The Monarch answer'd; "and where these are found,58
All plains yield harvests, and all mines the gold."—
"Your hills are doubtless," quoth the Vandal, "crown'd
With castled tower, and fosse-defended hold?"—
"One hold the land—its mightiest fosse the sea;
And its strong walls the bosoms of the free."
The Vandal mused, and thought the answers shrewd,59
But little suited to the listeners by;
So turn'd the subject, nor again renew'd
Sharp questions blunted by such bold reply.
Now ceased the banquet; to a chamber, spread
With fragrant heath, his guest the Vandal led.
With his own hand unclasp'd the mantle's fold,60
And took his leave in blessings without number;
Bade every angel shelter from the cold,
And every saint watch sleepless o'er the slumber;
Then his own chamber sought, and rack'd his breast
To find some use to which to put the guest.
Three days did Arthur sojourn in that court;61
And much he marvell'd how that warlike race
Bow'd to a chief, whom never knightly sport,
The gallant tourney, nor the glowing chase
Allured; and least those glory-lighted dyes
Which make death lovely in a warrior's eyes.
Yet, 'midst his marvel, much the Cymrian sees62
For king to imitate and sage to praise;
Splendour and thrift in nicely-poised degrees,
Caution that guards, and promptness that dismays;
But Fraud will oftimes make the Fate it fears;—
Some day, found stifled by the mask it wears.
On his part, Arthur in such estimation63
Did the host hold, that he proposed to take
A father's charge of his forsaken nation.
"He loved not meddling, but for Arthur's sake,
Would leave his own, his guest's affairs to mind."
An offer Arthur thankfully declined.
Much grieved the Vandal "that he just had given64
His last unwedded daughter to a Frank,
But still he had a wifeless son, thank Heaven!
Not yet provision'd as beseem'd his rank,
And one of Arthur's sisters——" Uther's son
Smiled, and replied—"Sir king, I have but one,
"Borne by my mother to her former lord;65
Not young."—"Alack! youth cannot last like riches."
"Not fair."—"Then youth is less to be deplored."
"A witch."[6]—"All women till they're wed are witches!
Wived to my son, the witch will soon be steady!"
"Wived to your son?—she is a wife already!"
O baseless dreams of man! The king stood mute!66
That son, of all his house the favourite flower,
How had he sought to force it into fruit,
And graft the slip upon a lusty dower!
And this sole sister of a king so rich,
A wife already!—Saints consume the witch!
With brow deject, the mournful Vandal took67
Occasion prompt to leave his royal guest,
And sought a friend who served him, as a book
Read in our illness, in our health dismiss'd;
For seldom did the Vandal condescend
To that poor drudge which monarchs call a friend!