Dizzy and blind, the staggering Northmen fall68
On earth that rocks beneath them like a bark;
Loud and more loud the tumult swells with all
The Acheron of the discord. Swift and dark
From every cleft the smoke-clouds burst their way,
Rush through the void, and sweep from heaven the day.
Smitten beneath the pestilential blast69
And the great terror, senseless lay the band,
Till the arrested life, with throes at last,
Gasp'd back: and holy over sea and land
Silence and light reposed. They look'd above
And calm in calmèd air beheld the Dove!
And o'er their prostrate lord was poised the wing;70
And when they rush'd and reach'd him, shouting joy,
There came no answer from the corpse-like King;
And when his true knight raised him, heavily
Droop'd his pale front upon the faithful breast,
And the closed lids seem'd leaden in their rest.
And all his mail was dinted, hewn, and crush'd,71
And the bright falchion dim with foul dark gore;
And the strong pulse of the strong hand was hush'd;
Like a spent storm, that might, which seem'd before
Charged with the bolts of Jove, now from the sky
Drew breath more feeble than an infant's sigh.
And there was solemn change on that fair face,72
Nor, whatsoe'er the fear or scorn had been,
Did the past passion leave its haggard trace;
But on the rigid beauty awe was seen,
As one who on the Gorgon's aspect fell
Had gazed, and freezing, yet survived the spell!
Not by the chasm in which he left the day,73
But through a new-made gorge the fires had cleft,
As if with fires themselves were forced the way,
Had rush'd the King;—and sense and sinew left
The form that struggled till the strife was o'er:
So faints the swimmer when he gains the shore.
But on his arm was clasp'd the wondrous prize:74
Dimm'd, tarnish'd, grimed, and black with gore and smoke,
Still the pure metal, through each foul disguise,
Like starlight scatter'd on dark waters, broke;
Through gore, through smoke it shone—the silver Shield,
Clear as dawns Freedom from her battle-field!
Days follow'd days, ere from that speechless trance75
(Borne to green inlets isled amid the snows
Where led the Dove), the King's reviving glance
Look'd languid round on watchful, joyful brows;
Ev'n while he slept, new flowers the earth had given,
And on his heart brooded the bird of heaven!
But ne'er as voice and strength and sense return'd,76
To his good knight the strife that won the Shield
Did Arthur tell; deep in his soul inurn'd
(As in the grave its secret) nor reveal'd
To mortal ear that mystery which for ever
Flow'd through his thought, as through the cave a river;
Whether to Love, how true soe'er its faith, 77.
Whether to Wisdom, whatsoe'er its skill,
Till his last hour the struggle and the scath
Remain'd unutter'd and unutterable;
But aye, in solitude, in crowds, in strife,
In joy, that memory lived within his life: