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Save for some whisper of the seething seas,
A dead hush fell; but when the dolorous day
Grew drearier toward twilight falling, came

A bitter wind, clear from the North, and blew
The mist aside, and with that wind the tide
Rose, and the pale king glanced across the field
Of battle but no man was moving there;

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Nor any cry of Christian heard thereon,

Nor yet of heathen; only the wan wave
Brake in among dead faces, to and fro

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Swaying the helpless hands, and up and down

Tumbling the hollow helmets of the fallen,

And shiver'd brands that once had fought with Rome,

And rolling far along the gloomy shores

The voice of days of old and days to be.

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Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere, And whiter than the mist that all day long Had held the field of battle was the King:

· Hearest thou this great voice that shakes the world,

And wastes the narrow realm whereon we move,

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And beats upon the faces of the dead,

My dead, as tho' they had not died for me?

O Bedivere, for on my heart hath fall'n
Confusion, till I know not what I am,
Nor whence I am, nor whether I be king.
Behold, I seem but king among the dead.'

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Then spake the bold Sir Bedivere: My King, King everywhere! and so the dead have kings,

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There also will I worship thee as king.

Yet still thy life is whole, and still I live

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Who love thee; but who hates thee, he that brought

The heathen back among us, yonder stands,

Modred, unharm'd, the traitor of thine house.'

Then spake the King: My house hath been my doom. But call not thou this traitor of my house

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Who hath but dwelt beneath one roof with me.
My house are rather they who sware my vows,
Yea, even while they brake them, own'd me king.
And well for thee, saying in my dark hour,
When all the purport of my throne hath fail'd,
That quick or dead thou holdest me for king.
King am I, whatsoever be their cry;
And one last act of kinghood shalt thou see
Yet, ere I pass.' And uttering this the king
Made at the man: then Modred smote his liege
Hard on that helm which many a heathen sword
Had beaten thin; while Arthur at one blow,
Striking the last stroke with Excalibur,
Slew him, and all but slain himself, he fell.

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So all day long the noise of battle roll'd Among the mountains by the winter sea; Until King Arthur's Table, man by man,

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Had fall'n in Lyonnesse about their lord,

King Arthur. Then, because his wound was deep,

The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,

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And bore him to a chapel nigh the field,

A broken chancel with a broken cross,

That stood on a dark strait of barren land:
On one side lay the Ocean, and on one
Lay a great water, and the moon was full.

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Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
The sequel of to-day unsolders all
The goodliest fellowship of famous knights
Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep

They sleep- the men I loved. I think that we

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Shall never more, at any future time,

Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,
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

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To rule once more; but let what will be, be.

I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm

That without help I cannot last till morn.
Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,

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Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how
In those old days, one summer noon, an arm
Rose up from out the bosom of the lake,
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
Holding the sword - and how I row'd across
And took it, and have worn it, like a king;
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:

Watch what thou seest: and lightly bring 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.'

So saying, from the ruin'd shrine he stept,
And in the moon athwart the place of tombs,
Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men,
Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang
Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam.
By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock,
Came on the shining levels of the lake.

He, stepping down

There drew he forth the brand Excalibur,
And o'er him, drawing it, the winter 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,
Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work
Of subtlest jewelry. He gazed so long
That both his eyes were dazzled as he stood,
This way and that dividing the swift mind,

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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 marge.

So strode he back slow to the wounded King.

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Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
Hast thou perform'd my mission which
What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard??

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: 'I heard the ripple washing inʼ the reeds, And the wild water lapping on the crag.'

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gave?

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To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale:
Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy name,
Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd
Thy fëalty, nor like a noble knight:
For surer sign had follow'd, either hand,
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

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I bade thee; watch, and lightly bring me 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,

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How curiously and strangely chased, he smote
His palms together, and he cried aloud:

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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?

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What harm, undone? Deep harm to disobey,

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 rumors 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,

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Saying, King Arthur's sword, Excalibur,
Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake.

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Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps
Upon the hidden bases of the hills.'

So might some old man speak in the aftertime
To all the people, winning reverence.

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But now much honor 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.
Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily:

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

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : I heard the water lapping on the crag,

And the long ripple washing in the reeds.'

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To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath:

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Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me!

Authority forgets a dying king,

Laid widow'd of the power in his eye

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That bow'd the will. I see thee what thou art,

For thou, the latest-left of all my knights

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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.'

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