Slowly, as one who bears a mortal hurt, Through which the fountain of his life runs dry, Crept good King Arthur down unto the lake. A roughening wind was bringing in the waves With cold dull plash and plunging to the shore, And a great bank of clouds came sailing up Athwart the aspect of the gibbous moon, Leaving no glimpse save starlight, as he sank, With a short stagger, senseless on the stones. No man yet knows how long he lay in swound; But long enough it was to let the rust Lick half the surface of his polished shield; For it was made by far inferior hands, Than forged his helm, his breastplate, and his greaves, Whereon no canker lighted, for they bore The magic stamp of MECHI'S SILVER STEEL. Jupiter and the Indian Ale. "Take away this clammy nectar!" Said the king of gods and men; "Never at Olympus' table Let that trash be served again. Ho, Lyaeus, thou the beery! Quick--invent some other drink; Or, in a brace of shakes, thou standest On Cocytus' sulphury brink!" Terror shook the limbs of Bacchus, Paly grew his pimpled nose, And already in his rearward Felt he Jove's tremendous toes; When a bright idea struck him-- "Dash my thyrsus! I'll be bail-- For you never were in India-- That you know not HODGSON'S ALE!" "Bring it!" quoth the Cloud-compeller; And the wine-god brought the beer-- "Port and claret are like water To the noble stuff that's here!" And Saturnius drank and nodded, Winking with his lightning eyes, And amidst the constellations Did the star of HODGSON rise! The Lay of the Doudney Brothers.