But nevermore will Britain know such grace,
Such lofty glory and such splendid days.
Back of the clang of battle, back of all
The mists of life; the clamour and the fall
Of ruined kingdoms built on human days,
Arthur! Merlin! Mighty dead, I come!
(Springs to his feet.)
Ho! Horse! To horse! My sword! A trumpet calls!
A Mordred! (Dies.)