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 The Passing Of Arthur 
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      What harm, undone? Deep harm to disobey,
      Seeing obedience is the bond of rule.
      Were it well to obey then, if a king demand
      An act unprofitable, against himself?
      The King is sick, and knows not what he does.
      What record, or what relic of my lord
      Should be to aftertime, but empty breath
      And rumours of a doubt? but were this kept,
      Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings,
      Some one might show it at a joust of arms,
      Saying, 'King Arthur's sword, Excalibur,
      Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake.
      Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps
      Upon the hidden bases of the hills.'
      So might some old man speak in the aftertime
      To all the people, winning reverence.
      But now much honour and much fame were lost."
      So spake he, clouded with his own conceit,
      And hid Excalibur the second time,
      And so strode back slow to the wounded King.
      Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily:
      "What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?"
      And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
      "I heard the water lapping on the crag,
      And the long ripple washing in the reeds."
      To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath:
      "Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue,
      Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me!
      Authority forgets a dying king,
      Laid widow'd of the power in his eye
      That bow'd the will. I see thee what thou art,
      For thou, the latest-left of all my knights,
      In whom should meet the offices of all,
      Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt;
      Either from lust of gold, or like a girl
      Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes.
      Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice,
      And the third time may prosper, get thee hence:
      But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur,
      I will arise and slay thee with my hands."
      Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran,
      And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged
      Among the bulrush beds, and clutch'd the sword,
      And strongly wheel'd and threw it. The great brand
      Made lightings in the splendour of the moon,
      And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an arch,
      Shot like a streamer of the northern morn,
      Seen where the moving isles of winter shock
      By night with noises of the Northern Sea.
      So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur:
      But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm
      Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
      And caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him
      Three times, and drew him under in the mere.
      And lightly went the other to the King.
      Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker breath:
      "Now see I by thine eyes that this is done.
      Speak out: what is it thou hast heard, or seen?"
      And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
      "Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems
      Should blind my purpose, for I never saw,
      Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die,
      Not tho' I live three lives of mortal men,
      So great a miracle as yonder hilt.
      Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him;
      But when I look'd again, beheld an arm,
      Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful.
      That caught him by the hilt, and brandished him
      Three times, and drew him under In the mere."
      And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard:
      "My end draws nigh;'tis time that I were gone.
      Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight,
      And bear me to the margin; yet I fear
      My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die."
      So saying, from the pavement he half rose,
      Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm,
      And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes
      As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere
      Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears,
      And would have spoken, but he found not word;
      Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee,
      O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands,
      And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs.
      But, as he walk'd, King Arthur panted hard,
      Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed
      When all the house is mute. So sigh'd the King,
      Muttering and murmuring at his ear, "Quick, quick!
      I fear it is too late, and I shall die."
      But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge,
      Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walk'd,
      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 clashed his harness in the icy caves
      And barren chasms, and all to left and right
      The bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he based
      His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang
      Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels--
      And on a sudden, lo! the level lake,

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