"The courteous monarch bent him low, And, stooping down from saddlebow, Lifted the cup, in act to drink. A drop escaped the goblet's brink-- Intense as liquid fire from hell, Upon the charger's neck it fell. Screaming with agony and fright, He bolted twenty feet upright-- --The peasant still can show the dint Where his hoofs lighted on the flint.-- From Arthur's hand the goblet flew, Scattering a shower of fiery dew, That burned and blighted where it fell![24] The frantic steed rushed up the dell, As whistles from the bow the reed; Nor bit nor rein could check his speed, Until he gained the hill; Then breath and sinew failed apace, And, reeling from the desperate race, He stood, exhausted, still. The Monarch, breathless and amazed, Back on the fatal castle gazed---- Nor tower nor donjon could he spy, Darkening against the morning sky; But, on the spot where once they frowned, The lonely streamlet brawled around A tufted knoll, where dimly shone Fragments of rock and rifted stone. Musing on this strange hap the while, The King wends back to fair Carlisle; And cares, that cumber royal sway, Wore memory of the past away. "Full fifteen years, and more, were sped, Each brought new wreaths to Arthur's head. Twelve bloody fields, with glory fought, The Saxons to subjection brought: Rython, the mighty giant, slain By his good brand, relieved Bretagne: The Pictish Gillamore, in fight, And Roman Lucius, owned his might; And wide were through the world renowned The glories of his Table Round. Each knight, who sought adventurous fame, To the bold court of Britain came, And all who suffered causeless wrong, From tyrant proud or faitour strong, Sought Arthur's presence to complain, Nor there for aid implored in vain. "For this the King, with pomp and pride, Held solemn court at Whitsuntide, And summoned Prince and Peer-- All who owed homage for their land, Or who craved knighthood from his hand, Or who had succour to demand-- To come from far and near. "The heralds named the appointed spot, As Caerleon or Camelot, Or Carlisle fair and free. At Penrith, now, the feast was set, And in fair Eamont's vale were met The flower of chivalry.