With that, the Augur, much too wise as yet31
To hint compulsion, and secure from flight,
Arose, resolved each scruple to beset
With all which melteth duty in delight—
Here, for awhile, we leave the tempted King,
And turn to him who owns the crystal ring.
Oh, the old time's divine and fresh romance!32
When o'er the lone yet ever-haunted ways
Went frank-eyed Knighthood with the lifted lance,
And life with wonder charm'd adventurous days!
When light more rich, through prisms that dimm'd it, shone;
And Nature loom'd more large through the Unknown.
Nature, not then the slave of formal law!33
Her each free sport a miracle might be:
Enchantment clothed the forest with sweet awe;
Astolfo[8] spoke from out the bleeding tree;
The fairy wreath'd his dance in moonlit air;
On golden sands the mermaid sleek'd her hair—
Then soul learn'd more than barren sense can teach34
(Soul with the sense now evermore at strife)
Wherever fancy wander'd man could reach—
And what is now call'd poetry was life.
If the old beauty from the world is fled,
Is it that Truth or that Belief is dead?
Not following, step by step, the devious King,35
But whither best his later steps are gain'd,
Moved the sure index of the fairy ring,
And since, at least, a moon hath wax'd and waned
What time the pilgrim left the fatherland—
So towards his fresher footsteps veer'd the hand.
Lo, now where pure Sabrina[9] on her breast36
Hushes sweet Isca, and, like some fair nun
That yearns, earth-wearied, for the golden rest,
Sees with delighted calm her journey done;
And broader, brighter, as she nears her grave,
Melts in the deep;—all daylight on the wave.
Across that stream pass'd sprightly Lancelot,37
Then, towards those lovely lands which yet retain
The Cymrian freedom, rode, and rested not
Till, loud on Devon, broke the rough'ning main.
Through rocks abrupt, the strong waves force their way,
Here cleave the land—there, hew the indented bay.
The horseman paused. Rude huts lay far and wide;38
The dipping sea-gulls wheel'd with startled shriek;
Drawn on the sands lay coracles of hide,[10]
And all was desolate; when, towards the creek,
Near which he halts, he hears the plashing oar;
A boat shoots in; the seamen leap to shore.
Three were their number,—two in youthful prime,39
One of mid years;—tall, huge of limb the three;
Scarce clad, with weapons of a northward clime;
Clubs, spears, and shields—the uncouth armoury
Of man, while yet the wild beast is his foe.
Yet something still the lords of earth may show;—
The pride of eye, the majesty of mien,40
The front erect that looks upon the star:
While round each neck the twisted chains are seen
Of Teuton chiefs;—(and signs of chiefs they are
In Cymrian lands—where still the torque of gold[11]
Or decks the highborn or rewards the bold).