MY good blade carves the casques of men, | |
My tough lance thrusteth sure, | |
My strength is as the strength of ten, | |
Because my heart is pure. | |
The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, | 5 |
The hard brands shiver on the steel, | |
The splinterd spear-shafts crack and fly, | |
The horse and rider reel: | |
They reel, they roll in clanging lists, | |
And when the tide of combat stands, | 10 |
Perfume and flowers fall in showers, | |
That lightly rain from ladies hands. | |
|
How sweet are looks that ladies bend | |
On whom their favours fall! | |
For them I battle till the end, | 15 |
To save from shame and thrall: | |
But all my heart is drawn above, | |
My knees are bowd in crypt and shrine: | |
I never felt the kiss of love, | |
Nor maidens hand in mine. | 20 |
More bounteous aspects on me beam, | |
Me mightier transports move and thrill; | |
So keep I fair thro faith and prayer | |
A virgin heart in work and will. | |
|
When down the stormy crescent goes, | 25 |
A light before me swims, | |
Between dark stems the forest glows, | |
I hear a noise of hymns: | |
Then by some secret shrine I ride; | |
I hear a voice, but none are there; | 30 |
The stalls are void, the doors are wide, | |
The tapers burning fair. | |
Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth, | |
The silver vessels sparkle clean, | |
The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, | 35 |
And solemn chaunts resound between. | |
|
Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres | |
I find a magic bark; | |
I leap on board: no helmsman steers: | |
I float till all is dark. | 40 |
A gentle sound, an awful light! | |
Three angels bear the holy Grail: | |
With folded feet, in stoles of white. | |
On sleeping wings they sail. | |
Ah, blessed vision! blood of God! | 45 |
My spirit beats her mortal bars, | |
As down dark tides the glory slides, | |
And star-like mingles with the stars. | |
|
When on my goodly charger borne | |
Thro dreaming towns I go, | 50 |
The cock crows ere the Christmas morn, | |
The streets are dumb with snow. | |
The tempest crackles on the leads, | |
And, ringing, springs from brand and mail; | |
But oer the dark a glory spreads, | 55 |
And gilds the driving hail. | |
I leave the plain, I climb the height; | |
No branchy thicket shelter yields; | |
But blessed forms in whistling storms | |
Fly oer waste fens and windy fields. | 60 |
|
A maiden knightto me is given | |
Such hope, I know not fear; | |
I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven | |
That often meet me here. | |
I muse on joy that will not cease, | 65 |
Pure spaces clothed in living beams, | |
Pure lilies of eternal peace, | |
Whose odours haunt my dreams; | |
And, stricken by an angels hand, | |
This mortal armour that I wear, | 70 |
This weight and size, this heart and eyes, | |
Are touchd, are turnd to finest air. | |
|
The clouds are broken in the sky, | |
And thro the mountain-walls | |
A rolling organ-harmony | 75 |
Swells up, and shakes and falls. | |
Then move the trees, the copses nod, | |
Wings flutter, voices hover clear: | |
O just and faithful knight of God! | |
Ride on! the prize is near. | 80 |
So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; | |
By bridge and ford, by park and pale, | |
All-armd I ride, whateer betide, | |
Until I find the holy Grail. | |