Then said Sir Bedivere: “O good and wise, Will he return again to Camelot, After his wound is healed, and Guinevere Has healed that other wound that vexed his soul, By purging her own soul of all offence? And will he not assemble round his board The best and bravest knights of Christendom, And all the fairest ladies of the land, And reign as erst he reigned in Camelot?” * * * * * Then Merlin: “Hid from eyes of common men Is that which is to be in after days; And only those can see it in whose souls A heavenly brightness has dissolved the mist That darkens mortal sight. And even these Can see but dimly, as a far-off hill Appears at even when the stars surprise The lingering kisses of the parting sun. But I, thou knowest well, Sir Bedivere, Am not of mortal race, nor was I born Of human mother nor of human sire. Mine is the blazonry of prophet souls Whose lineage finds in God its kingly head. To me what was and that which is to come Are ever present, and I grow not old With time, but have the gift of endless youth. As one who stands beside a placid stream, Watching the white sails passing slowly down, And knows a fatal whirlpool waits them all, And yet, the while, is powerless to save,-- So watch I all the ages passing by Adown the stream of time into the gulf From which is no return. Alas! alas! How oft have I, who ever love the good, The pure, the brave and wise, wept bitter tears, As they have passed me, joyous in their course, And we have held sweet converse, as I thought How soon their faces would be seen no more! Sad, sad, Sir Bedivere, the prophet’s gift, Who sees the evil which he cannot heal!” And then a gloom o’ershadowed Merlin’s face, That caused Sir Bedivere to pity him; And they both wept, as one, amid the dead, Thinking of all the sorrows of the world. But Merlin, when his face grew calm again, Began: “Come, hearken now, Sir Bedivere, And I will give an answer to thy quest: King Arthur sleeps in Avalon, and many a change Must over-pass this land before he wake. The great White Dragon of the stormy North, Rearing his crest above the foaming waves, Shall shake the ground, and level all the hills,-- And war shall follow war,--and blood shall flow In every vale,--and smoke of burning towns Shall reach the sky,--and men shall cry for aid Unto the sea, to hide them from the foe-- And still shall Arthur sleep in Avalon. And when the Dragon, sated with the blood Of Christian men and women, yields at length To a mild victor, Tigers of the Sea Shall come, from craggy homes, to rend and tear, And brave men’s hearts shall quail before their eyes-- Yet still shall Arthur sleep in Avalon.