| "My spirit like a charmèd bark doth swim |
| Upon the liquid waves of thy sweet singing |
| Far away into regions dim |
| Of rapture, as a boat with swift sails winging |
| Its way adown some many-winding river." |
He who finds himself afloat upon the "many-winding river" throws aside the laboring oar. It is enough to float on,—he cares not whither.
What greater pleasure is there than in the "Idylls of the King" provided we do not study them, but dream them. We must enter into the poet's own mood:—
| "I seemed |
| To sail with Arthur under looming shores, |
| Point after point, till on to dawn, when dreams |
| Begin to feel the truth and stir of day." |
It is good to be there, in that far-off time, good to come to Camelot:—
| "Built by old kings, age after age, |
| So strange and rich and dim." |
All we see of kings, and magicians, and ladies, and knights is "strange and rich and dim." Over everything is a luminous haze. There are
| "hollow tramplings up and down, |
| And muffled voices heard, and shadows past." |
There is the flashing of swords, the weaving of spells, the seeing of visions. All these things become real to us; not simply the stainless king and the sinful queen, the prowess of Lancelot and the love of Elaine, but the magic of Merlin and the sorceries of Vivien, with her charms
"Of woven paces and of waving hands."