But now my mind is changed, for I shall see him, My babe in bliss: wherefore when I am gone, Take, give her this, for it may comfort her: It will moreover be a token to her, 900 That I am he.’ He ceased; and Miriam Lane Made such a voluble answer promising all, That once again he roll’d his eyes upon her Repeating all he wish’d, and once again 905 She promised. Then the third night after this, While Enoch slumber’d motionless and pale, And Miriam watch’d and dozed at intervals, There came so loud a calling of the sea, 910 That all the houses in the haven rang. He woke, he rose, he spread his arms abroad Crying with a loud voice ‘a sail! a sail! I am saved’; and so fell back and spoke no more. So past the strong heroic soul away. 915 And when they buried him the little port Had seldom seen a costlier funeral. * * * * * =MORTE D’ARTHUR.= So all day long the noise of battle roll’d Among the mountains by the winter sea; Until King Arthur’s table, man by man, Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their Lord, King Arthur: then, because his wound was deep, 5 The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him, Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights, And bore him to a chapel nigh the field, A broken chancel with a broken cross, That stood on a dark strait of barren land. 10 On one side lay the Ocean, and on one Lay a great water, and the moon was full. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: ‘The sequel of to-day unsolders all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights 15 Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep They sleep—the men I loved. I think that we Shall never more, at any future time, Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds, Walking about the gardens and the halls 20 Of Camelot, as in the days that were. I perish by this people which I made,— Tho’ Merlin sware that I should come again To rule once more—but let what will be, be, I am so deeply smitten thro’ the helm 25 That without help I cannot last till morn. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how In those old days, one summer noon, an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, 30 Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, Holding the sword—and how I row’d across And took it, and have worn it, like a king: And, wheresoever I am sung or told In aftertime, this also shall be known: 35 But now delay not: take Excalibur, And fling him far into the middle mere: Watch what thou seëst, and lightly bring me word.’ To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere: ‘It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus, 40 Aidless, alone, and smitten thro’ the helm. A little thing may harm a wounded man.