The third, though young, well worthy of his place,18
Was Gawaine, courteous, blithe, and debonnair,
Arch Mercury's wit, with careless Cupid's face;
Frank as the sun, but searching as the air,
Who with bland parlance prefaced doughtiest blows,
And mildly arguing—arguing brain'd his foes.
Next came the three—in mystic Triads hight19
"The Knights of Love;"[6] some type, the name conveys,
For where no lover, there methinks no knight;
All knights were lovers in King Arthur's days:
Caswallawn; Trystan of the lion rock;[7]
And, leaning on his harp, calm Caradoc!
Thus class'd, distinct in peace,—let war dismay,20
Straight in one bond the divers natures blend—
So varying tints in tranquil sunshine play,
But form one iris if the rains descend;
And, fused in light against the clouds that lower,
Forbid the deluge while they own the shower!
On the bright group the Prophet rests his gaze,21
Then the deep voice sonorous thrills aloud—
"In Carduel's vale the steers unheeded graze,
To jocund winds the yellowing corn is bow'd,
By hearths of mirth the waves of Isca flow,
And Heaven above smiles down on peace below.
"But far looks forth the warder from the tower,22
And to the halls of Cymri's antique kings
A soul that sees the future in the hour
The desolation of its burthen brings;
Hollow sounds earth beneath the clanging tread:
Yon fields shall yield no harvest but the Dead!
"And waves shall rush in crimson to the deep,23
The Meteor Horse shall pale autumnal skies—
From Rauran's lairs the joyous wolves shall leap—
From Eifle's crags the screaming eagles rise—
Yea! while I speak, these halls the havoc nears!
Red sets the sun behind the storm of spears!
"The Sons of Woden sound no tromp before24
Their march! No herald comes their war to tell!
No plea for slaughter, dress'd in clerkly lore,
Makes death seem justice! As the rain-clouds swell,
When air is stillest, in Bâl Huan's halls;
The herbage waves not till the tempest falls!
"Of old ye know them; ye the elect remains25
Of perish'd races—rock-saved; anchoring here
The ark of empire!
For your latest fanes,
For your last hearths, for all to freemen dear,
And to God sacred; take the shield and brand!
Accurst each Cymrian who survives hisland!"
"Accursed each Cymrian who survives his land!"26
Echo'd deep tones, hollow as blasts escaped
From Boreal caverns, and in every hand
The hilts of swords to sainted croziers shaped
Were grimly griped—as by that symbol sign
Hallowing the human wrath to war divine.
The Prophet mark'd the deep unclamorous vow27
Of the pent passion; and the morning light
Of young Humanity flash'd o'er the brow
Dark with that wisdom which, like Nature's night,
Communes with stars and dreams; it flash'd and waned,
And the vast front its awful hush regain'd.