By many a far-off height and river-side Shall fall such men as fought at Badon-hill Warring with heathen foes; and lonely hearths Shall sorrow for the dead who come no more. And, one war over, others shall succeed, And others; and the blaze of burning towns Shall blot the moon out of the midnight sky. And some will say: ‘Now is the end at hand Of all things, and the whole fair world is doomed To sink in ashy nothingness. The wrath Of God is kindled for the sins of men.’ But when the fiery wave of war has washed The world, as gold from which the dross is burned, The nations shall rise purer, and men’s hearts Shall fear the touch of wrong; the slave ashamed And angry once to see the pitiless sun Smile on his chains, shall leap and sing for joy. Free thought shall take the ancient shield of Truth And make it bright, showing the Artist’s work, Long hid by stains and rust from longing eyes; And hoary ills shall die, and o’er their graves Shall bloom fair flowers, and trees of goodly fruit To gladden and make strong the heart of man.” Then said Sir Bedivere: “O, good and wise, My heart is full of wonder, and I doubt Whether or not I listen in a dream Wrought by thy wizard spells around my soul. But tell me further of the Blameless Prince, The image of King Arthur,--or himself, Albeit thou sayst it not, come back again From his long sleep in Avalon. Shall he die, Or shall he live and teach men how to live Until the coming of our Master, Christ?” Then Merlin, with a cloud upon his face, As thinking of the sorrow that must be, Yet with a silver smile about the cloud, Answered Sir Bedivere: “O, loving well And loyal to the last, the Blameless Prince, The God-sent promise of a better time When all men shall be like him, good and wise, Shall, when his work is finished, pass away; And the dark shade of sorrow’s wings shall blot The sky, and all the widowed land shall mourn; And chiefly she, his other self, the Queen, Shall weep long years in lonely palace-halls, Missing the music of a silent voice. But, though his voice be silent, in men’s hearts Shall sink the fruitful memory of his life, And take deep root, and grow to glorious deeds. And she will write the story of his life Who loved him, and though tears may blot the page, Even as they fall, the rainbow hues of hope Shall bless them with Christ’s promise of the time When they that sow in tears shall reap in joy.”