Long time lay Bedivere betwixt life and death, Like a torn traveller on a stormy height ’Twixt one wind and another: till his breath Came easier, and he prospered. Then did sleep Bathe him in soothing waters, soft and deep, And left him whole, at breaking of the light, So he beheld the old man, and desired That he would tell of whom he was, and whence. Whereat once more the ancient eyes were fired: “I, I was Arthur’s bishop, at his court And in his church I ministered, and thence When at the last the whole was overthrown With wrath and ill designings, straight I sought A place where I might die, too feeble grown To endure a new beginning to my years When once the past was lost, and whelmed in tears. Hither I came, where, in the dawns of time Dim peoples, that the very stones forget, Lived, loved, and fought, and wove the riddling rime On a lake island mystically set. They passed, and after ages manifold Came wandering sainted Joseph (even he That tended God’s frail body, and enrolled In linen clothes of spicèd fragrancy). He brought the vessel, vanished now from earth That wrought destruction to the Table Round, Since many deemed themselves above their worth And sought in vain, and perished ere they found.” Then Bedivere: “Alas the King! I saw The unstayed overwhelming tide of war: And when the opposèd standards were unfurled Of Arthur and of Mordred, his base son, Ere yet the noise of battle was begun I heard the heralds crying to the world: “‘Ye that have sought out pallid harmonies Where never wind blows, save the gentle south: Ye that have trafficked on the sounding seas And fear nor cheerless rains, nor scorching drouth: “‘Ye that have piled the rich, full-ripened crops Of word and measure, till the rime, grown proud, Did straight contemn the leaping mountain tops And lose itself in air, and riven cloud: “‘Ye that have lived a dangerous life of war Whose speech has been bold words and heady boasts Gather, for strife and death unknown before, Come gather all unto the fronting hosts.’ “I saw the last dim battle in the mist There, where a dreary waste of barren sand Doth mark the ultimate leagues of this fair land; Scarce we beheld the foe we struck, or wist Which party had advantage: like thin wraiths Fit to throng Lethe banks the warriors Struck and o’ercame, or fell, unseen, unwept; And alien hopes, lives, peoples, alien faiths Were all confounded on those desolate shores. And ever the mist seethed, and the waves kept A hollow chanting, as they mourned the end Of all mankind, and of created time. How many fell therein of foe or friend I know not, save that when the darkness came And the mist cleared, I found at last the King, His armour and visage fouled with blood and slime, And fading in his eyes the ancient flame.