{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/arthur/art173.htm","path":"neu/arthur/art173.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/arthur/art173.htm","text":"Sacred Texts\u00a0\n Legends/Sagas\u00a0\n England\u00a0\n Index\u00a0\n Previous\u00a0\n Next\u00a0\n \n \n An Arthurian Miscellany\n SIR GALAHAD\n by\n ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON\n \n My good blade carves the casques of men,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My tough lance thrusteth sure,\n My strength is as the strength of ten,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Because my heart is pure.\n The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The hard brands shiver on the steel,\n The splinter'd spear-shafts crack and fly,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The horse and rider reel:\n They reel, they roll in clanging lists,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And when the tide of combat stands,\n Perfume and flowers fall in showers,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That lightly rain from ladies' hands.\n \n How sweet are looks that ladies bend\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0On whom their favours fall!\n From them I battle till the end,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To save from shame and thrall:\n But all my heart is drawn above,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine:\n I never felt the kiss of love,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor maiden's hand in mine.\n More bounteous aspects on me beam,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Me mightier transports move and thrill;\n So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A virgin heart in work and will.\n \n When down the stormy crescent goes,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A light before me swims,\n Between dark stems the forest glows,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I hear a noise of hymns:\n Then by some secret shrine I ride;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I hear a voice but none are there;\n The stalls are void, the doors are wide,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The tapers burning fair.\n Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The silver vessels sparkle clean,\n The shrill bell rings, the censer swings,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And solemn chaunts resound between.\n \n Sometime on lonely mountain-meres\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I find a magic bark;\n I leap on board: no helmsman steers:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I float till all is dark.\n A gentle sound, an awful light!\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Three angels bear the holy Grail:\n With folded feet, in stoles of white,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0On sleeping wings they sail.\n Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My spirit beats her mortal bars,\n As down dark tides the glory slides,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And star-like mingles with the stars.\n \n When on my goodly charger borne\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thro' dreaming towns I go,\n The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The streets are dumb with snow.\n The tempest crackles on the leads,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And, ringing, springs from brand and mail;\n But o'er the dark a glory spreads,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And gilds the driving hail.\n I leave the plain, I climb the height;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0No branchy thicket shelter yields;\n But blessed forms in whistling storms\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields.\n \n A maiden knight--to me is given\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Such hope, I know not fear;\n I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That often meet me here.\n I muse on joy that will not cease,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Pure spaces clothed in living beams,\n Pure lilies of eternal peace,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Whose odours haunt my dreams;\n And, stricken by an angel's hand,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0This mortal armour that I wear,\n This weight and size, this heart and eyes,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air.\n \n The clouds are broken in the sky,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And thro' the mountain-walls\n A rolling organ-harmony\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Swells up, and shakes and falls.\n Then move the trees, the copses nod,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wings flutter, voices hover clear:\n \"O just and faithful knight of God!\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ride on! the prize is near.\"\n So pass I hostel, hall, and grange;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0By bridge and ford, by park and pale,\n All-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Until I find the holy Grail.\n \n \n \n Next: Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere, by Alfred Tennyson [1842]","title":"Arthurian Miscellany: Sir Galahad, by Alfred Tennyson [1834]","type":"page"}