Idylls of the King (Unabridged). Alfred Tennyson

Idylls of the King (Unabridged) - Alfred Tennyson


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And turning toward him wheresoe’er he turned,

       Perplext his outward purpose, till an hour,

       When wakened by the wind which with full voice

       Swept bellowing through the darkness on to dawn,

       He rose, and out of slumber calling two

       That still had tended on him from his birth,

       Before the wakeful mother heard him, went.

      The three were clad like tillers of the soil.

       Southward they set their faces. The birds made

       Melody on branch, and melody in mid air.

       The damp hill-slopes were quickened into green,

       And the live green had kindled into flowers,

       For it was past the time of Easterday.

      So, when their feet were planted on the plain

       That broadened toward the base of Camelot,

       Far off they saw the silver-misty morn

       Rolling her smoke about the Royal mount,

       That rose between the forest and the field.

       At times the summit of the high city flashed;

       At times the spires and turrets half-way down

       Pricked through the mist; at times the great gate shone

       Only, that opened on the field below:

       Anon, the whole fair city had disappeared.

      Then those who went with Gareth were amazed,

       One crying, ‘Let us go no further, lord.

       Here is a city of Enchanters, built

       By fairy Kings.’ The second echoed him,

       ‘Lord, we have heard from our wise man at home

       To Northward, that this King is not the King,

       But only changeling out of Fairyland,

       Who drave the heathen hence by sorcery

       And Merlin’s glamour.’ Then the first again,

       ‘Lord, there is no such city anywhere,

       But all a vision.’

      Gareth answered them

       With laughter, swearing he had glamour enow

       In his own blood, his princedom, youth and hopes,

       To plunge old Merlin in the Arabian sea;

       So pushed them all unwilling toward the gate.

       And there was no gate like it under heaven.

       For barefoot on the keystone, which was lined

       And rippled like an ever-fleeting wave,

       The Lady of the Lake stood: all her dress

       Wept from her sides as water flowing away;

       But like the cross her great and goodly arms

       Stretched under the cornice and upheld:

       And drops of water fell from either hand;

       And down from one a sword was hung, from one

       A censer, either worn with wind and storm;

       And o’er her breast floated the sacred fish;

       And in the space to left of her, and right,

       Were Arthur’s wars in weird devices done,

       New things and old co-twisted, as if Time

       Were nothing, so inveterately, that men

       Were giddy gazing there; and over all

       High on the top were those three Queens, the friends

       Of Arthur, who should help him at his need.

      Then those with Gareth for so long a space

       Stared at the figures, that at last it seemed

       The dragon-boughts and elvish emblemings

       Began to move, seethe, twine and curl: they called

       To Gareth, ‘Lord, the gateway is alive.’

      And Gareth likewise on them fixt his eyes

       So long, that even to him they seemed to move.

       Out of the city a blast of music pealed.

       Back from the gate started the three, to whom

       From out thereunder came an ancient man,

       Long-bearded, saying, ‘Who be ye, my sons?’

      Then Gareth, ‘We be tillers of the soil,

       Who leaving share in furrow come to see

       The glories of our King: but these, my men,

       (Your city moved so weirdly in the mist)

       Doubt if the King be King at all, or come

       From Fairyland; and whether this be built

       By magic, and by fairy Kings and Queens;

       Or whether there be any city at all,

       Or all a vision: and this music now

       Hath scared them both, but tell thou these the truth.’

      Then that old Seer made answer playing on him

       And saying, ‘Son, I have seen the good ship sail

       Keel upward, and mast downward, in the heavens,

       And solid turrets topsy-turvy in air:

       And here is truth; but an it please thee not,

       Take thou the truth as thou hast told it me.

       For truly as thou sayest, a Fairy King

       And Fairy Queens have built the city, son;

       They came from out a sacred mountain-cleft

       Toward the sunrise, each with harp in hand,

       And built it to the music of their harps.

       And, as thou sayest, it is enchanted, son,

       For there is nothing in it as it seems

       Saving the King; though some there be that hold

       The King a shadow, and the city real:

       Yet take thou heed of him, for, so thou pass

       Beneath this archway, then wilt thou become

       A thrall to his enchantments, for the King

       Will bind thee by such vows, as is a shame

       A man should not be bound by, yet the which

       No man can keep; but, so thou dread to swear,

       Pass not beneath this gateway, but abide

       Without, among the cattle of the field.

       For an ye heard a music, like enow

       They are building still, seeing the city is built

       To music, therefore never built at all,

       And therefore built for ever.’

      Gareth spake

       Angered, ‘Old master, reverence thine own beard

       That looks as white as utter truth, and seems

       Wellnigh as long as thou art statured tall!

       Why mockest thou the stranger that hath been

       To thee fair-spoken?’

      But the Seer replied,

       ‘Know ye not then the Riddling of the Bards?

       “Confusion, and illusion, and relation,

       Elusion, and occasion, and evasion”?

       I mock thee not but as thou mockest me,

      


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