They shall not be wholly prescient, and not altogether wise;
Some defect, to prove them human, shall their brightest plans deface;
Follies worthy of the weakest, shall the wisest age disgrace;
And as if some superstition still the human brain must bother,
They shall but shake off one folly to be taken with another,
So that those, who all the tales of Arthur as mere lies reprove,
Shall believe his great round table by his knights' mere will could move."
As she spoke the glamour faded, and Sir Lancelot saw the moor
And the woodland stretching out for many a league his road before;
Many a sign of knoll and headland marked an old familiar spot,