A radiant pearl for royal array
Clean to enclose in gold so clear;
Out of the Orient, I boldly say,
Found have I never her precious peer,
So pure, so perfect at each assay,
So small, so smooth that blissful sphere;
Wherever I judged of jewels gay,
I set her apart as the prize most dear.
Alas! in an arbor I lost her here,
Slipping through grass to earth, I wot;
I pine, cut off from the loving cheer
Of my own pearl without a spot.
There where I lost it, since have I long
Waited and wished for return of the weal2
That whilom3 made me forget my wrong
And brought me comfort, my spirit to heal,
That now is oppressed with passions strong
Till all my senses whirl and reel.
Yet methought was never so sweet a song
As the quiet hour to me let steal;
Many strange fancies did it reveal
To think that her fairness earth should clot!
O grave, the rarest of gems thou dost seal,
My own dear pearl without a spot.
More wonder my judgment stole away;
I saw beyond that river fair
A crystal cliff as clear as day,
Its royal rays gleamed through the air;
1 Reprinted from J. M. Manly, English Prose and Poetry, Ginn and Company, publishers.
At its foot there sat a child full gay,
A mannerly maiden, debonair,1
All argent white was her array;
I knew her well, I had seen her ere.3
As glistening gold, refined and rare,
So sheen she shone upon the shore;
Long while I looked upon her there;
The longer, I knew her more and more.
The more I questioned her fair face
And came to know her figure bright,
Such joy shed over me its grace
That scarce before I had known delight;
Desire to address her grew apace,
But abashment filled my heart with fright;
Seeing her in so strange a place
Full well my heart astonish might.
Then lifts she up her forehead white,
Her visage fairer than e'er before;
Bewildered my heart was at the sight
And ever the longer, the more and more.
Delight me drove in eye and ear;
My earthly mind was maddened nigh.
When I saw my darling, I would be near,
Beyond the water that she stood by:
"Nothing," methought, "can harm me here,
Deal me a blow and low make lie;
To wade the stream have I no fear,
Or to swim the deeps, though I should die."
But from that purpose withheld was I;
As unto the stream I started still,
Clean from that plan I was turned awry;
It was not at my Prince's will.
It pleased him not I should pass quite,
O'er marvellous meres,1 so mad arrayed;
Though in my rush I had strength and might,
Yet hastily therein I was stayed;
For as I strove to the bank aright,
My haste me of my dream betrayed;
Then waked I in that arbor bright,
My head upon that mound was laid
Where my own pearl to ground had strayed.
I roused me, with many a fear a-thrill,
And sighing to myself I said:
"Now all be at that Prince's will."
2 Reprinted from J. M. Manly, English Prose and Poetry, Ginn and Company, publishers.
Then thitherward went riding
Arthur the royal
With army unnumbered,
Doomed though they all were.
By the river Tamar
The troops came together;
Raised their royal standards;
Rushed there together;
Long swords locked they,
Laying blows on helmets;
Sparks they struck out,
Spears did rattle;
Shields were a-shaking,
Shafts were a-breaking.
There fought all together
Folk beyond counting.
Tamar was a flood
With measureless blood.
Of men in the fight there
Nobody might there
Distinguish any warrior,
Nor who did better, who did worse,
So was that conflict mingled;
For each struck adown right,
Were he yeoman,1 or were he knight.
There was Modred stricken,
And life in him did sicken.
. . . in that conflict.
There fell in that battle
All of the brave ones,
Arthur's own henchmen,
The high and the lowly,
And all the Britons
Of Arthur's board too,
1a common man, a free-born man.
And all his fosterlings
Of foreign nations many,
And Arthur sorely wounded
With broad blade of war-spear.
Fifteen times was he
Fiendishly wounded;
Even into the smallest
Two gloves might one have thrust.
Then were there in that battle
Left among the living
Of two hundred thousand soldiers
Who lay there slaughtered
But Arthur the king only
And two of his warriors.
Arthur was wounded
Wondrous severely.
To him came a child1 then
Who was of his kindred;
He was Cador's first-born,
Who Earl was of Cornwall.
Constantine his name was;
He was to the king dear.
Arthur looked upon him,
As he lay on the ground there,
And these words spake he
To thee do I commit here
The care of my kingdom;
And guard well my Britons.
Ever whilst thou livest;
And keep thou all the customs
That loved were in my life-time,
1A youth of noble family. Cf. Childe Harold, p. 161.
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