But close where Arthur stands, a warder's horn,44
Fix'd to the stone, to those who dare to win
The enchanter's cell, supplies the note to warn
The mighty weaver of dread webs within.
Loud sounds the horn, the chain descending clangs,
And o'er the abyss the dizzy pathway hangs;
Mutely the door slides sullen in the stone,45
And closes back, the gloomy threshold cross'd;
There sate the wizard on a Druid throne,
Where sate Duw-Iou,[5] ere his reign was lost;
His wand uplifted in his solemn hand,
And the weird volume on its brazen stand.
O'er the broad breast the heavy brows of thought46
Hang, as if bow'd beneath the load sublime
Of spoils from Nature's fading boundaries brought,
Or the dusk treasure-house of orient Time;
And the unutterable calmness shows
The toil's great victory by the soul's repose.
Ev'n as the Tyrian views his argosies,47
Moor'd in the port (the gold of Ophir won),
And heeds no more the billow and the breeze,
And the clouds wandering o'er the wintry sun,
So calmly Wisdom eyes (its voyage o'er)
The traversed ocean from the beetling shore.
A hundred years press'd o'er that awful head,48
As o'er an Alp, their diadem of snow;
And, as an Alp, a hundred years had fled,
And left as firm the giant form below;
So in the hush of some Chaonian grove,
Sat the grey father of Pelasgic Jove.
Before that power, sublimer than his own,49
With downcast looks, the King inclined the knee;
The enchanter smiled, and, bending from his throne,
Drew to his breast his pupil tenderly;
And press'd his lips on that young forehead fair,
And with large hand smooth'd back the golden hair!
And, looking in those frank and azure eyes,50
"What," said the prophet, "doth my Arthur seek
From the grey wisdom which the young despise?
The young, perchance, are right!—Fair infant, speak!"
Thrice sigh'd the monarch, and at length began:
"Can wisdom ward the storms of fate from man?
"What spell can thrust Affliction from the gate?51
What tree is sacred from the lightning flame?"
"Son," said the seer, "the laurel!—even Fate,
Which blasts Ambition, but illumines Fame.
Say on."—The King smiled sternly, and obey'd—
Track we the steps which track'd the warning shade.
"On to the wood, and to its inmost dell52
Will-less I went," the monarch thus pursued,
"Before me still, but darkly visible,
The Phantom glided through the solitude;
At length it paused,—a sunless pool was near,
As ebon black, and yet as chrystal clear.
"'Look, King, below,' whisper'd the shadowy One:53
What seem'd a hand sign'd beckoning to the wave;
I look'd below, and never realms undone
Show'd war more awful than the mirror gave;
There rush'd the steed, there glanced on spear the spear,
And spectre-squadrons closed in fell career.