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failed to make the kingdom one.

       And after these King Arthur for a space,

       And through the puissance of his Table Round,

       Drew all their petty princedoms under him.

       Their king and head, and made a realm, and reigned.

      And thus the land of Cameliard was waste,

       Thick with wet woods, and many a beast therein,

       And none or few to scare or chase the beast;

       So that wild dog, and wolf and boar and bear

       Came night and day, and rooted in the fields,

       And wallowed in the gardens of the King.

       And ever and anon the wolf would steal

       The children and devour, but now and then,

       Her own brood lost or dead, lent her fierce teat

       To human sucklings; and the children, housed

       In her foul den, there at their meat would growl,

       And mock their foster mother on four feet,

       Till, straightened, they grew up to wolf-like men,

       Worse than the wolves. And King Leodogran

       Groaned for the Roman legions here again,

       And Caesar’s eagle: then his brother king,

       Urien, assailed him: last a heathen horde,

       Reddening the sun with smoke and earth with blood,

       And on the spike that split the mother’s heart

       Spitting the child, brake on him, till, amazed,

       He knew not whither he should turn for aid.

      But — for he heard of Arthur newly crowned,

       Though not without an uproar made by those

       Who cried, ‘He is not Uther’s son’— the King

       Sent to him, saying, ‘Arise, and help us thou!

       For here between the man and beast we die.’

      And Arthur yet had done no deed of arms,

       But heard the call, and came: and Guinevere

       Stood by the castle walls to watch him pass;

       But since he neither wore on helm or shield

       The golden symbol of his kinglihood,

       But rode a simple knight among his knights,

       And many of these in richer arms than he,

       She saw him not, or marked not, if she saw,

       One among many, though his face was bare.

       But Arthur, looking downward as he past,

       Felt the light of her eyes into his life

       Smite on the sudden, yet rode on, and pitched

       His tents beside the forest. Then he drave

       The heathen; after, slew the beast, and felled

       The forest, letting in the sun, and made

       Broad pathways for the hunter and the knight

       And so returned.

      For while he lingered there,

       A doubt that ever smouldered in the hearts

       Of those great Lords and Barons of his realm

       Flashed forth and into war: for most of these,

       Colleaguing with a score of petty kings,

       Made head against him, crying, ‘Who is he

       That he should rule us? who hath proven him

       King Uther’s son? for lo! we look at him,

       And find nor face nor bearing, limbs nor voice,

       Are like to those of Uther whom we knew.

       This is the son of Gorlois, not the King;

       This is the son of Anton, not the King.’

      And Arthur, passing thence to battle, felt

       Travail, and throes and agonies of the life,

       Desiring to be joined with Guinevere;

       And thinking as he rode, ‘Her father said

       That there between the man and beast they die.

       Shall I not lift her from this land of beasts

       Up to my throne, and side by side with me?

       What happiness to reign a lonely king,

       Vext — O ye stars that shudder over me,

       O earth that soundest hollow under me,

       Vext with waste dreams? for saving I be joined

       To her that is the fairest under heaven,

       I seem as nothing in the mighty world,

       And cannot will my will, nor work my work

       Wholly, nor make myself in mine own realm

       Victor and lord. But were I joined with her,

       Then might we live together as one life,

       And reigning with one will in everything

       Have power on this dark land to lighten it,

       And power on this dead world to make it live.’

      Thereafter — as he speaks who tells the tale —

       When Arthur reached a field-of-battle bright

       With pitched pavilions of his foe, the world

       Was all so clear about him, that he saw

       The smallest rock far on the faintest hill,

       And even in high day the morning star.

       So when the King had set his banner broad,

       At once from either side, with trumpet-blast,

       And shouts, and clarions shrilling unto blood,

       The long-lanced battle let their horses run.

       And now the Barons and the kings prevailed,

       And now the King, as here and there that war

       Went swaying; but the Powers who walk the world

       Made lightnings and great thunders over him,

       And dazed all eyes, till Arthur by main might,

       And mightier of his hands with every blow,

       And leading all his knighthood threw the kings

       Carados, Urien, Cradlemont of Wales,

       Claudias, and Clariance of Northumberland,

       The King Brandagoras of Latangor,

       With Anguisant of Erin, Morganore,

       And Lot of Orkney. Then, before a voice

       As dreadful as the shout of one who sees

       To one who sins, and deems himself alone

       And all the world asleep, they swerved and brake

       Flying, and Arthur called to stay the brands

       That hacked among the flyers, ‘Ho! they yield!’

       So like a painted battle the war stood

       Silenced, the living quiet as the dead,

       And in the heart of Arthur joy was lord.

       He laughed upon his warrior whom he loved

       And honoured most. ‘Thou dost not doubt me King,

       So well thine arm hath wrought for me today.’

       ‘Sir and my liege,’ he cried, ‘the fire of God

       Descends upon thee in the battle-field:

      

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