills Himself in many ways,

Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?

I have lived my life, and that which I have done
May He within Himself make pure! but thou,
If thou shouldst never see my face again,

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice
Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
For what are men better than sheep or goats
That nourish a blind life within the brain,

235

240

245

250

If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer

Both for themselves and those who call them friend?

255

For so the whole round earth is every way
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.
But now farewell. I am going a long way
With these thou seëst if indeed I go

(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)
To the island valley of Avilion ;

Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
Deep-meadow'd, happy fair with orchard lawns
And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea,
Where I will heal me of my grievous wound."

26c

So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,

265

Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood

With swarthy webs.

Long stood Sir Bedivere

Revolving many memories, till the hull

Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn,
And on the mere the wailing died away.

THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR

FULL knee-deep lies the winter's snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing:
Toll ye the church bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.

Old year, you must not die;
You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily,
Old year, you shall not die.

He lieth still: he doth not move :
He will not see the dawn of day.

He hath no other life above.

He gave me a friend, and a true truelove,
And the new year will take 'em away.

Old year, you must not go;

So long as you have been with us,
Such joy as you have seen with us,
Old year, you shall not go.

He froth'd his bumpers to the brim;
A jollier year we shall not see.
But tho' his eyes are waxing dim,
And tho' his foes speak ill of him,
He was a friend to me.

Old year, you shall not die;
We did so laugh and cry with you,

270

5

ΙΟ

15

20

25

I've half a mind to die with you.
Old year, if you must die.

He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o'er.

To see him die, across the waste

His son and heir doth ride posthaste,

But he'll be dead before.

Every one for his own.

The night is starry and cold, my friend,

30

And the new year blithe and bold, my friend, 35
Come up to take his own.

[blocks in formation]

CHAPTER XVIII

JOSEPH ADDISON, 1672-1719

"Give days and nights, sir, to the study of Addison, if you mean to be a good writer, or, what is more worth, an honest man." -DR. JOHNSON.

JOSEPH ADDISON, the great English prose writer, was born in 1672, at Milston, near Amesbury, England, of which place his father was rector. He received his earlier education at the Charter House, in London; from which school he passed, at the age of fifteen, to the University of Oxford, where he had a distinguished career. Some eulogistic verses of his upon William the Third obtained him, through the influence of two of his college friends, a government pension of three hundred pounds a year. Thus furnished with the necessary funds, Addison resolved to add to his scholarly attainments as was then the custom with all scholars who could afford it - by traveling on the Continent. His pension ceased at the death of William; but he again commended himself to royalty in the person of Queen Anne, and was appointed Commissioner of Appeals in consideration of his having glorified in "The Campaign" the military triumphs of Marlborough. He was subsequently appointed to the post of secretary to the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and went to that country to reside. In the meantime, his friend Richard Steele, who had been his schoolfellow at

« PreviousContinue »