Then, sad and sore amazed, Sir Bedivere: “O, Merlin, Merlin, truly didst thou say That hid from eyes of common men like me Is that which is to be in after days; For even now I scarce can comprehend What thou hast spoken with prophetic lips. These things are very far beyond my reach. This only do I know, that I am now An orphan knight, reft of the royal sire That made me knight, giving my soul new birth And heirdom to the Christian fellowship Of the Round Table. Gladly would I give All glory ever won by knightly deed, All honour in the ranks of my compeers, All gentle blandishments of ladies fair, All that I am, or have, or prize the most, And sink into the meanness of the churl That feeds the Saxon’s swine, for but one glimpse Of my loved lord, King Arthur. But I know That he will never more to Camelot Bring back the glory of his vanished face, Nor call me his ‘true knight, Sir Bedivere.’ So I will pray, even as thou badst me pray, And as King Arthur bade me, for his soul, That to his far-off home no sigh may come, From this his orphan and unhappy realm, To mar the melody of Avalon. And though he may not hither come to me, May I not hope that I may go to him, And see him face to face, in that fair land, Whose beauty mortal eye has never seen, Whose music mortal ear has never heard, Whose glory mortal heart has not conceived. But, Merlin, I would ask thee one thing more, If thou have patience with my blunter sense (For I am but a knight, and thou, a sage, And knowest all things)--prithee, tell me, Merlin, If, in the far-off after-time, shall come A Prince who shall be known by Arthur’s name, And bear it blamelessly as he did his.” Then, Merlin, with a wise smile on his face, Such as a mother wears who gently tries To answer the hard question of her child, Answered Sir Bedivere: “Thou askest well, And fain am I to answer. That good Prince Of whom I spake--Albert, the Blameless Prince-- Shall be the head of many dynasties. His blood, in after years, shall wear the crown Of many kingdoms. She who loved him well Shall reign for many years when he is gone, And round her widowed diadem shall gleam The richer halo of a nation’s love, For her own sake and for the sainted dead. And she will shed the brightness of her soul On Britain’s future Kings, and they shall learn, Not only from her lips, but from her life, That who rules well must make Christ’s law his rule. And of the Good Queen and the Blameless Prince One son shall be named Arthur. Like the King For whom thy heart is sad, Sir Bedivere, He shall be true, and brave, and generous In speech and act to all of all degrees, And win the unsought guerdon of men’s love.