The Prophecy of Merlin, and Other Poems

by John Reade

Then Merlin: “Wait a while, Sir Bedivere,
And I will tell thee all.
In deeds of war,—
The rage of battle, and the clangorous charge
Of mailéd knights, and flash of hostile swords,
And flying spears, and din of meeting shields,
And all the use of man-ennobling might
For Christ and for His Cross, to wrest the land
From heathen foes—did Arthur win his fame.
For this, by marvels, was he born and bred;
For this, by marvels, was he chosen King;
For this he sent his heralds to all parts
Of the divided realm, to summon forth
All bravest, truest knights of Christendom
From rude and selfish war to Camelot,
That they might be one heart around himself
To send new life-blood through the sickly land,
And purge it of the plague of heathennesse.
And had not the foul falsehood of his house
Broken athwart the true aim of his life,
And set the Table Round against itself,
Ere now the heathen Dragon had been crushed,
Never again to raise its hideous head
O’er the fair land that Christ’s apostle blessed.

This was the purpose that his soul had formed—
Alas! how unaccomplished!—and he hoped
That gentle peace would be the meed of war,—
That ’neath the laurel far and wide would bloom
The flowers of wisdom, charity and truth,—
That holy men and sages, ladies fair
And famous knights, and those that from earth’s lap
Gather God’s bounties, and the men whose hands
Have skilful touch, and those who tell or sing
Of Nature and her marvels, or who fill
The scroll with records of the misty past,
And others of all arts and all degrees,
Should work, each in the place that he had found,
With one pure impulse in the heart of all,—
That Britain should be called of all the world
A blameless people round a Blameless King.

This purpose Albert, in the after-time,
(So shall the Prince be named of whom I spake,)
Shall take from the dim shrine where it has lain,
Scarce touched by dreamy reverence, many an age,
And hold it in the daylight of his life.
But not alone. She whom his heart has won,
With loving aid, shall ever at his side
(Till death them part) sustain him in his thought.
And these two, nobly mated, each to each
The sweet and ripe completion, shall be named
With loyal love and tenderest respect
By knight and lady, poet, sage and priest,
In mart and camp, in palace and in cot,
By babbling gray-beard and by lisping child,
Wherever Britain’s banner is unfurled.
So shall the land grow strong with bonds of peace,
Till men believe that wars have ceased to drench
The earth with bloody rain;—and Art shall smile
On myriad shapes of beauty and of use,—
And Wisdom shall have freer scope, and push
The boulders of old folly from her field,—
And men shall walk with larger minds across
The limits of the superstitious past,
And cull the gold out of the dross of things,
Flinging the dross aside,—and then shall be
New hopes of better changes yet to be,
When harmony shall reign through all the world,
And interchange of good for common weal
Be only law.
A palace shall arise
Beneath the guidance of the Blameless Prince,
The crystal image of his ample mind,
The home of what is best in every clime;
And thither, from all lands beneath the sun,
Shall crowd the patient workers in all arts,
Bringing the treasures of their skill. The hands
Of many nations with a brother’s clasp
Shall join together; and the Babel tongues
Of Eastern, Western, Northern, Southern lands
Shall strive no more in discord, but, as one,
Shall make harmonious music, as of yore
The sound of four great rivers rose and fell
Through fragrant splendours in the Eden-world.

And men shall say: ‘Now is the reign of peace,
Foretold by sacred sages, come at last.
And cries of war shall never more be heard
Through the fair world, but men shall take their swords
And beat them into ploughshares, and their spears
And lances they shall turn to pruning-hooks,—
Nation with nation shall contend no more,
Save as to who may reach the goal of best
Before the other, for the common good,—
And men shall only vie in virtue, skill
And beauty, fruits of hand and head and heart,—
And strength shall be in knowledge and its use,—
And right, not might, shall guide men in their acts,—
And small and great shall have one common law,—
And he, alone, shall be considered just
Who, in a doubtful matter, puts himself
In his friend’s place. So all men shall be friends:
For each shall see in other but himself,
And love him as himself. This is Christ’s rule,
Which the base world so long has set at nought,
But now restored by our All-blameless Prince,
And preached by gentle act to all the world.’

So shall men say, rejoicing; but, alas!
While yet the words rise from their gladdened hearts,
The olive garland shall begin to fade
On the sweet brows of peace; and Avarice,
Like a gaunt wolf, ever unsatisfied
As long as one lamb bleats within the fold,
Shall raise the harsh cry that awakens war.

In those far lands beyond the Southern Sea,
Traversed by knights who seek the Holy Grail,
The mountains belch forth fire, and flood the slopes
And valleys with the sulphurous tide of hell,
Till man and all his works are whelmed beneath.
Then, wearied with his rage, the demon sleeps,
And o’er the frozen graves of the long dead
The hopeful vine grows and the flowers bloom,
And children’s voices and the song of birds
Bid hush the awful memory of the past.
But on some doomful night an ominous roar
Startles the dreaming villager, who, looking
Forth through his shivering casement, sees the sky
Alive with fearful forms. The spirits of fire,
Unchained from their long bondage, with fierce joy
Dance onward, bearing death, while smoky palls
Waver around them. With their ghostly hands
From wrathful vials they pour blazing streams
That lick the earth, from which is no escape
But death—and death comes soon. So after peace,
Which men had thought eternal, shall come war,
And chase, with rumbling horror, the sweet dreams
Of gentle harmony throughout the world.

Then shall the spirit of the Table Round
Enter men’s hearts and make their right arms strong
For deeds of war,—deeds that shall make the eyes
Of those who come thereafter flash with pride.

By many a far-off height and river-side
Shall fall such men as fought at Badon-hill
Warring with heathen foes; and lonely hearths
Shall sorrow for the dead who come no more.
And, one war over, others shall succeed,
And others; and the blaze of burning towns
Shall blot the moon out of the midnight sky.

And some will say: ‘Now is the end at hand
Of all things, and the whole fair world is doomed
To sink in ashy nothingness. The wrath
Of God is kindled for the sins of men.’

But when the fiery wave of war has washed
The world, as gold from which the dross is burned,
The nations shall rise purer, and men’s hearts
Shall fear the touch of wrong; the slave ashamed
And angry once to see the pitiless sun
Smile on his chains, shall leap and sing for joy.
Free thought shall take the ancient shield of Truth
And make it bright, showing the Artist’s work,
Long hid by stains and rust from longing eyes;
And hoary ills shall die, and o’er their graves
Shall bloom fair flowers, and trees of goodly fruit
To gladden and make strong the heart of man.”