"Feel, in the eyes of Love, a cloudless sun, 11 Taste, in the breath of Love, eternal spring; Could age but keep the joys that youth has won, The human heart would fold its idle wing! If change there be in Fate and Nature's plan, Wherefore blame us?--it is in Time, not Man." He spoke, and from the happy conclave there 12 Echo'd the murmur, "Time is but to blame:" Each knight glanced amorous on his chosen fair, And to the glance blush'd each assenting dame: But thought had dimm'd the smile in Arthur's eye, And the light speech was rounded by a sigh. And while they murmur'd "Time is but to blame," 13 Right in the centre of the silken ring, Sudden stood forth (none marking whence it came), The gloomy shade of some Phantasmal Thing; It stood, dim-outlined in a sable shroud, And shapeless, as in noon-day hangs a cloud. Hush'd was each lip, and every cheek was pale; 14 The stoutest heart beat tremulous and high: "Arise," it mutter'd from the spectral veil, "I call thee, King!" Then burst the wrathful cry, Feet found the earth, and ready hands the sword, And angry knighthood bristled round its lord. But Arthur rose, and, waiving back the throng, 15 Fronted the Image with a dauntless brow: Then shrunk the Phantom, indistinct, along The unbending herbage, noiseless, dark, and slow; And, where the forest night at noonday made, Glided,--as from the dial glides the shade. Gone;--but an ice-bound horror seemed to cling 16 To air; the revellers stood transfix'd to stone; While from amidst them, palely pass'd the King, Dragg'd by a will more royal than his own: Onwards he went; the invisible control Compell'd him, as a dream compels the soul. They saw, and sought to stay him, but in vain, 17 They saw, and sought to speak, but voice was dumb: So Death some warrior from his armed train Plucks forth defenceless when his hour is come. He gains the wood; their sight the shadows bar, And darkness wraps him as the cloud a star. Abruptly, as it came, the charm was past 18 That bound the circle: as from heavy sleep Starts the hush'd war-camp at the trumpet's blast, Fierce into life the voiceless revellers leap; Swift to the wood the glittering tumult springs, And through the vale the shrill BON-LEF-HER rings.[2] From stream, from tent, from pastime near and far, 19 All press confusedly to the signal cry-- So from the ROCK OF BIRDS[3] the shout of war Sends countless wings in clamour through the sky-- The cause a word, the track a sign affords, And all the forest gleams with starry swords.