The wild wind rang from park and plain,
And round the attics rumbled,
Till all the tables danced again,

And half the chimneys tumbled.
The glass blew in, the fire blew out,
The blast was hard and harder,

Her cap blew off, her gown blew up, And a whirlwind clear'd the larder: And while on all sides breaking loose Her household fled the danger, Quoth she, The Devil take the goose, And God forget the stranger!'

THE EPIC.

And none abroad: there was no anchor, none,

To hold by.' Francis, laughing, clapt his hand

On Everard's shoulder, with 'I hold by him.'

'And I,' quoth Everard, by the wassailbowl.'

'Why yes,' I said, 'we knew your gift that way

At college but another which you had, I mean of verse (for so we held it then), What came of that?' 'You know,' said Frank, he burnt

His epic, his King Arthur, some twelve books '

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 jewellery. He gazed so long That both his eyes were dazzled, as he stood,

This way and that dividing the swift mind,

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.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedi

vere:

'Hast thou perform'd my mission which

I gave ?

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

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: 'I heard the ripple washing in the reeds, And the wild water lapping on the crag.' 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 fealty, 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
I bad 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, How curiously and strangely chased, he

smote

His palms together, and he cried aloud,

'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?

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 rumours 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, Saying, "King Arthur's sword, Excalibur, Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. 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. But now much honour 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:

'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.' To whom replied King Arthur, much

in wrath :

'Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me! Authority forgets a dying king,

Laid widow'd of the power in his eye That bow'd the will. I see thee what

thou art,

For thou, the latest-left of all my knights,

In whom should meet the offices of all, Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt;

Either from lust of gold, or like a girl
Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes.
Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice,
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.'
Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and

ran,

And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged

Among the bulrush-beds, and clutch'd the sword,

And strongly wheel'd and threw it. The

great brand

But when I look'd again, behold an arm, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,

That caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him

Three times, and drew him under in the mere.'

And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard:

My end draws nigh; 'tis time that I were gone.

Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight,

And bear me to the margin; yet I fear My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die.'

So saying, from the pavement he half rose,

Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed When all the house is mute. So sigh'd the King,

Muttering and murmuring at his ear, Quick, quick!

done.

Speak out: what is it thou hast heard, or

seen ?'

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: 'Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems

Should blind my purpose, for I never saw, Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die, Not tho' I live three lives of mortal men, So great a miracle as yonder hilt.

Before. His own thought drove him, like a goad.

Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves