Idylls of the King: The Coming of Arthur, Gareth and Lynette, Lancelot and Elaine, The Passing of Arthur

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Allyn and Bacon, 1903 - 139 pages
 

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Page 123 - 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.
Page 125 - And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound." 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, 435 Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs.
Page 123 - Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge, Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, Beneath them ; and descending they were ware That all the decks were dense with stately forms Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream — by these...
Page 116 - 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.
Page 117 - 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...
Page 124 - The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
Page 122 - Larger than human on the frozen hills. He heard the deep behind him, and a cry Before. His own thought drove him like a goad. Dry...
Page 124 - But now farewell. I am going a long way With these thou seest — 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 crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.
Page 117 - To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere: " It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus, Aidless, alone, and smitten thro' the helm — A little thing may harm a wounded man: Yet I thy hest will all perform at full, Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word.
Page 123 - 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!

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