The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P Part 35

He spoke, and from the happy conclave there 12 Echo'd the murmur, "Time is but to blame:"

Each knight glanced amorous on his chosen fair, And to the glance blush'd each a.s.senting dame: But thought had dimm'd the smile in Arthur's eye, And the light speech was rounded by a sigh.

And while they murmur'd "Time is but to blame," 13 Right in the centre of the silken ring, Sudden stood forth (none marking whence it came), The gloomy shade of some Phantasmal Thing; It stood, dim-outlined in a sable shroud, And shapeless, as in noon-day hangs a cloud.

Hush'd was each lip, and every cheek was pale; 14 The stoutest heart beat tremulous and high: "Arise," it mutter'd from the spectral veil, "I call thee, King!" Then burst the wrathful cry, Feet found the earth, and ready hands the sword, And angry knighthood bristled round its lord.

But Arthur rose, and, waiving back the throng, 15 Fronted the Image with a dauntless brow: Then shrunk the Phantom, indistinct, along The unbending herbage, noiseless, dark, and slow; And, where the forest night at noonday made, Glided,--as from the dial glides the shade.

Gone;--but an ice-bound horror seemed to cling 16 To air; the revellers stood transfix'd to stone; While from amidst them, palely pa.s.s'd the King, Dragg'd by a will more royal than his own: Onwards he went; the invisible control Compell'd him, as a dream compels the soul.

They saw, and sought to stay him, but in vain, 17 They saw, and sought to speak, but voice was dumb: So Death some warrior from his armed train Plucks forth defenceless when his hour is come.

He gains the wood; their sight the shadows bar, And darkness wraps him as the cloud a star.

Abruptly, as it came, the charm was past 18 That bound the circle: as from heavy sleep Starts the hush'd war-camp at the trumpet's blast, Fierce into life the voiceless revellers leap; Swift to the wood the glittering tumult springs, And through the vale the shrill BON-LEF-HER rings.[2]

From stream, from tent, from pastime near and far, 19 All press confusedly to the signal cry-- So from the ROCK OF BIRDS[3] the shout of war Sends countless wings in clamour through the sky-- The cause a word, the track a sign affords, And all the forest gleams with starry swords.

As on some stag the hunters single, gaze, 20 Gathering together, and from far, the herd, So round the margin of the woodland-maze Pale beauty circles, trembling if a bird Flutter a bough, or if, without a sound, Some leaf fall breezeless, eddying to the ground.

An hour or more had towards the western seas 21 Speeded the golden chariot of the day, When a white plume came glancing through the trees, The serried branches groaningly gave way, And, with a bound, delivered from the wood, Safe, in the sun-light, royal Arthur stood.

Who shall express the joy that aspect woke! 22 Some laugh'd aloud, and clapp'd their snowy hands: Some ran, some knelt, some turn'd aside and broke Into glad tears:--But all unheeding stands The King; and shivers in the glowing light; And his breast heaves as panting from a fight.

Yet still in those pale features, seen more near, 23 Speak the stern will, the soul to valour true; It shames man not to feel man's human fear, It shames man only if the fear subdue; And masking trouble with a n.o.ble guile, Soon the proud heart restores the kingly smile.

But no account could anxious love obtain, 24 Nor curious wonder, of the portents seen: "Bootless his search," he lightly said, "and vain As haply had the uncourteous summons been.

Some mocking sport, perchance, of merry May."

He ceased; and, shuddering, turn'd his looks away.

Now back, alas! less comely than they went, 25 Drop, one by one, the seekers from the chace, With mangled plumes and mantles dreadly rent;-- Sore bleed the Loves in Elphin's blooming face: Madoc, whose dancing scarcely brush'd the dew, O grief! limps, crippled by a stump of yew!

In short, such pranks had brier and bramble play'd, 26 And stock and stone, with vest, and face, and limb, That had some wretch denied the place was made For sprites, a sprite had soon been made of him!

And sure, nought less than some demoniac power Had looks so sweet bewitch'd to lines so sour.

But shame and anger vanish'd when they saw 27 Him whose warm smile a life had well repaid, For n.o.ble hearts a n.o.ble chief can draw Into that circle where all self doth fade; Lost in the sea a hundred waters roll, And subject natures merge in one great soul.

Now once again quick question, brief reply, 28 "What saw, what heard the King?" Nay, gentles, what Saw or heard ye?"--"The forest and the sky, The rustling branches,"--"And the Phantom not?

No more," quoth Arthur, "of a thriftless chace.

For cheer so stinted brief may be the grace.

"But see, the sun descendeth down the west, 29 And graver cares to Carduel now recall: Gawaine, my steed;--Sweet ladies, gentle rest, And dreams of happy morrows to ye all."

Now stirs the movement on the busy plain; To horse--to boat; and homeward winds the train.

O'er hill, down stream, the pageant fades away, 30 More and more faint the plash of dipping oar; Voices, and music, and the steed's shrill neigh, From the grey twilight dying more and more; Till over stream and valley, wide and far, Reign the sad silence and the solemn star.

Save where, like some true poet's lonely soul, 31 Careless who hears, sings on the unheeded fountain; Save where the thin clouds wanly, slowly roll O'er the mute darkness of the forest mountain-- Where, haply, busied with unholy rite, Still glides that Phantom, and dismays the night.

Sleep, the sole angel left of all below, 32 O'er the lull'd city sheds the ambrosial wreaths, Wet with the dews of Eden; Bliss and Woe Are equals, and the lowest slave that breathes Under the shelter of those healing wings, Reigns, half his life, in realms too fair for Kings.

Too fair those realms for Arthur; long he lay 33 An exiled suppliant at the gate of dreams, And vex'd, and wild, and fitful as a ray Quivering upon the surge of stormy streams; Thought broke in glimmering trouble o'er his breast, And found no billow where its beam could rest.[4]

He rose, and round him drew his ermined gown, 34 Pa.s.s'd from his chamber, wound the turret stair, And from his castle's steep embattled crown Bared his hot forehead to the fresh'ning air.

How Silence, like a G.o.d's tranquillity, Fill'd with delighted peace the conscious sky!

Broad, luminous, serene, the sovereign moon 35 Shone o'er the roofs below, the lands afar-- The vale so joyous with the mirth at noon; The pastures virgin of the l.u.s.t of war; And the still river shining as it flows, Calm as a soul on which the heavens repose.

"And must these pa.s.s from me and mine away?" 36 Murmur'd the monarch; "Must the mountain home Of those whose fathers, in a ruder day, With naked bosoms rush'd on shrinking Rome, Yield this last refuge from the ruthless wave, And what was Britain be the Saxon's slave?

"Why hymn our harps high music in our hall? 37 Doom'd is the tree whose fruit was n.o.ble deeds-- Where the axe spared the thunder-bolt must fall, And the wind scatter as it list the seeds!

Fate breathes, and kingdoms wither at the breath; But kings are deathless, kingly if their death!"

He ceased, and look'd, with a defying eye, 38 Where the dark forest clothed the mount with awe Gazed, and then proudly turn'd;--when lo, hard by, From a lone turret in his keep, he saw Through the horn cas.e.m.e.nt, a clear steadfast light, Lending meek tribute to the orbs of night.

And far, and far, I ween, that little ray 39 Sent its pure streamlet through the world of air: The wanderer oft, benighted on his way, Saw it, and paused in superst.i.tious prayer; For well he knew the beacon and the tower, And the great Master of the spells of power.

There He, who yet in Fable's deathless page 40 Reigns, compa.s.s'd with the ring of pleasing dread, Which the true wizard, whether bard or sage, Draws round him living, and commands when dead-- The solemn Merlin--from the midnight won The hosts that bow'd to starry Solomon.

Not fear that light on Arthur's breast bestow'd, 41 As with a father's smile it met his gaze; It cheer'd, it soothed, it warm'd him while it glow'd; Brought back the memory of young hopeful days, When the child stood by the great prophet's knee, And drank high thoughts to strengthen years to be.

As with a tender chiding, the calm light 42 Seem'd to reproach him for secreted care, Seem'd to ask back the old familiar right Of lore to counsel, or of love to share; The prompt heart answers to the voiceless call, And the step quickens o'er the winding wall.

Before that tower precipitously sink 43 The walls, down-shelving to the castle base; A slender drawbridge, swung from brink to brink, Alone gives fearful access to the place; Now, from that tower, the chains the drawbridge raise, And leave the gulf all pathless to the gaze.

But close where Arthur stands, a warder's horn, 44 Fix'd to the stone, to those who dare to win The enchanter's cell, supplies the note to warn The mighty weaver of dread webs within.

Loud sounds the horn, the chain descending clangs, And o'er the abyss the dizzy pathway hangs;

Mutely the door slides sullen in the stone, 45 And closes back, the gloomy threshold cross'd; There sate the wizard on a Druid throne, Where sate DUW-IOU,[5] ere his reign was lost; His wand uplifted in his solemn hand, And the weird volume on its brazen stand.

O'er the broad breast the heavy brows of thought 46 Hang, as if bow'd beneath the load sublime Of spoils from Nature's fading boundaries brought, Or the dusk treasure-house of orient Time; And the unutterable calmness shows The toil's great victory by the soul's repose.

Ev'n as the Tyrian views his argosies, 47 Moor'd in the port (the gold of Ophir won), And heeds no more the billow and the breeze, And the clouds wandering o'er the wintry sun, So calmly Wisdom eyes (its voyage o'er) The traversed ocean from the beetling sh.o.r.e.

A hundred years press'd o'er that awful head, 48 As o'er an Alp, their diadem of snow; And, as an Alp, a hundred years had fled, And left as firm the giant form below; So in the hush of some Chaonian grove, Sat the grey father of Pelasgic Jove.

Before that power, sublimer than his own, 49 With downcast looks, the King inclined the knee; The enchanter smiled, and, bending from his throne, Drew to his breast his pupil tenderly; And press'd his lips on that young forehead fair, And with large hand smooth'd back the golden hair!

And, looking in those frank and azure eyes, 50 "What," said the prophet, "doth my Arthur seek From the grey wisdom which the young despise?

The young, perchance, are right!--Fair infant, speak!"

Thrice sigh'd the monarch, and at length began: "Can wisdom ward the storms of fate from man?

"What spell can thrust Affliction from the gate? 51 What tree is sacred from the lightning flame?"

"Son," said the seer, "the laurel!--even Fate, Which blasts Ambition, but illumines Fame.

Say on."--The King smiled sternly, and obey'd-- Track we the steps which track'd the warning shade.

"On to the wood, and to its inmost dell 52 Will-less I went," the monarch thus pursued, "Before me still, but darkly visible, The Phantom glided through the solitude; At length it paused,--a sunless pool was near, As ebon black, and yet as chrystal clear.

"'Look, King, below,' whisper'd the shadowy One: 53 What seem'd a hand sign'd beckoning to the wave; I look'd below, and never realms undone Show'd war more awful than the mirror gave; There rush'd the steed, there glanced on spear the spear, And spectre-squadrons closed in fell career.

"I saw--I saw my dragon standard there,-- 54 Throng'd there the Briton; there the Saxon wheel'd; I saw it vanish from that nether air-- I saw it trampled on that noiseless field; On pour'd the Saxon hosts--we fled--we fled!