Anonymous - Arthur's Knights - Conclusion lyrics

The chase was over, and the banquet spread Beneath the shadows of the forest trees; A little space apart, the hunting train Drank to the king, or praised the gaze-hound swift Or chafed the falcon till the jesses rung, And flapped her whirling wings -- the steeds the while Paced round the throng with graceful arching necks, And sought for morsels from the yeoman's table. But where the knights and ladies sat reclined, How fair the feast! the wine-cup, gold embossed, Was shadowed by the drooping lady fern, And the wild fox-glove waved her clustering bells, As stately as the huntress by her side. Full fifty knights and ladies sat around Arthur, the noble knight -- the glorious king And, 'neath the branches of an aged oak, Where Druids once had gathered misletoe (But now the knights had silken mantles tost From bough to bough, a lustrous canopy), She sat enthroned -- the peerless Guinevere. Then a young maiden, with a thrilling voice, Sang one of Tristrem's joyous hunting songs; Clearly the wild notes rang through all the wood, As, jubilant o'er human griefs and cares, They soared away, you could not choose but follow -- Follow the music in its reckless mirth, And lose all else in the triumphant chorus. The ladies' voices rang like silver bells, Above the mellow music of the knights, And rougher echo of the menial train. So loud the chorus swelled, that none observed, Till the lithe hounds upstarting, bayed and howled, How a knight-errant rode into their midst, Whose sterner aspect scattered pleasure's dream. Worn was his horse and rusty was his mail; He took his helmet off, and then they knew One held for dead -- away for five long years, Sir Bors de Ganis, good king Claudus' son. All welcomed him, but chief Sir Lionel His brother, and his cousin Lancelot; And then he told them how, beyond the seas, He sailed with Percevale and Galahad, And bore the Sangrale to a distant land, Where dwelt a tyrant king who 'prisoned them Long in a dungeon low; but how all men Who saw Sir Galahad, henceforth were their friends, Till the old monarch died within his arms, And the converted nation hailed him king. "So for a while he lived," the warrior told, "Blessing and blest, and near the palace fair He built a chapel for the Holy Grale; There, morn by morn, we worshipped, while around Fair churches rose, and decked a Christian land. "One morning, as we knelt before the shrine, He turned and said farewell, then upward gazed With trembling eager rapture; who of us Can tell the sight that brightened o'er his eyes, Until the deadly flash might not endure The glories of that high celestial vision! And so he cast it from him, and was gone. "The people buried him as well became The lineage of the Haute Prince Galahad. When all was over, and the wild March wind Alone was singing dirges round his grave, I saw Sir Percevale ride up the hill, Armed at all points. It was St. Mary's eve, And at the chapel door he lighted down, And said to me -- ' 'T is many years ago That first I watched mine armour, till the dawn Of that high day whereon they made me knight; And now I feel I must a vigil hold More solemn, for a higher festival.' He entered bright and strong; at early dawn The children found him -- children bearing lilies To deck the chancel arch for Lady day; The earliest sunbeams of the festival Lit ruddy sparkles in his sable armour, Shone o'er the deep repose -- the closèd eyes, Whence the sweet soul would never look again. His sword was on the altar, whence he took it To wear it bravely many a changeful year; But as his wars were over now, the children Placed lilies in his hand, with chalice white, The flower of purity. "When in the grave, By Eleanor and Galahad, I had laid him, I lived alone to bear the greeting back Of those two champions to the king and court, But chief, my lord Sir Lancelot, to thee, From Galahad, who prays thee to remember The time when in the mystic ship you sailed, And how unstable is this fleeting world." With hushed repose and rising tears they heard; But Lancelot embraced him fast, and said, "Now wit you well, Sir Bors, that you and I Must never part again, but mine is thine For ever while I live." And so it was, In the dark days of bitter civil war That soon closed over them, and left the land The prey of foemen bleeding in despair; Her warriors, in the summer of their days, Low in their bloody graves, through brothers' hands. ****************************************** At last, as seaworn mariners awake, Only survivors of some hideous wreck, Upon a desert shore, they found themselves, As monks professed, within a forest cell. Arthur was gone, and all his glorious train, Guinever's beauty in the cloister paled; There was no errant knight by wood or field; There was no damsel seeking for redress; The wars were over, and their turbulence. The Saxons settled o'er the wasted land, Like a dim sea-fog, blotting out the light Of faith and honour; but no wandering foot, Nor news of outer world, came near the cell Where five companions of the Table Round Served in the little chantry for a while; And oft Sir Bors de Ganis would relate How he, Sir Galahad, and Sir Percevale, Achieved the adventure of the Holy Grale."