A wind to puff your idol-fires,

And heap their ashes on the head; To shame the boast so often made, That we are wiser than our sires.

Oh yet, if Nature's evil star

Drive men in manhood, as in youth, To follow flying steps of Truth Across the brazen bridge of war

If New and Old, disastrous feud,

Must ever shock, like armed foes,
And this be true, till Time shall close,
That Principles are rain'd in blood;

Not yet the wise of heart would cease
To hold his hope thro' shame and guilt,
But with his hand against the hilt,
Would pace the troubled land, like Peace;

Not less, tho' dogs of Faction bay,

Would serve his kind in deed and word,

Certain, if knowledge bring the sword,

He held a goose upon his arm,

He utter'd rhyme and reason, 'Here, take the goose, and keep you warm, It is a stormy season.'

She caught the white goose by the leg,
A goose-'twas no great matter.
The goose let fall a golden egg

With cackle and with clatter.

She dropt the goose, and caught the pelf,
And ran to tell her neighbours;
And bless'd herself, and cursed herself,
And rested from her labours.

And feeding high, and living soft,

Grew plump and able-bodied;
Until the grave churchwarden doff'd,
The parson smirk'd and nodded.

So sitting, served by man and maid,

She felt her heart grow prouder :
But ah! the more the white goose laid
It clack'd and cackled louder.

That knowledge takes the sword away- It clutter'd here, it chuckled there;

Would love the gleams of good that

broke

From either side, nor veil his eyes :
And if some dreadful need should rise.
Would strike, and firmly, and one stroke:

To-morrow yet would reap to-day,

As we bear blossoms of the dead; Earn well the thrifty months, nor wed Raw Haste, half-sister to Delay.

THE GOOSE.

I KNEW an old wife lean and poor,
Her rags scarce held together;
There strode a stranger to the door,
And it was windy weather.

It stirr'd the old wife's mettle :
She shifted in her elbow-chair,
And hurl'd the pan and kettle.

A quinsy choke thy cursed note!

Then wax'd her anger stronger.
'Go, take the goose, and wring her throat,
I will not bear it longer.'

Then yelp'd the cur, and yawl'd the cat ;
Ran Gaffer, stumbled Gammer.
The goose flew this way and flew that,

And fill'd the house with clamour.

As head and heels upon the floor

They flounder'd all together,
There strode a stranger to the door,
And it was windy weather:

The wild wind rang from park and plain, And while on all sides breaking loose

ENGLISH IDYLLS

AND OTHER POEMS.

At college: but another which you had, Where, three times slipping from the I mean of verse (for so we held it then), What came of that?' 'You know,' said

His epic, his King Arthur, some twelve

books'

And then to me demanding why? 'Oh,

sir,

MORTE D'ARTHUR.

So all day long the noise of battle roll'd He thought that nothing new was said, or Among the mountains by the winter sea; else Until King Arthur's table, man by man, Something so said 'twas nothing-that a Had fallen in Lyonness about their Lord, King Arthur: then, because his wound

truth

Looks freshest in the fashion of the day: God knows he has a mint of reasons: ask.

was deep,

The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him, Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights, It pleased me well enough.' 'Nay, nay,' And bore him to a chapel nigh the field, A broken chancel with a broken cross,

said Hall, Why take the style of those heroic That stood on a dark strait of barren land. times? On one side lay the Ocean, and on one

For nature brings not back the Masto- Lay a great water, and the moon was full. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere :

don,

Nor we those times; and why should any

man

'The sequel of to-day unsolders all

Remodel models? these twelve books of The goodliest fellowship of famous knights

Shall never more, at any future time,

Said Francis, pick'd the eleventh from Delight our souls with talk of knightly

this hearth

come.

deeds,

And have it keep a thing, its use will Walking about the gardens and the halls
Of Camelot, as in the days that were.
I perish by this people which I made,-
Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again
To rule once more-but let what will be,

I hoard it as a sugar-plum for Holmes.'
He laugh'd, and I, though sleepy, like a

horse

I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm
That without help I cannot last till morn.
Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,
Which was my pride: for thou remem-
berest how

He brought it; and the poet little urged,
But with some prelude of disparage- In those old days, one summer noon, an

Holding the sword-and how I row'd That both his eyes were dazzled, as he stood,

across

king:

And took it, and have worn it, like a This way and that dividing the swift mind,
In act to throw but at the last it seem'd
Better to leave Excalibur conceal'd
There in the many-knotted waterflags,
That whistled stiff and dry about the

And, wheresoever I am sung or told
In aftertime, this also shall be known:
But now delay not: take Excalibur,

And fling him far into the middle mere :

marge.

Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring So strode he back slow to the wounded

me word.'

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.'

stept

King.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir

Bedivere:

'Hast thou perform'd my mission which I gave?

What is it thou hast seen? or what hast
heard?'

And answer made the bold Sir
Bedivere :

So saying, from the ruin'd shrine he 'I heard the ripple washing in the reeds, And the wild water lapping on the crag.' To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale :

And in the moon athwart the place of tombs,

Where lay the mighty bones of ancient 'Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy

Old knights, and over them the sea-wind Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd
Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight :

sang

Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, For surer sign had follow'd, either hand,

stepping down

By zig-zag paths, and juts of pointed rock,
Came on the shining levels of the lake.
There drew he forth the brand
Excalibur,

Or voice, or else a motion of the mere.
This is a shameful thing for men to lie.
Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again
As thou art lief and dear, and do the
thing

And o'er him, drawing it, the winter I bad thee, watch, and lightly bring me

moon,

Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran

forth

And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt:

For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks,

word.'

Then went Sir Bedivere the second time Across the ridge, and paced beside the

mere,

Counting the dewy pebbles, fix'd in

thought;

But when he saw the wonder of the hilt, Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth- How curiously and strangely chased, he

Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long His palms together, and he cried aloud,

'And if indeed I cast the brand away, Surely a precious thing, one worthy note, Should thus be lost for ever from the

earth,

Which might have pleased the eyes of many men.

What good should follow this, if this were done?

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!

What harm, undone? deep harm to dis- Authority forgets a dying king,

obey,

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."

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,

So might some old man speak in the And strongly wheel'd and threw it. 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.

great brand

By night, with noises of the northern sea. Then spoke King Arthur, breathing So flash'd and fell the brand Excalibur : But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm 'What is it thou hast seen? or what hast | Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,

heavily :

heard?'