POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION.
King Arthur's Weath.
ON Trinitye Mondaye in the morne,
This sore battayle was doom'd to be, Wher manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye! Alacke, it was the more pittie.
Ere the first crowinge of the cocke,
Whenas the kinge in his bed laye, He thoughte Sir Gawaine to him came, And there to him these wordes did saye:
"Nowe, as you are mine uncle deare,
And as you prize your life, this daye, Oh meet not with your foe in fighte;
Putt off the battayle, if yee maye!
"For Sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce, And with him many an hardye knighte, Who will within this moneth be backe,
And will assiste yee in the fighte."
The kinge then called his nobles all,
Before the breakinge of the daye,
And tolde them howe Sir Gawaine came,
And there to him these wordes did saye.
His nobles all this counsayle gave:
That, earlye in the morning, hee
Shold send awaye an herauld at armes,
To aske a parley faire and free.
Then twelve good knightes King Arthur chose,
The best of all that with him were,
To parley with the foe in field,
And make with him agreement faire.
The king he charged all his hoste
In readinesse there for to bee;
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
Unless a sword drawne they sholde see.
And Mordred, on the other parte,
Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe
The beste of all his companye,
To holde the parley with the kinge.
Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste
In readiness there for to bee;
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
But if a sworde drawne they sholde see.
For he durste not his uncle truste,
Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell; Alacke! it was a woefulle case, As ere in Christentie befelle.
But when they were together mette,
And both to faire accordance broughte, And a month's league betweene them sette, Before the battayle sholde be foughte,
An addere crepte forthe of a bushe,
Stunge one o' the king's knightes on the knee; Alacke! it was a woefulle chance, As ever was in Christentie.
When the knighte found him wounded sore, And sawe the wild-worme hanginge there, His sworde he from his scabberde dreweA piteous case, as ye shall heare.
But to what place he cold not tell,
For never after hee did him see;
But hee sawe a barge goe from the land,
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye.
And whether the kinge were there or not,
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde;
For from that sad and direfulle daye
Hee never more was seene on molde.
ANONYMOUS.
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 Lyonness about their lord,
King Arthur: then, because his wound was deep,
The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,
Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights,
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 to-day 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.
Then, 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 after-time, this also shall be known:
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