THE DEATH OF KING ARTHUR.

False Mordred spake to Guinever,
'Arthur, thy lord, is dead,
And has appointed me to reign
O'er England in his stead.

'We will be crowned right royally.
To Canterbury haste;
We there high festival will make
For fifteen days at least,

'And thou shalt be my wedded wife.'
She shrank in mute dismay,
Knowing King Arthur had embarked
His troops from Cardiff Bay:

Full threescore thousand gallant men,
With his tried friend Gawaine,
To 'venge an insult, they had gone
To Benwick over main.

And now, poor Guinever, take heart;
Brush back they bitter tears;
Trust in thy subtle woman's wit
Born of thy woman's fears.
She answered him in gentle guise,
'I may not say thee nay,
But grant me that I journey first
To London town, I pray,
To buy some guards and trinkets fine
To grace my bridal day.'

False Mordred granted her request,
In that she spake so fair;
Then quick she hied to London town,
And bade her men repair

Unto the Tower, the which she filled
With food, and arms, and men,
Nor aught that Mordred said or did
Could lure her forth again.

He sued her with false honeyed words,
They did not once prevail;
He stormed the Tower with mighty guns,
It was of no avail.

Within her fortress Guinever
Sent scornful answers true:
'Thou art a traitor to thy king,
Which thou full soon shalt rue.
'Ere I come forth to thee, false knight,
E'en though my lord be dead,
I liever by this sword will die
Than ever I thee wed.'

When Mordred heard that Arthur's host
Was coming over sea,
In eager haste to be avenged
For this foul treachery,

He writ to all the barons round
To come from far and near,
And studied words of treason dark
He whispered in their ear:

How that with Arthur evermore
Was naught but war and strife,
While he, Sir Mordred, gave them peace,
And joy, and bliss of life.

Then many that King Arthur had
Raised up from low estate,
And granted lands, now slanderous words
And evil 'gainst him spake.

Now, all ye Englishmen, behold
What mischief happened here:
This King, who was the noblest king,
And knight withouten peer,
Who loved the fellowship of none
But good and brave, who spent
His life redressing crime and wrong,
Was held in discontent.

This old, old custom of the land
Is not forgot, they say,
That Englishmen are ne'er content,
Not even at this day.

This is their great default -- no thing
Pleaseth this people long.
Thus happed it that false Mordred's force
Waxed numerous and strong.

They met at Dover. Arthur's fleet
Came sailing o'er the sea,
Bearing its freight of human worth,
A goodly company.

Then was there launching of great boats
And small, in eager haste
To lift King Arthur from the realm
Whereto God had him placed.

They rushed ashore -- ah, woe is me
For many a noble slain,
For barons bold, and gentle knights,
Among them Sir Gawaine.

When Arthur saw his sister's son
Fall with a deadly blow,
He took him gently in his arms,
And kissed his pallid brow.

'Gawaine,' he cried, 'my only joy!
I pray thee, do not die,
And leave me, in this cold bleak world,
To utter misery.

'For now I will confess to thee
That I have loved thee so,
I cannot bear, withouten thee,
This life of grief and woe.'

The dying man thrice oped his eyes,
And gasped amid his pain
Some words of comfort to the King,
Then never spake again.

King Arthur mourned with bitter grief
The friend he loved so well,
At Dover Castle buried him
Within a small chapelle,
Where even to this day his skull
Is shown, as travellers tell.

Meanwhile the battle hurtled on
Far as to Barham plain;
King Arthur's troops victorious
Drave Mordred back again.

But then there happed a wondrous thing,
For in the dead of night
A vision to King Arthur came,
Warning him not to fight.

Gawaine, surrounded by a troop
Of ladies fair and bright,
Whom he had rescued from foul wrong,
Or aided in the right,

Thus spake: 'God sends us here to you
His purpose to maintain;
For if you fight to-morrow morn,
You surely will be slain.

'Wait only till Sir Lancelot
With aid shall reappear.'
Thus having said, he vanishèd
As into empty air.

In council it was then decreed
That when the morrow came,
When both the armies were afield,
A herald should proclaim

A truce, with gold and lands in pledge,
If Mordred would accede.
The morning broke, the herald cried,
Each party was agreed.

But each, mistrustful of his foe,
Gave orders to his men
To stand prepared for deadly fight,
Should aught occur again

To mar the truce. Just then from out
Some heather on the right
An adder glided forth, and stung
Upon his foot a knight,

Who thought no harm, but drew his sword
To strike the reptile dead,
Whereat both armies yelled aloud
As by one impulse led.

At sound of trumpets, beams, and horns,
They hasted on to fight,
And never in this Christian land
Was seen more doleful sight.

Oh! there was rushing, riding fast,
And many a grim word spoke,
Foining and striking everywhere,
And many a deadly stroke.

They stinted not, but madly fought
Through all that livelong day;
At night a hundred thousand dead
Stark on the common lay.

When Arthur gazed across the down,
And saw his valiant host
All slain, save two poor wounded knights,
He knew that all was lost.

'Jesu have mercy!' cried the King;
'Would that I too had been
Like these, my comrades, stricken dead,
Ere I this day had seen!

'Now would to God I wist me where
That traitor foul may be,
Who brought such mischief to the realm
And misery to me!'

Thereat he suddenly turned round,
And spied, across the plain,
False Mordred leaning on his sword
Among a heap of slain.

Then cried he to a wounded knight
Yclept Sir Bedevere,
'Yonder I spy the traitor false.
Give me my trusty spear;

'For tide me life, or tide me death,
I see him there alone
He shall not 'scape my vengeance now
As he before hath done.'

With both his hands he seized the spear,
Crying, 'Thy hour is come --
Die, traitor, die!' rushed headlong on,
And drave the weapon home.

But with his sword the dying man
Smote Arthur on the head,
Piercing his helmet to the brain,
Then fell down stark and dead.

When noble Arthur fell to earth
Thrice in a deadly swoon,
Sir Lucan and Sir Bedevere
Thrice raised him up, and soon

They led him on betwixt them both
Softly and tenderly,
Until they reached a chapel small
Close by the moaning sea.

And while they sat and hearkened there,
All in the broad moonlight,
They saw the pillers on the down
Rob many a noble knight

Of brooch, and beads, and jewels rare,
Of many a goodly ring,
Which much distressed Sir Bedevere,
Who begged the dying King

To haste to some securer spot,
Where they could hide away.
Arthur replied, 'My time flees fast,
I have not long to stay.

'Now hie thee to yon waterside,
And throw my trusty sword,
My own Excalibur, therein,
And quickly bring me word

'What there thou see'st.' 'It shall be done,'
Replied the willing knight.
But when he saw that noble sword,
With precious stones bedight

On haft and pommel, to himself
He reasoned in this wise:
'If I destroy this richest sword,
But harm and loss arise,

'For an I throw it in the stream,
No good to him or me.'
Whereon he hid Excalibur
Under the nearest tree.

When he gat back unto the King,
'What saw'st thou there?' quoth he.
'Naught but the waves and winds,' he said,
'Moaning most dolefully.'

Then said King Arthur, 'Truth is good,
To lie is deadly sin;
As thou art lief and dear to me,
Go back and throw it in.'

Sir Bedevere returned again,
But thought it sin and shame
To cast away the noble sword,
So acted just the same.

He hid the sword amid the grass,
Then, on his bended knee,
Told Arthur his command was done.
'Say then what didst thou see?'

'Sire,' said he, 'I saw nothing there
But the great waters wap,
And the waves wan; while I remained,
Naught else to me did hap.'

'Ah, traitor!' said King Arthur, 'all
Thou sayest is untrue;
Thou hast betrayed me twice, and now
Thou would'st me quite undo.

'Who would have wend that thou, who wast
So lief and dear to me,
And called a noble knight, for gain
Should now deceitful be?

Go quickly hence. The cold strikes keen;
I have short time to stay;
An if thou disobey me now,
I surely will thee slay.'

Thereat Sir Bevedere rushed forth;
Seizing the weapon fast,
He bound the girdle round the hilt,
And threw it in at last.

When lo! an arm and hand appeared
Above the watery grave,
Caught at the sword, thrice brandished it,
Then vanished in the wave.

When Arthur heard what had befell,
He spake, 'Sir Bedevere,
Alas! Now help me hence; I dread
Too long I tarry here.'

He took the King upon his back,
Close to the waterside,
Where hovèd in, fast by the bank,
A little barge he spied;

Wherein there sate a stately queen,
And many ladies fair,
Who shrieked and wept for grief when they
Beheld King Arthur there.

'Now put me in the barge,' he said,
Which softly was obeyed;
Three queens in sable hood therein
Gently King Arthur laid.

Upon the lap of one of these
His weary head he laid.
'Why have ye tarried, brother dear,
So long from me?' she said.

'Alas! the cold has stricken deep
Into this wound, I fear;'
And then they rowed far far away
From sad Sir Bedevere.
Their wailing floated on the wind,
Most pitiful to hear.

Soon as the barge was lost to sight,
Forlorn Sir Bedevere
Wept and bemoaned the livelong night,
Wandering about, in fear

Of armed foes and robbers vile,
Through devious forest ways.
When morning brake, a hermitage
Met his bewildered gaze.

Close by a little chapel stood,
Where holy men might pray;
Within, low grovelling on the ground,
A saintly hermit lay

Beside a new-made grave. The knight
Inquired in accents low,
'What man is recent buried there
Down in the grave below?'

'Fair Sir,' the hermit then replied,
'I wot not who he be;
A band of lovely ladies brought
Him here last night to me.

'A hundred tapers, too, they brought,
A hundred besants gave,
To lay in earth his lovely form,
His precious soul to save.'

'Alas! that was my honoured lord,'
Replied Sir Bedevere,
'King Arthur, prince of chivalry,
Who now lies buried here.'

Whereat he fell into a swoon.
When he revived again,
He begged the hermit piteously
To let him there remain.

'In life or death I would be near,
Not evermore remove,
By fasting and by prayer to show
My loyalty and love.'

And then he doffed his knightly gear,
Putting on mean array,
And both together wept and prayed
Their weary lives away.

Queen Guinever became a nun
In cloistered Almesbury,
Spending her days in deeds of love
And acts of charity.