'O brother,' ask'd Ambrosius, 'for in sooth

These ancient books and they would win thee-teem,

Only I find not there this Holy Grail, With miracles and marvels like to these, Not all unlike; which oftentime I read, Who read but on my breviary with ease, Till my head swims; and then go forth and pass

Down to the little thorpe that lies so close,

And almost plaster'd like a martin's nest To these old walls-and mingle with our folk;

And knowing every honest face of theirs As well as ever shepherd knew his sheep, And every homely secret in their hearts, Delight myself with gossip and old wives, And ills and aches, and teethings, lyingsin,

And mirthful sayings, children of the place,

That have no meaning half a league

away:

O lulling random squabbles when they rise,

Chafferings and chatterings at the mar ket-cross,

Rejoice, small man, in this small world of mine,

Yea, even in their hens and in their eggs

O brother, saving this Sir Galahad, Came ye on none but phantoms in your quest,

No man, no woman?'

Then Sir Percivale : All men, to one so bound by such a vow, And women were as phantoms. O my brother,

Why wilt thou shame me to confess to thee

How far I falter'd from my quest and vow?

For after I had lain so many nights,

A bedmate of the snail and eft and snake, In grass and burdock, I was changed to

wan

And meagre, and the vision had not

come;

And then I chanced upon a goodly town With one great dwelling in the middle of it;

Thither I made, and there was I disarm'd By maidens each as fair as any flower: But when they led me into hall, behold, The Princess of that castle was the one, Brother, and that one only, who had ever Made my heart leap; for when I moved of old

A slender page about her father's hall, And she a slender maiden, all my heart Went after her with longing: yet we

twain

Had never kiss'd a kiss, or vow'd a vow. And now I came upon her once again, And one had wedded her, and he was dead,

And all his land and wealth and state were hers.

And while I tarried, every day she set
A banquet richer than the day before
By me; for all her longing and her will
Was toward me as of old; till one fair

morn,

I walking to and fro beside a stream That flash'd across her orchard under

neath

'He ceased; and Arthur turn'd to whom at first

He saw not, for Sir Bors, on entering, push'd

Athwart the throng to Lancelot, caught his hand,

Held it, and there, half-hidden by him, stood,

Until the King espied him, saying to him, "Hail, Bors! if ever loyal man and true Could see it, thou hast seen the Grail;" and Bors,

"Ask me not, for I may not speak of it: I saw it;" and the tears were in his eyes.

That save they could be pluck'd asunder,

all

My quest were but in vain; to whom I vow'd

That I would work according as he will'd. And forth I went, and while I yearn'd and strove

To tear the twain asunder in my heart, My madness came upon me as of old, And whipt me into waste fields far away; There was I beaten down by little men, Mean knights, to whom the moving of my sword

And shadow of my spear had been enow To scare them from me once; and then I came

All in my folly to the naked shore, Wide flats, where nothing but coarse grasses grew;

But such a blast, my King, began to blow, So loud a blast along the shore and sea, Ye could not hear the waters for the blast, Tho' heapt in mounds and ridges all the

sea

Drove like a cataract, and all the sand Swept like a river, and the clouded heavens

Were shaken with the motion and the sound.

And blackening in the sea-foam sway'd a boat,

Half-swallow'd in it, anchor'd with a chain;

And in my madness to myself I said, 'I will embark and I will lose myself, And in the great sea wash away my sin.'

I burst the chain, I sprang into the boat. Seven days I drove along the dreary deep, And with me drove the moon and all the stars;

And the wind fell, and on the seventh night

I heard the shingle grinding in the surge, And felt the boat shock earth, and look

That kept the entry, and the moon was full.

Then from the boat I leapt, and up the stairs.

There drew my sword. With suddenflaring manes

Those two great beasts rose upright like

a man,

Each gript a shoulder, and I stood between;

And, when I would have smitten them, heard a voice,

'Doubt not, go forward; if thou doubt, the beasts

Will tear thee piecemeal.' Then with violence

The sword was dash'd from out my hand, and fell.

And up into the sounding hall I past; But nothing in the sounding hall I saw, No bench nor table, painting on the wall Or shield of knight; only the rounded

moon

Thro' the tall oriel on the rolling sea.
But always in the quiet house I heard,
Clear as a lark, high o'er me as a lark,
A sweet voice singing in the topmost

tower

To the eastward: up I climb'd a thousand steps

With pain: as in a dream I seem'd to climb

For ever: at the last I reach'd a door,
A light was in the crannies, and I heard,
'Glory and joy and honour to our Lord
And to the Holy Vessel of the Grail.'
Then in my madness I essay'd the door;
It gave; and thro' a stormy glare, a heat
As from a seventimes-heated furnace, I,
Blasted and burnt, and blinded as I was,
With such a fierceness that I swoon'd