Chapter XV: Introduction (4)

“My King,” said Sir Gawain, “my hour is come and I have got my death at Sir Lancelot’s hand; for I am smitten on the wound he gave me. And rightly am I served, for of my wilfulness and stubbornness comes this unhappy war. I pray you, my uncle, raise me in your arms and let me write to Sir Lancelot before I die.”

Thus, then, Sir Gawain wrote: “To Sir Lancelot, the noblest of all knights, I, Gawain, send greeting before I die. For I am smitten on the wound ye gave me before your castle of Benwick in France, and I bid all men bear witness that I sought my own death and that ye are innocent of it. I pray you, by our friendship of old, come again into Britain and, when ye look upon my tomb, pray for Gawain of Orkney. Farewell.”

So Sir Gawain died and was buried in the Chapel at Dover.

OF THE BATTLE IN THE WEST

The day after the battle at Dover, King Arthur and his host pursued Sir Modred to Barham Down, where again there was a great battle fought, with much slaughter on both sides; but, in the end, Arthur was victorious, and Modred fled to Canterbury.

Now by this time, many that Modred had cheated by his lying reports, had drawn unto King Arthur, to whom at heart they had ever been loyal, knowing him for a true and noble King and hating themselves for having been deceived by such a false usurper as Sir Modred. Then when he found that he was being deserted, Sir Modred withdrew to the far West, for there men knew less of what had happened, and so he might still find some to believe in him and support him; and being without conscience, he even called to his aid the heathen hosts that his uncle, King Arthur, had driven from the land in the good years when Lancelot was of the Round Table.

King Arthur followed ever after, for in his heart was bitter anger against the false nephew who had brought woe upon him and all his realm. At the last, when Modred could flee no further, the two hosts were drawn up near the shore of the great western sea; and it was the Feast of the Holy Trinity.

That night, as King Arthur slept, he thought that Sir Gawain stood before him, looking just as he did in life, and said to him:

“My uncle and my King, God in his great love has suffered me to come unto you, to warn you that in no wise ye fight on the morrow; for if ye do, ye shall be slain and with you the most part of the people on both sides. Make ye, therefore, treaty for a month and within that time, Sir Lancelot shall come to you with all his knights and ye shall overthrow the traitor and all that hold with him.”

Therewith Sir Gawain vanished. Immediately the King awoke and called to him the best and wisest of his knights, the two brethren, Sir Lucan the Butler and Sir Bedivere and others, to whom he told his dream. Then all were agreed that, on any terms whatsoever, a treaty should be made with Sir Modred, even as Sir Gawain had said; and with the dawn, messengers went to the camp of the enemy, to call Sir Modred to a conference. So it was determined that the meeting should take place in the sight of both armies, in an open space between the two camps, and that King Arthur and Modred should each be accompanied by fourteen knights. Little enough faith had either in the other, so when they set forth to the meeting, they bade their hosts join battle if ever they saw a sword drawn. Thus they went to the conference.

Now as they talked, it happened that an adder, coming out of a bush hard by, stung a knight in the foot; and he, seeing the snake, drew his sword to kill it and thought no harm thereby. But on the instant that the sword flashed, the trumpets blared on both sides and the two hosts rushed to battle. Never was there fought a fight of such bitter enmity, for brother fought with brother, and comrade with comrade, and fiercely they cut and thrust, with many a bitter word between; while King Arthur himself, his heart hot within him, rode through and through the battle, seeking the traitor Modred. So they fought all day till at last the evening fell. Then Arthur, looking around him, saw of his valiant knights but two left, Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere, and these sore wounded; and there, over against him, by a great heap of the dead, stood Sir Modred, the cause of all this ruin. Thereupon the King, his heart nigh broken with grief for the loss of his true knights, cried with a loud voice, “Traitor! now is thy doom upon thee!” and with his spear gripped in both hands, he rushed upon Sir Modred and smote him that the weapon stood out a fathom behind. And Sir Modred knew that he had his death-wound. With all the might that he had, he thrust him up the spear to the haft and, with his sword, struck King Arthur upon the head that the steel pierced the helmet and bit into the head; then Sir Modred fell back, stark and dead.

Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere went to the King where he lay, swooning from the blow, and bore him to a little chapel on the seashore. As they laid him on the ground, Sir Lucan fell dead beside the King, and Arthur, coming to himself, found but Sir Bedivere alive beside him.

THE DEATH OF ARTHUR

So King Arthur lay wounded to the death, grieving, not that his end was come, but for the desolation of his kingdom and the loss of his good knights. And looking upon the body of Sir Lucan, he sighed and said:

“Alas! true knight, dead for my sake! If I lived, I should ever grieve for thy death, but now mine own end draws nigh.”

Then turning to Sir Bedivere, who stood sorrowing beside him, he said: “Leave weeping now, for the time is short and much to do. Hereafter shalt thou weep if thou wilt. But take now my sword Excalibur, hasten to the water side and fling it into the deep. Then watch what happens and bring me word thereof.”

“My Lord,” said Sir Bedivere, “your command shall be obeyed”; and taking the sword, he departed. But as he went on his way he looked on the sword, how wondrously it was formed, and the hilt all studded with precious stones; and, as he looked, he called to mind the marvel by which it had come into the King’s keeping. For on a certain day, as Arthur walked on the shore of a great lake, there had appeared above the surface of the water a hand brandishing a sword. On the instant, the King had leaped into a boat, and, rowing into the lake, had got the sword and brought it back to land. Then he had seen how, on one side the blade, was written, “Keep me,” but on the other, “Throw me away,” and sore perplexed, he had shown it to Merlin, the great wizard, who said: “Keep it now. The time for casting away has not yet come.”

Thinking on this, it seemed to Bedivere that no good, but harm, must come of obeying the King’s word; so hiding the sword under a tree, he hastened back to the little chapel.

Then said the King: “What saw’st thou?”

“Sir,” answered Bedivere, “I saw naught but the waves, heard naught but the wind.”

“That is untrue,” said King Arthur; “I charge thee, as thou art true knight, go again and spare not to throw away the sword.”

Sir Bedivere departed a second time and his mind was to obey his lord; but when he took the sword in his hand, he thought:

“Sin it is and shameful, to throw away so glorious a sword.” Then hiding it again, he hastened back to the King.

“What saw’st thou?” said King Arthur.

“Sir, I saw the water lap on the crags.”

Then spoke the King in great wrath: “Traitor and unkind! Twice hast thou betrayed me! Art dazzled by the splendor of the jewels, thou that, till now, hast ever been dear and true to me? Go yet again, but if thou fail me this time, I will arise and, with mine own hands, slay thee.”

Then Sir Bedivere left the King and, that time, he took the sword quickly from the place where he had hidden it and, forbearing even to look upon it, he twisted the belt about it and flung it with all his force into the water. A wondrous sight he saw, for, as the sword touched the water, a hand rose from out the deep, caught it, brandished it thrice and threw it beneath the surface.

So Bedivere hastened back to the King and told him what he had seen.

“It is well,” said Arthur; “now, bear me to the water’s edge and hasten, I pray thee, for I have tarried over long and my wound has taken cold.”

So Sir Bedivere raised the King on his back and bore him tenderly to the lonely shore, where the lapping waves floated many an empty helmet and the fitful moonlight fell on the upturned faces of the dead. Scarce had they reached the shore when there hove in sight a barge, and on its deck stood three tall women, robed all in black and wearing crowns on their heads.

“Place me in the barge,” said Arthur, and softly Sir Bedivere lifted the King into it. And these three queens wept sore over Arthur, and one took his head in her lap and chafed his hands, crying:

“Alas! my brother, thou hast been overlong in coming, and I fear me thy wound has taken cold.”

Then the barge began to move slowly forth from the land. When Sir Bedivere saw this, he lifted up his voice and cried with a bitter cry:

“Ah! my Lord Arthur, thou art taken from me! And I, whither shall I go?”

“Comfort thyself,” said the King, “for in me is no comfort more. I pass to the Valley of Avilion, to heal me of my grievous wound. If thou seest me never again, pray for me.”

So the barge floated away out of sight and Sir Bedivere stood straining his eyes after it till it had vanished utterly. Then he turned him about and journeyed through the forest until, at day-break, he reached a hermitage. Entering it, he prayed the holy hermit that he might abide with him and there he spent the rest of his life in prayer and holy exercise.

But of King Arthur is no more known. Some men, indeed, say that he is not dead, but abides in the happy Valley of Avilion until such time as his country’s need is sorest, when he shall come again and deliver it. Others say that, of a truth, he is dead and that, in the far West, his tomb may be seen and written on it these words:

“HERE LIES ARTHUR, ONCE KING AND KING TO BE.”

HOW QUEEN GUINEVERE BECAME A NUN AT ALMESBURY AND OF THE DEATH OF SIR LANCELOT

When news reached Sir Lancelot in his own land of the treason of Modred, he gathered his lords and knights together, and rested not till he had come to Britain to aid King Arthur. He landed at Dover and there the evil tidings were told him, how the King had met his death at the hands of his traitor nephew. Then was Sir Lancelot’s heart nigh broken for grief.

“Alas!” he cried, “that I should live to know my King overthrown by such a felon! What have I done that I should have caused the deaths of the good knights Sir Gareth, Sir Gaheris, and Sir Gawain, and yet that such a villain should escape my sword!”

Then he desired to be led to Sir Gawain’s tomb, where he remained long in prayer and in great lamentation; after which, he called to him his kinsmen and friends and said to them:

“My fair lords, I thank you all most heartily that, of your courtesy, ye came with me to this land. That we be come too late is a misfortune that might not be avoided, though I shall mourn it my life long. And now I will ride forth alone to find my lady the Queen in the West, whither men say she has fled. Wait for me, I pray you, for fifteen days and then, if ye hear naught of me, return to your own lands.”

So Sir Lancelot rode forth alone, nor would he suffer any to follow him despite their prayers and entreaties.

Thus he rode some seven or eight days until, at the last, he came to a nunnery where he saw in the cloister many nuns waiting on a fair lady, none other, indeed, than Queen Guinevere herself. And she, looking up, saw Sir Lancelot and, at the sight, grew so pale that her ladies feared for her; but she recovered and bade them go and bring Sir Lancelot to her presence. When he was come, she said to him:

“Sir Lancelot, glad am I to see thee once again that I may bid thee farewell; for in this world shall we never meet again.”

“Sweet Madam,” answered Sir Lancelot, “I was minded, with your leave, to bear you to my own country, where I doubt not but I should guard you well and safely from your enemies.”

“Nay, Lancelot,” said the Queen, “that may not be; I am resolved never to look upon the world again, but here to pass my life in prayer and in such good works as I may. But thou, do thou get back to thine own land and take a fair wife, and ye both shall ever have my prayers.”

“Madam,” replied Sir Lancelot, “ye know well that shall never be. And since ye are resolved to lead a life of prayer, I, too, will forsake the world if I can find hermit to share his cell with me; for ever your will has been mine.”

Long and earnestly he looked upon her as though he might never gaze enough; then, getting to horse, he rode slowly away.

Nor did they ever meet again in life. For Queen Guinevere abode in the great nunnery of Almesbury where Sir Lancelot had found her and presently, for the holiness of her life, was made Abbess. But Sir Lancelot, after he had left her, rode on his way till he came to the cell where Sir Bedivere dwelt with the holy hermit; and when Sir Bedivere had told him all that had befallen, of the great battle in the West, and of the passing away of Arthur, Sir Lancelot flung down his arms and implored the holy hermit to let him remain there as the servant of God. So Sir Lancelot donned the serge gown and abode in the hermitage as the priest of God.

Presently, there came riding that way the good Sir Bors, Lancelot’s nephew; for, when Sir Lancelot returned not to Dover, Sir Bors and many another knight went forth in search of him. There, then, Sir Bors remained and, within a half year, there joined themselves to these three many who in former days had been fellows of the Round Table; and the fame of their piety spread far and wide.

So six years passed and then, one night, Lancelot had a vision. It seemed to him that one said to him:

“Lancelot, arise and go in haste to Almesbury. There shalt thou find Queen Guinevere dead and it shall be for thee to bury her.”

Sir Lancelot arose at once and, calling his fellows to him, told them his dream. Immediately, with all haste, they set forth toward Almesbury and, arriving there the second day, found the Queen dead, as had been foretold in the vision. So with the state and ceremony befitting a great Queen, they buried her in the Abbey of Glastonbury, in that same church where, some say, King Arthur’s tomb is to be found. Lancelot it was who performed the funeral rites and chanted the requiem; but when all was done, he pined away, growing weaker daily. So at the end of six weeks, he called to him his fellows and, bidding them all farewell, desired that his dead body should be conveyed to the Joyous Garde, there to be buried, for that in the church at Glastonbury he was not worthy to lie. And that same night he died, and was buried, as he had desired, in his own castle. So passed from the world the bold Sir Lancelot du Lac, bravest, most courteous, and most gentle of knights, whose peer the world has never seen nor ever shall see.

After Sir Lancelot’s death, Sir Bors and the pious knights, his companions, took their way to the Holy Land and there they died in battle against the Turk.

So ends this story of King Arthur and his noble fellowship of the Round Table.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Discussion.= 1. Were Arthur and his knights successful in restoring
order in the kingdom? 2. Why were they so successful? 3. What value
have union and loyalty in any cause? 4. When did this union of King
Arthur and his knights begin to weaken? 5. Whose unfaithfulness
and treachery began its destruction? 6. What was the great fault
in Modred that prevented him from being loyal? 7. How did “true
knights” regard Sir Lancelot? 8. Did Arthur think it right to take
the law into his own hands? 9. Read lines which show that he did not
think himself greater than the law. 10. Can good government exist
without respect for law? 11. Trace the progress of disunion from its
beginning in Modred’s jealousy as follows: jealousy; plot; combat;
deaths; vengeance; false accusation; decree of death by burning;
rescue; deaths; vow of vengeance; war. 12. What proof did Sir
Lancelot give of his love for the King, even while at war with him?
13. Was King Arthur at fault when he allowed himself to be persuaded
by Sir Gawain to make war on Sir Lancelot? 14. Read the lines that
show the King loved Lancelot, in spite of all that had come between
them. 15. Read lines that show how Sir Gawain’s love and generosity
triumphed over his desire for vengeance. 16. Over what did King
Arthur grieve when he lay wounded after the “battle in the West”? 17.
Do you think it is the fine ideals of these old legends—union for
defense of the weak, mercy to all, and wrongful gain to none—that
make them live?

=Phrases=

boded ill, 149, 2
jealous rage, 149, 11
ill counsel, 150, 33
from the press, 151, 21
rendered me account, 152, 14
safe conduct, 152, 28
housings of the horses, 152, 33
it behooves me, 153, 17
felon knight, 153, 22
under surety of my word, 154, 8
fasten a quarrel upon him, 154, 9
by stealth, 154, 13
fulfilling your behest, 155, 14
to hie us home, 156, 25
the scoff of all men, 156, 25
faith I owe to knighthood, 156, 32
noised abroad, 158, 12
idle rumor, 158, 14
as was his wont, 158, 35
Modred and his array, 159, 2
sorrowing beyond measure, 159, 10
heathen hosts, 160, 6
I charge thee, 162, 24
chafed his hands, 163, 20
donned the serge gown, 165, 31
funeral rites, 166, 15

NARRATIVES IN VERSE

SIR PATRICK SPENS

FOLK BALLAD

The king sits in Dumferling toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine:
“O whar will I get guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?”

Up and spak an eldern knicht,[10]
Sat at the king’s richt kne:
“Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That sails upon the se.”

The king has written a braid[11] letter,
And signed it wi his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick red,
A loud lauch lauched he;
The next line that Sir Patrick red,
The teir blinded his ee.

“O wha is this has don this deid,
This ill deid don to me,
To send me out this time o’ the yeir,
To sail upon the se!

“Mak haste, mak haste, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne.”
“O say na sae[12], my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie storme.

“Late, late yestreen[13] saw the new moone,
Wi the auld moone in hir arme,
And I feir, I feir, my deir master,
That we will cum to harme.”

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith[14]
To weet[15] their cork-heild schoone[16];
Bot lang owre[17] a’ the play wer playd,
Thair hats they swam aboone.[18]

O lang, lang may their ladies sit,
Wi thair fans into their hand,
Or eir[19] they se Sir Patrick Spens,
Cum sailing to the land.

O lang, lang may the ladies stand,
Wi thair gold kems[20] in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords,
For they’ll se thame na mair.

Haf owre[21], haf owre to Aberdour,
It’s fiftie fadom[22] deip,
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spens,
Wi the Scots lords at his feit.[23]

[10] _knicht_, knight

[11] _braid_, long

[12] _na sae_, not so

[13] _yestreen_, yesterday evening

[14] _laith_, loath

[15] _weet_, wet

[16] _schoone_, shoes

[17] _owre_, before

[18] _aboone_, above

[19] _or eir_, before

[20] _kems_, combs

[21] _owre_, over

[22] _fadom_, fathoms

[23] _feit_, feet

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Historical Note.= The old folk ballads, of which this one is an
excellent example, have all come down to us from the far-off past.
Such ballads are not the work of any one author, but like the stories
of King Arthur, were preserved mainly in the memories of men. Some
of them were sung or recited to the music of the harp or lute by
minstrels who wandered from village to village, and from castle to
castle, entertaining their hearers in return for food and lodging;
or by the bards and minstrels who were maintained by kings and
nobles to entertain them and to celebrate their deeds and honors.
Often they were made by the people, not by professional singers,
and were expressions of the folk love of adventure. Indeed, the
best definition of a popular, or folk, ballad is that it is “a tale
telling itself in song.” This means that a ballad always tells a
story; that it has no known author, being composed by several people
or by a community and then handed down orally, not in writing, from
generation to generation; and finally, that it is sung, not recited.
In this way such folk ballads as “Sir Patrick Spens” were transmitted
for generations, in different versions, before they were written down
and became a part of what we call _literature_, that is, something
written. When the invention of the printing press made it possible
to put these old ballads in a permanent form, they were collected
from the recitations of old men and women who knew them, and printed.
Thus they have become a precious literary possession, telling us
something of the life, the history, and the standards, superstitions,
and beliefs of distant times, and thrilling us with their stirring
stories. The beauty of these old ballads lies in the story they
tell, and in their directness and simplicity. They are almost wholly
without literary ornament; their language is the language of the
people, not of the court.

Many modern poets have written stories in verse which are also called
ballads. Some are in imitation of the old ballads, using the old
ballad meter and riming system, and employing old-fashioned words and
expressions, to add to the effect. Other modern ballads are simple
narratives in verse—short stories dealing with stirring subjects,
with battle, adventure, etc. But while the true old ballad holds the
attention upon the story only, the modern ballads often introduce
descriptions of the characters.

=Discussion.= 1. Why did the king choose Sir Patrick Spens? 2. What
did Sir Patrick say when he had read the king’s letter? 3. What signs
of a storm had been noticed? 4. Point out all the ways in which the
ballad tells that the ship was wrecked. 5. How have the old ballads
come down to us? 6. What other old ballad have you read? 7. Tell how
the old ballads came into being, and name a characteristic of them.
8. What do the old ballads tell us of the life of the early people?
9. How does a modern ballad differ from a folk, or popular, ballad?

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

“Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armor drest,
Comest to daunt me!
Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,
Why dost thou haunt me?”

Then, from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise,
As when the Northern skies
Gleam in December;
And, like the water’s flow
Under December’s snow,
Came a dull voice of woe
From the heart’s chamber.

“I was a Viking old!
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told,
No Saga taught thee!
Take heed, that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man’s curse;
For this I sought thee.

“Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic’s strand,
I, with my childish hand,
Tamed the gerfalcon;
And, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.

“Oft to his frozen lair
Tracked I the grizzly bear,
While from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow;
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolf’s bark,
Until the soaring lark
Sang from the meadow.

“But when I older grew,
Joining a corsair’s crew,
O’er the dark sea I flew
With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led,
Many the souls that sped,
Many the hearts that bled,
By our stern orders.

“Many a wassail-bout
Wore the long winter out;
Often our midnight shout
Set the cocks crowing,
As we the Berserk’s tale
Measured in cups of ale,
Draining the oaken pail,
Filled to o’erflowing.

“Once as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft eyes did gaze on me,
Burning yet tender;
And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,
On that dark heart of mine
Fell their soft splendor.

“I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest’s shade
Our vows were plighted.
Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest
By the hawk frighted.

“Bright in her father’s hall
Shields gleamed upon the wall,
Loud sang the minstrels all,
Chanting his glory;
When of old Hildebrand
I asked his daughter’s hand,
Mute did the minstrels stand
To hear my story.

“While the brown ale he quaffed,
Loud then the champion laughed,
And as the wind-gusts waft
The sea-foam brightly,
So the loud laugh of scorn,
Out of those lips unshorn,
From the deep drinking-horn
Blew the foam lightly.

“She was a Prince’s child,
I but a Viking wild,
And though she blushed and smiled,
I was discarded!
Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew’s flight,
Why did they leave that night
Her nest unguarded?

“Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me,—
Fairest of all was she
Among the Norsemen!—
When on the white sea-strand,
Waving his armèd hand,
Saw we old Hildebrand,
With twenty horsemen.

“Then launched they to the blast,
Bent like a reed each mast,
Yet we were gaining fast,
When the wind failed us;
And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw
Laugh as he hailed us.

“And as to catch the gale
Round veered the flapping sail,
Death! was the helmsman’s hail,
Death without quarter!
Mid-ships with iron keel
Struck we her ribs of steel;
Down her black hulk did reel
Through the black water!

“As with his wings aslant,
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,
With his prey laden,
So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,
Through the wild hurricane,
Bore I the maiden.

“Three weeks we westward bore,
And when the storm was o’er,
Cloud-like we saw the shore
Stretching to leeward;
There for my lady’s bower
Built I the lofty tower,
Which, to this very hour,
Stands looking seaward.

“There lived we many years;
Time dried the maiden’s tears;
She had forgot her fears,
She was a mother;
Death closed her mild blue eyes,
Under that tower she lies;
Ne’er shall the sun arise
On such another!

“Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen!
Hateful to me were men,
The sunlight hateful.
In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,
Oh, death was grateful!

Thus, seamed with many scars,
Bursting these prison bars,
Up to its native stars
My soul ascended!
There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior’s soul,
_Skoal!_ to the Northland! _skoal!_”
—Thus the tale ended.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

For Biography, see page 81.

=Discussion.= 1. With which stanza does the narrative begin? 2.
What may the first three stanzas be called? 3. Which of these three
stanzas is descriptive? 4. In which does the Viking make himself
known? 5. In what stanzas is the story told? 6. With what line does
the story end? 7. What relation to the poem has the last line? 8.
Describe the scene suggested by the first stanza; who is speaking?
9. Describe the guest to whom the poet speaks. 10. In using the word
“fearful” to describe this guest, was the poet emphasizing only the
outward appearance of his guest? 11. Can you use other words equally
exact and poetical for “daunt” and “haunt”? 12. Give a name to the
“flashes” that are seen when the Northern skies gleam in December.
13. To what is the voice of the skeleton compared? 14. Is it an apt
comparison? 15. Does the second stanza prepare us for a story of
happy things? 16. What stanzas help you to see the kind of people the
Vikings were, and to imagine the life they led? 17. The Viking showed
his wonderful courage in going out into the “open main” in a wild
hurricane; give all the other evidences of his courage found in the
poem. 18. The Introduction (pages 89 and 90) gives various motives
for seeking adventures; do you think the Knights and the Vikings had
the same motive? 19. How does this ballad differ from a folk ballad,
such as “Sir Patrick Spens”? 20. Pronounce the following: daunt;
palms; alms; haunt; launched.

=Phrases=

rude armor, 171, 3
fleshless palms, 171, 6
cavernous eyes, 171, 9
pale flashes, 171, 10
heart’s chamber, 171, 16
poor whimpering hound, 172, 3
frozen lair, 172, 5
souls that sped, 172, 18
measured in cups of ale, 172, 26
soft splendor, 173, 4
vows were plighted, 173, 8
lips unshorn, 173, 26
death without quarter, 174, 24
wings aslant, 174, 29
open main, 175, 1
stretching to leeward, 175, 8
time dried the maiden’s tears, 175, 14
stagnant fen, 175, 22
warlike gear, 175, 26
flowing bowl, 176, 1

THE THREE FISHERS

CHARLES KINGSLEY

Three fishers went sailing away to the West,
Away to the West as the sun went down;
Each thought on the woman who loved him the best,
And the children stood watching them out of the town;
For men must work and women must weep,
And there’s little to earn and many to keep,
Though the harbor bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,
And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;
They looked at the squall and they looked at the shower,
And the nightrack came rolling up ragged and brown;
But men must work and women must weep,
Though storms be sudden and waters deep,
And the harbor bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands,
In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
And the women are weeping and wringing their hands
For those who will never come home to the town;
For men must work and women must weep,
And the sooner it’s over the sooner to sleep,
And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Biography.= Charles Kingsley (1819-1875), clergyman, lecturer, poet,
and novelist, was born in Dartmoor, England. During his earlier years
he lived in the beautiful Fen Country, the scenery of which made a
deep impression on him. He was a friend of Tennyson and a poet of
real excellence. His ballads, “The Three Fishers” and “The Sands of
Dee,” are widely read and admired, and his novel _Westward Ho!_ is
a brilliant narrative of adventure. In “The Three Fishers” he shows
that he has studied the fisher folk of his native country and sees
with genuine sympathy their hard life and the courage that enables
them to brave the perils of the sea.

=Discussion.= 1. What does the poem tell you about the three fishers?
2. What does it suggest? 3. Where could a stanza be inserted to tell
a part of the story that is only suggested? 4. Do you think this
would improve the poem? 5. What signs were there of an approaching
storm? 6. Why does the occupation of deep-sea fishers train them to
understand signs indicating changes in the weather? 7. Why did these
fishers go out to sea notwithstanding signs of a storm? 8. What other
thought do you think was in their minds as “Each thought on the woman
who loved him best”? 9. What idea of the deep-sea fishers does this
poem give you? 10. What idea of the sea? 11. What other poems do you
know that tell of life on the sea? 12. What idea of the sea does each
give?

=Phrases=

harbor bar be moaning, 177, 7
nightrack came rolling, 177, 11
morning gleam, 177, 16
the sooner to sleep, 177, 20

LORD ULLIN’S DAUGHTER

THOMAS CAMPBELL

A chieftain to the Highlands bound
Cries “Boatman, do not tarry!
And I’ll give thee a silver pound
To row us o’er the ferry!”

“Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water?”
“O I’m the chief of Ulva’s isle,
And this, Lord Ullin’s daughter.

“And fast before her father’s men
Three days we’ve fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.

“His horsemen hard behind us ride—
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride,
When they have slain her lover?”

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,
“I’ll go, my chief, I’m ready;
It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady.

“And by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;
So though the waves are raging white
I’ll row you o’er the ferry.”

By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of Heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode arméd men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.

“O haste thee, haste!” the lady cries,
“Though tempests round us gather;
I’ll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father.”

The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her—
When, oh! too strong for human hand
The tempest gather’d o’er her.

And still they row’d amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing;
Lord Ullin reach’d that fatal shore—
His wrath was changed to wailing.

For, sore dismay’d, through storm and shade
His child he did discover;
One lovely hand she stretch’d for aid,
And one was round her lover.

“Come back! come back!” he cried in grief,
“Across this stormy water;
And I’ll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter!—Oh, my daughter!”

’Twas vain: the loud waves lash’d the shore,
Return or aid preventing;
The waters wild went o’er his child,
And he was left lamenting.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Biography.= Thomas Campbell (1777-1844) was a popular Scottish
poet. He was born in Glasgow, his father being a prominent merchant
of that city. At an early age Campbell began to write poetry,
and at twenty-one had published “The Pleasures of Hope,” a poem
that was received with much favor. He excelled in war poetry, his
“Hohenlinden”, “The Battle of the Baltic”, and “Ye Mariners of
England” being the most widely read. His ballads “Lochiel” and “Lord
Ullin’s Daughter” are the best known. Campbell is remembered not
alone for these stirring narrative poems, but also for the excellence
of favorite lines that he wrote, such as “To live in the hearts we
leave behind is not to die,” and “’Tis distance lends enchantment to
the view.”

=Discussion.= 1. Tell briefly the story of the poem. 2. What
picture do the first two stanzas give you? 3. What reason did the
boatman give for saying he would row them over the ferry? 4. What
change of time do you notice in the tenth stanza? 5. What does the
eleventh stanza tell you? 6. Which stanza tells you of the tragedy?
7. What other poems of the sea have you read in this book? 8. What
characteristics of the ballad has this poem?

=Phrases=

to the Highlands bound, 178, 1
stain the heather, 178, 12
hardy Highland wight, 179, 1
raging white, 179, 7
grew loud apace, 179, 9
in the scowl of Heaven, 179, 11
waters fast prevailing, 179, 26
fatal shore, 179, 27

THE PIPES AT LUCKNOW

JOHN G. WHITTIER

Pipes of the misty moorlands,
Voice of the glens and hills,
The droning of the torrents,
The treble of the rills!
Not the braes of broom and heather,
Nor the mountains dark with rain,
Nor maiden bower, nor border tower,
Have heard your sweetest strain!

Dear to the Lowland reaper,
And plaided mountaineer,
To the cottage and the castle
The Scottish pipes are dear;
Sweet sounds the ancient pibroch
O’er mountain, loch, and glade;
But the sweetest of all music
The Pipes at Lucknow played.

Day by day the Indian tiger
Louder yelled, and nearer crept;
Round and round the jungle-serpent
Near and nearer circles swept.
“Pray for rescue, wives and mothers—
Pray today!” the soldier said;
“Tomorrow, death’s between us
And the wrong and shame we dread.”

O they listened, looked, and waited,
Till their hope became despair;
And the sobs of low bewailing
Filled the pauses of their prayer.
Then up spake a Scottish maiden,
With her ear unto the ground:
“Dinna ye hear it?—dinna ye hear it?
The pipes o’ Havelock sound!”

Hushed the wounded man his groaning;
Hushed the wife her little ones;
Alone they heard the drum-roll
And the roar of Sepoy guns.
But to sounds of home and childhood
The Highland ear was true;
As her mother’s cradle-crooning
The mountain pipes she knew.

Like the march of soundless music
Through the vision of the seer,
More of feeling than of hearing,
Of the heart than of the ear,
She knew the droning pibroch,
She knew the Campbell’s call;
“Hark! hear ye no’ MacGregor’s,
The grandest o’ them all!”

O they listened, dumb and breathless,
And they caught the sound at last;
Faint and far beyond the Goomtee
Rose and fell the piper’s blast!
Then a burst of wild thanksgiving
Mingled woman’s voice and man’s;
“God be praised!—the March of Havelock!
The piping of the clans!”

Louder, nearer, fierce as vengeance,
Sharp and shrill as swords at strife,
Came the wild MacGregor’s clan-call,
Stinging all the air to life.
But when the far-off dust-cloud
To plaided legions grew,
Full tenderly and blithesomely
The pipes of rescue blew!

Round the silver domes of Lucknow,
Moslem mosque and pagan shrine,
Breathed the air to Britons dearest,
The air of Auld Lang Syne.
O’er the cruel roll of war-drums
Rose that sweet and homelike strain;
And the tartan clove the turban,
As the Goomtee cleaves the plain.

Dear to the corn-land reaper
And plaided mountaineer,
To the cottage and the castle
The piper’s song is dear.
Sweet sounds the Gaelic pibroch
O’er mountain, glen, and glade;
But the sweetest of all music
The Pipes at Lucknow played!

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

For Biography, see page 60.

=Historical Note.= The Indian Mutiny was the great revolt of the
Bengal native army (the Sepoys) against the British rule in 1857. At
Lucknow, in northern India, the English were almost overcome. The
town, defended by a garrison of only 1720 men, who were protecting
many women and children, was besieged by a greatly superior number.
The defense, nevertheless, was maintained from the 30th of June to
the 26th of September, when the relief column under the Scottish
general, Sir Henry Havelock, preceded by the music of the bagpipes,
reached the city.

=Discussion.= 1. What stanzas picture Scotland and the feeling her
people have for the music of the bagpipe? 2. What contrasts show how
universal this feeling is? 3. In the first stanza, what is this music
said to be like? 4. What do you know about the bagpipe that makes
this comparison especially apt? 5. The poem tells a story; with what
stanzas does the story begin and end? 6. What relation to this story
have the first two stanzas? 7. What do you know of the Indian Mutiny
that helps you to understand this story? 8. Who first heard the sound
of the pipes? 9. How is this accounted for? 10. What did this sound
mean to her? 11. Read the stirring lines that give the spirit of the
martial music of the pipes. 12. Why did the piper change to the air
“Auld Lang Syne”? What stanzas picture the feeling of those who heard
this music? 13. What people wear the “tartan”? The “turban”? 14. What
is the most interesting point in the story? 15. Does the story make
clear the poet’s reason for saying that the “sweetest strain” the
pipes ever played was at Lucknow?

=Phrases=

droning of the torrents, 181, 3
treble of the rills, 181, 4
braes of broom, 181, 5
plaided mountaineer, 181, 10
ancient pibroch, 181, 13
the Indian tiger, 181, 17
jungle-serpent, 181, 19
low bewailing, 181, 27
cradle-crooning, 182, 11
vision of the seer, 182, 14
fierce as vengeance, 182, 29
Moslem mosque, 183, 6
pagan shrine, 183, 6
Goomtee cleaves the plain, 183, 12

SPANISH WATERS

JOHN MASEFIELD

Spanish waters, Spanish waters, you are ringing in my ears,
Like a slow sweet piece of music from the gray forgotten years;
Telling tales, and beating tunes, and bringing weary thought to me
Of the sandy beach at Muertos, where I would that I could be.

There’s a surf breaks on Los Muertos, and it never stops to roar,
And it’s there we came to anchor, and it’s there we went ashore,
Where the blue lagoon is silent amid snags of rotting trees,
Dropping like the clothes of corpses cast up by the seas.

We anchored at Los Muertos when the dipping sun was red,
We left her half-a-mile to sea, to west of Nigger Head;
And before the mist was on the Cay, before the day was done,
We were all ashore on Muertos with the gold that we had won.

We bore it through the marshes in a half-score battered chests,
Sinking, in the sucking quagmires, to the sunburn on our breasts,
Heaving over tree-trunks, gasping, damning at the flies and heat,
Longing for a long drink, out of silver, in the ship’s cool lazareet.

The moon came white and ghostly as we laid the treasure down,
There was gear there’d make a beggarman as rich as Lima Town,
Copper charms and silver trinkets from the chests of Spanish crews,
Gold doubloons and double moydores, louis d’ors and ortagues.

Clumsy yellow-metal earrings from the Indians of Brazil,
Uncut emeralds out of Rio, bezoar stone from Guayaquil,
Silver, in the crude and fashioned, pots of old Arica bronze,
Jewels from the bones of Incas desecrated by the Dons.

We smoothed the place with mattocks, and we took and blazed the tree,
Which marks yon where the gear is hid that none will ever see,
And we laid aboard the ship again, and south away we steers,
Through the loud surf of Los Muertos which is beating in my ears.

I’m the last alive that knows it. All the rest have gone their ways,
Killed, or died, or come to anchor in the old Mulatas Cays,
And I go singing, fiddling, old and starved and in despair,
And I know where all that gold is hid, if I were only there.

It’s not the way to end it all. I’m old and nearly blind,
And an old man’s past’s a strange thing, for it never leaves his mind.
And I see in dreams, awhiles, the beach, the sun’s disc dipping red,
And the tall ship, under topsails, swaying in past Nigger Head.

I’d be glad to step ashore there. Glad to take a pick and go
To the lone blazed coco-palm tree in the place no others know,
And lift the gold and silver that has moldered there for years
By the loud surf of Los Muertos which is beating in my ears.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Biography.= John Masefield (1875-⸺) is an English poet and
playwright. When a small boy he had a mania for running away from
home; to satisfy this longing his father sent him to sea when he was
fourteen years old, in charge of the captain of a sailing vessel.
During his travels he collected much material which he afterward
used in his poems. On one of his trips he landed in New York City,
where he acquired considerable knowledge of American customs. Next to
Kipling he is England’s greatest singer of her “Seven Seas and Five
Oceans.”

Early in 1916 Masefield came to the United States on a lecture tour
which aroused much interest in him and his writings. During the
recent World War he served in France in connection with the Red
Cross. He also served in the campaign on the Gallipoli Peninsula and
wrote a splendid account of that unfortunate undertaking.

=Discussion.= 1. Who is addressed in the first stanza? 2. What
comparison do you find in this stanza? 3. Tell the story in your own
words. 4. Where was the treasure secured? 5. What marks of the ballad
do you find in this poem? 6. What do you particularly like in this
poem? 7. Pronounce the following: quagmires; palm.

=Phrases=

gray forgotten years, 184, 2
bringing weary thought, 184, 3
sunburn on our breasts, 185, 2
rich as Lima Town, 185, 6
in the crude and fashioned, 185, 11
laid aboard the ship, 185, 15

KILMENY

(A SONG OF THE TRAWLERS)

ALFRED NOYES

Dark, dark lay the drifters, against the red west,
As they shot their long meshes of steel overside;
And the oily green waters were rocking to rest
When _Kilmeny_ went out, at the turn of the tide.
And nobody knew where that lassie would roam,
For the magic that called her was tapping unseen.
It was well nigh a week ere _Kilmeny_ came home,
And nobody knew where _Kilmeny_ had been.

She’d a gun at her bow that was Newcastle’s best,
And a gun at her stern that was fresh from the Clyde,
And a secret her skipper had never confessed,
Not even at dawn, to his newly wed bride;
And a wireless that whispered above like a gnome,
The laughter of London, the boasts of Berlin.
O it may have been mermaids that lured her from home,
But nobody knew where _Kilmeny_ had been.

It was dark when _Kilmeny_ came home from her quest,
With her bridge dabbled red where her skipper had died;
But she moved like a bride with a rose at her breast;
And “Well done, _Kilmeny_!” the admiral cried.
Now at sixty-four fathom a conger may come,
And nose at the bones of a drowned submarine;
But late in the evening _Kilmeny_ came home,
And nobody knew where _Kilmeny_ had been.

There’s a wandering shadow that stares at the foam,
Though they sing all the night to old England, their queen,
Late, late in the evening _Kilmeny_ came home,
And nobody knew where _Kilmeny_ had been.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Biography.= Alfred Noyes (1880-⸺), an English poet, lives in London.
He was educated at Oxford, where for three years he rowed on the
college crew. As soon as his college days were over he devoted
himself to literature, contributing to many English magazines. During
the World War he wrote many stirring poems, of which “Kilmeny” is
among the best. In 1918-1919 Mr. Noyes was professor of literature in
Princeton University.

=Discussion.= 1. What picture does the first stanza give you? 2. What
suggests to you the work in which the trawler was engaged? 3. Which
stanza suggests the result of _Kilmeny’s_ trip? 4. What was the magic
that called _Kilmeny_ to the quest? 5. What other poems of the sea
have you read in this book? 6. Tell what you know about the author.

=Phrases=

against the red west, 186, 1
long meshes of steel, 186, 2
turn of the tide, 186, 4
Newcastle’s best, 187, 1
like a gnome, 187, 5
wandering shadow, 187, 17

THE GUARDS CAME THROUGH

SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

Men of the Twenty-first
Up by the Chalk Pit Wood,
Weak with our wounds and our thirst,
Wanting our sleep and our food,
After a day and a night—
God, shall we ever forget!
Beaten and broke in the fight,
But sticking it—sticking it yet.
Trying to hold the line,
Fainting and spent and done,
Always the thud and the whine,
Always the yell of the Hun!
Northumberland, Lancaster, York,
Durham, and Somerset,
Fighting alone, worn to the bone,
But sticking it—sticking it yet.

Never a message of hope!
Never a word of cheer!
Fronting Hill 70’s shell-swept slope,
With the dull dead plain in our rear.
Always the whine of the shell,
Always the roar of its burst,
Always the tortures of hell,
As waiting and wincing we cursed
Our luck and the guns and the _Boche_,
When our Corporal shouted, “Stand to!”
And I heard someone cry, “Clear the front for the Guards!”
And the Guards came through.

Our throats they were parched and hot,
But Lord, if you’d heard the cheers!
Irish and Welsh and Scot,
Coldstream and Grenadiers.
Two brigades, if you please,
Dressing as straight as a hem,
We—we were down on our knees,
Praying for us and for them!
Lord, I could speak for a week,
But how could you understand!
How should _your_ cheeks be wet,
Such feelin’s don’t come to _you_.
But when can we or my mates forget,
When the Guards came through?

“Five yards left extend!”
It passed from rank to rank.
Line after line with never a bend,
And a touch of the London swank.
A trifle of swank and dash,
Cool as a home parade,
Twinkle and glitter and flash,
Flinching never a shade,
With the shrapnel right in their face
Doing their Hyde Park stunt,
Keeping their swing at an easy pace,
Arms at the trail, eyes front!
Man, it was great to see!
Man, it was fine to do!
It’s a cot and a hospital ward for me,
But I’ll tell ’em in Blighty, wherever I be,
How the Guards came through.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

=Biography.= Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-⸺) is an English author.
He was educated in Stonyhurst College and at the University of
Edinburgh. In 1885 he was graduated as a doctor of medicine and soon
afterwards began practice. It was about this time that his first
book, _A Study in Scarlet_, was published. His greatest success
came with the publication of _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_, a
collection of detective stories that introduced a character who has
become as famous as if he had actually lived. Other books that have
added to his fame are _The Lost World_, _The New Revelation_, and
_The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes_. He has written many interesting
articles on the World War, particularly descriptions of the western
campaigns. In 1902 he was knighted.

=Discussion.= 1. Who is supposed to be telling the story? 2. Why
were the soldiers of the Twenty-first so disheartened? 3. What
effect upon them had the arrival of the Guards? 4. Do you think
that you would have felt like cheering if you had been a soldier of
the Twenty-first? 5. What effect upon you has the line “Dressing as
straight as a hem”? 6. What picture does the last stanza give you? 7.
Does the poet make you see the Guards as they came through? 8. What
do the last three lines suggest? 9. What does “Blighty” mean to you?
10. Why does the one who is telling the story say that _we_ could not
understand?

=Phrases=

shell-swept slope, 188, 19
waiting and wincing, 188, 24
swank and dash, 189, 19
arms at the trail, 189, 26

STORIES OF THE SEA

A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM

EDGAR ALLAN POE

MY FIRST VIEW OF THE MAELSTROM

We had now reached the summit of the loftiest crag. For some minutes the old man seemed too much exhausted to speak.