It was the solemn feast of Pentecost,
And with King Arthur at the Table Round,
So was their wont, two hundred knights assembled.
For a whole year, dispersed afar they roamed;
Some in the crowded battle proved their swords,
And hurled the Saxon from the English shores;
Some rather loved the tournaments and sports,
Loitered at court, and hunted with the ladies;
But most, alone, or else by twos and threes,
Sought high adventures up and down the land,
In deserts wild, and forests dim, enchanted.
For in these old days, still in lonely towers
Lurked many a giant, bloodthirsty and grim,
Or fell magician, blasting all around,
Or heathen robber-knight, invincible.
How glorious was that mighty fellowship!
Down the dim waste of ages echo still
Vibrations of the harps of old that sang
Of Arthur's Knights, the stars of chivalry,
And of the glittering galaxy that shone
In that renowned incomparable ring.
Alas for earthly glory -- even now
The touch-stone came to try, among them all
Which were the priceless jewels that within
Were pure and true -- as brilliant outwardly. --
It came -- to shiver all that noble band,
The high adventure of the Holy Grale.
Thus as they sat, an old man entered,
Robed in black garments, grave and ven'rable;
He led a young knight clad in scarlet arms;
His dark hair shadowing a blooming face,
Yet grave beyond his years. -- "Sir king," began
The aged sire, "I crave for this fair knight
His right and due: place at the Table Round.
Of royal race he comes, and yesterday
Was dubbed a knight by Lancelot du Lac."
Then, as the king assented, he advanced
To where, by Lancelot's side, the Perilous Seat
For ever covered with white samnite stood --
(For no man, but, he wished to challenge death,
Chose there his place) -- and raised the samnite fair,
And there beneath in golden letters gleamed,
"This is the place of Good Sir Galahad."

Thus, while they marvelled how by one so young
The perils of that wondrous place were dared,
Low thunder, rolling from the distance, came
Louder and louder -- till with heavy crash
All the carved doors flew open; and the hall
Shook earthquake tost -- then rose a gentle light,
Not like the ray of torches, moon, or sun;
It dawned and brightened with a mystic lustre,
Softened the faces stern of warriors old,
Haggard with toil, and seamed by many wars;
While fairer through it many a fair face shone,
And some, its halo playing round their brows,
Seemed brightening into angels; then was sight
Lost in a flood of golden radiancy.
Speechless and breathless all the warriors sat,
Each in a solitude of vivid light.
Sweet music, as of voices chanting near,
Rose circling clear, in fervid aspiration,
And died away in tender harmonies.
And, borne by hands unseen, they all beheld
A chalice with a light veil over it --
The Holy Grale glide through the lighted hall.
In some short space the vision bright was gone,
The wondrous light departed; suddenly
From 'mid the dazzled knights Sir Gawain rose,
And said, as ever hot impetuous,
"Fair sirs, great marvels have we seen to-day,
The Holy Grale we happy men have seen,
Which some deemed lost for ever to this earth.
Yet this there lacked; all veiled the relic shone --
We had not toiled or striven for the sight.
But here before you all, I make a vow,
That from to-morrow I will take the quest,
A twelvemonth and a day at least, to seek
A clearer vision of the Holy Grale,
So Heaven me help, Amen." Anon there rose,
With a tumultuous murmur all around,
The knights in ringing mail -- their right hands stretched,
On all sides echoing back the solemn vow.
Gallant Sir Lionel has spoken it,
Gay Dinadam has ta'en the earnest pledge,
And Bors de Ganis, mild and resolute,
Hath said it, and Sir Percevale de Gailles,
So sweetly grave, has breathed it like a prayer,
And Galahad, still in a blissful trance,
Murmurs the solemn words with downcast eyes,
And with them rose there many many more.
Aghast King Arthur watched; but when arose,
With joyous grace, the brave Sir Lancelot,
He started from his royal seat, and cried,
"Hold, hold, Sir Knight, stay thou at least by me!
Alas! what has my nephew Gawain done;
Shattered the goodliest fellowship of knights,
And broke the glory of the Table Round."
To whom thus Lancelot -- "Lament not, Sire,
Sir Gawain has but spoke the thought of all.
Remember how, a score of years agone,
Nacian the hermit prophesied that when
The San Grale came, this band should be dissolved.
'Tis better thus than dwindling by degrees,
To sink in smoke and ashes like a torch;
Better to die in striving for perfection."
All through the streets of Camelot that day,
From rich and poor rose dole and lamentation;
Bereft of all its flower was the land.
But chief round Lancelot the people thronged,
And kissed his stirrups, and implorèd him
For their sakes to return -- their shield and sword.
For all the knights in long procession rode
To a last tourney on the river bank,
And a last service in the minster choir.
Then, taking arms and horses, forth they rode,
Past many a balcony, where ladies sat
Gazing through heavy tears upon their lords;
Past many a lattice, whence a sign was waved
To some young knight up-glancing; yet they were
Graver than errant knights are wont to be,
For the good priest of Salisbury told how none
But holy men the adventure could achieve.
A twelvemonth and a day had past -- anon
The knights came riding in on every side.
Some had met no adventures; gross and dim
Their minds, and weighed to earth, invisible
Were spiritual things to them; and others came
Wounded and conquered by mysterious foes,
Punished through cherished sins and evil pride.
By twos and threes they gathered for awhile,
Though many a champion brave returned no more.
But when the year was past, still roamed afar,
'Mid strange adventures, Lancelot du Lac,
Sir Percevale, Sir Bors, Sir Galahad, --
And speak we now of how these warriors sped.