"In my fifth year, to Uther's royal towers 58 The fairy bore me, and her charge resign'd. My mother took the veil of Christ--the Hours With Arthur's life the orphan's life entwined. O'er mine own element my course I take-- All oceans smile on Lancelot of the Lake!" He said, and waved his hand: around the boat 59 The curlews hover'd, as it shot to sea. The wild men, lingering, watch'd the lessening float, Till in the far expanse lost desolately, Then slowly towards the hut they bent their way, And the lone waves moan'd up the lifeless bay. Pass we the voyage. Hunger-worn, to shore 60 Gain'd man and steed; there food and rest they found In humble roofs. The course, resumed once more, Stretch'd inland o'er not unfamiliar ground: The wanderer smiles, by tower and town, to see Cymri's old oak rebloom in Brettanie. Nathless, no pause, save such as needful rest 61 Demands, delays him in the friendly land. No tidings here of Arthur gain'd, his breast Springs to the goal of the quick-moving hand, Howbeit not barren of adventurous days, Sweet danger found him in the devious ways. What foes encounter'd, or what damsels freed-- 62 What demon spells in lonely forests braving, Leave we to songs yet vocal to the reed On ev'ry bank, beloved by poets, waving; Our task unborrow'd from the muse of old, Takes but the tale by nobler bards untold. Now as he journeys, frequent more and more 63 The traces of the steps he tracks are found; Fame, like a light, shines broadening on before His path, and cleaves the shadows on the ground; High deeds and gentle, bruited near and far, Show where that soul went flashing as a star. At length he gains the Ausonian Alpine walls; 64 Here, castle, convent, town, and hamlet fade; Lone, through the rolling mists, the hoof-tread falls; Lone, earth's mute giants loom amidst the shade: Yet still, as sure of hope, he tracks the king, Up steep, through gorge, where guides the crystal ring. One day--along by gloomy chasms his course-- 65 He saw before him indistinctly pass Through the dun fogs, what seem'd a phantom horse, Like that which oft, amidst the dank morass, Bestrid by goblin-meteor, starts the eye-- So fleshless flitting--wan and shadowy. By a bare rock it paused, and feebly neigh'd. 66 As the good knight, descending, seized the rein; Dew-rusted mail the shrunken front array'd; The rich selle rotted with the moulder-stain; And on the selle were slung helm, axe, and mace; And the great lance lay careless near the place.