With woven words of magic might Wherein the subtle shadow and light Changed hope and fear till fear took flight, He stayed King Lot's fierce lust of fight Till all the wild Welsh war was driven As foam before the wind that wakes With the all-awakening sun, and breaks Strong ships that rue the mirth it makes When grace to slay is given.
And ever hotter lit and higher, As fire that meets encountering fire, Waxed in King Lot his keen desire To bid revenge within him tire On Arthur's ravaged fame and life:
Across the waves of war between Floated and flashed, unseen and seen, The lustrous likeness of the queen Whom shame had sealed his wife.
But when the woful word was brought That while he tarried, doubting nought, The hope was lost whose goal he sought And all the fight he yearned for fought, His heart was rent for grief and shame, And half his hope was set on flight Till word was given him of a knight Who said: "They are weary and worn with fight, And we more fresh than flame."
And bright and dark as night and day Ere either find the unopening way Clear, and forego the unaltering sway, The sad king's face shone, frowning: "Yea, I would that every knight of mine Would do his part as I shall do,"
He said, "till death or life anew Shall judge between us as is due With wiser doom than thine."
Then thundered all the awakening field With crash of hosts that clashed and reeled, Banner to banner, shield to shield, And spear to splintering spear-shaft, steeled As heart against high heart of man, As hope against high hope of knight To pluck the crest and crown of fight From war's clenched hand by storm's wild light, For blessing given or ban.
All hearts of hearkening men that heard The ban twin-born with blessing, stirred Like springtide waters, knew the word Whereby the steeds of storm are spurred With ravenous rapture to destroy, And laughed for love of battle, pierced With passion of tempestuous thirst And hungering hope to assuage it first With draughts of stormy joy.
But sheer ahead of the iron tide That rocked and roared from side to side Rode as the lightning's lord might ride King Lot, whose heart was set to abide All peril of the raging hour, And all his host of warriors born Where lands by warring seas are worn Was only by his hands upborne Who gave them pride and power.
But as the sea's hand smites the shore And shatters all the strengths that bore The ravage earth may bear no more, So smote the hand of Pellinore Charging, a knight of Arthur's chief, And clove his strong steed's neck in twain, And smote him sheer through brow and brain, Falling: and there King Lot lay slain, And knew not wrath or grief.
And all the host of Orkney fled, And many a mother's son lay dead:
But when they raised the stricken head Whence pride and power and shame were fled And rage and anguish now cast out, And bore it toward a kingly tomb, The wife whose love had wrought his doom Came thither, fair as morning's bloom And dark as twilight's doubt.
And there her four strong sons and his, Gawain and Gareth, Gaherys And Agravain, whose sword's sharp kiss With sound of hell's own serpent's hiss Should one day turn her life to death, Stood mourning with her: but by these Seeing Mordred as a seer that sees, Anguish of terror bent her knees And caught her shuddering breath.
The splendour of her sovereign eyes Flashed darkness deeper than the skies Feel or fear when the sunset dies On his that felt as midnight rise Their doom upon them, there undone By faith in fear ere thought could yield A shadowy sense of days revealed, The ravin of the final field, The terror of their son.
For Arthur's, as they caught the light That sought and durst not seek his sight, Darkened, and all his spirit's might Withered within him even as night Withers when sunrise thrills the sea.
But Mordred's lightened as with fire That smote his mother and his sire With darkling doom and deep desire That bade its darkness be.
And heavier on their hearts the weight Sank of the fear that brings forth fate, The bitter doubt whose womb is great With all the grief and love and hate That turn to fire men's days on earth.
And glorious was the funeral made, And dark the deepening dread that swayed Their darkening souls whose light grew shade With sense of death in birth.
