"But soon too earnest grew their game, The spears drew blood, the swords struck flame, And, horse and man, to ground there came Knights, who shall rise no more! Gone was the pride the war that graced, Gay shields were cleft, and crests defaced, And steel coats riven, and helms unbraced, And pennons stream'd with gore. Gone, too, were fence and fair array, And desperate strength made deadly way At random through the bloody fray, And blows were dealt with headlong sway, Unheeding where they fell; And now the trumpet's clamour seem Like the shrill sea-bird's wailing scream, Heard o'er the whirlpool's gulfing stream, The sinking seaman's knell! "Already gasping on the ground Lie twenty of the Table Round, Of chivalry the prime. Arthur, in anguish, tore away From head and beard his tresses gray, And she, proud Gyneth, felt dismay, And quaked with ruth and fear; But still she deem'd her mother's shade Hung o'er the tumult, and forbade The sign that had the slaughter staid, And chid the rising tear. Then Brunor, Taulas, Mador, fell, Helias the White, and Lionel, And many a champion more; Rochemont and Dinadam are down, And Ferrand of the Forest Brown Lies gasping in his gore. Vanoc, by mighty Morolt press'd Even to the confines of the list, Young Vanoc of the beardless face (Fame spoke the youth of Merlin's race), O'erpower'd at Gyneth's footstool bled, His heart's-blood died her sandals red. But then the sky was overcast. Then howl'd at once a whirlwind's blast, And, rent by sudden throes, Yawn'd in mid lists the quaking earth, And from the gulf,--tremendous birth!-- The form of Merlin rose. "Sternly the Wizard Prophet eyed The dreary lists with slaughter dyed, And sternly raised his hand;-- 'Madmen,' he said, 'your strife forbear! And thou, fair cause of mischief, hear The doom thy fates demand! Long shall close in stony sleep Eyes for ruth that would not weep; Iron lethargy shall seal Heart that pity scorn'd to feel. Yet, because thy mother's art Warp'd thine unsuspicious heart, And for love of Arthur's race, Punishment is blent with grace, Thou shalt bear thy penance lone In the valley of Saint John, And this doom shall overtake thee; Sleep, until a knight shall wake thee, For feats of arms as far renown'd As warrior of the Table Round. Long endurance of thy slumber Well may teach the world to number All their woes from Gyneth's pride, When the Red Cross champions died.'