King Arthur Super Pack. William Wordsworth

they kept Sir Launcelot’s corpse aloft fifteen days, and then they buried it with great devotion. And then at leisure they went all with the Bishop of Canterbury to his hermitage, and there they were together more than a month. Then Sir Constantine, that was Sir Cador’s son of Cornwall, was chosen king of England. And he was a full noble knight, and worshipfully he ruled this realm. And then this King Constantine sent for the Bishop of Canterbury, for he heard say where he was. And so he was restored unto his Bishopric, and left that hermitage. And Sir Bedivere was there ever still hermit to his life’s end. Then Sir Bors de Ganis, Sir Ector de Maris, Sir Gahalantine, Sir Galihud, Sir Galihodin, Sir Blamore, Sir Bleoberis, Sir Villiars le Valiant, Sir Clarrus of Clermont, all these knights drew them to their countries. Howbeit King Constantine would have had them with him, but they would not abide in this realm. And there they all lived in their countries as holy men. And some English books make mention that they went never out of England after the death of Sir Launcelot, but that was but favour of makers. For the French book maketh mention, and is authorised, that Sir Bors, Sir Ector, Sir Blamore, and Sir Bleoberis, went into the Holy Land thereas Jesu Christ was quick and dead, and anon as they had stablished their lands. For the book saith, so Sir Launcelot commanded them for to do, or ever he passed out of this world. And these four knights did many battles upon the miscreants or Turks. And there they died upon a Good Friday for God’s sake.

      Here is the end of the book of King Arthur, and of his noble knights of the Round Table, that when they were whole together there was ever an hundred and forty. And here is the end of the death of Arthur. I pray you all, gentlemen and gentlewomen that readeth this book of Arthur and his knights, from the beginning to the ending, pray for me while I am alive, that God send me good deliverance, and when I am dead, I pray you all pray for my soul. For this book was ended the ninth year of the reign of King Edward the Fourth, by Sir Thomas Maleore, knight, as Jesu help him for his great might, as he is the servant of Jesu both day and night.

      Thus endeth this noble and joyous book entitled Le Morte Darthur. Notwithstanding it treateth of the birth, life, and acts of the said King Arthur, of his noble knights of the Round Table, their marvellous enquests and adventures, the achieving of the Sangreal, and in the end the dolorous death and departing out of this world of them all. Which book was reduced into English by Sir Thomas Malory, knight, as afore is said, and by me divided into twenty-one books, chaptered and emprinted, and finished in the abbey, Westminster, the last day of July the year of our Lord MCCCCLXXX{?}.

      Caxton me fieri fecit.

      Idylls of the King

      by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

      Dedication

      These to His Memory—since he held them dear,

      Perchance as finding there unconsciously

      Some image of himself—I dedicate,

      I dedicate, I consecrate with tears—

      These Idylls.

      And indeed He seems to me

      Scarce other than my king’s ideal knight,

      `Who reverenced his conscience as his king;

      Whose glory was, redressing human wrong;

      Who spake no slander, no, nor listened to it;

      Who loved one only and who clave to her—‘

      Her—over all whose realms to their last isle,

      Commingled with the gloom of imminent war,

      The shadow of His loss drew like eclipse,

      Darkening the world. We have lost him: he is gone:

      We know him now: all narrow jealousies

      Are silent; and we see him as he moved,

      How modest, kindly, all-accomplished, wise,

      With what sublime repression of himself,

      And in what limits, and how tenderly;

      Not swaying to this faction or to that;

      Not making his high place the lawless perch

      Of winged ambitions, nor a vantage-ground

      For pleasure; but through all this tract of years

      Wearing the white flower of a blameless life,

      Before a thousand peering littlenesses,

      In that fierce light which beats upon a throne,

      And blackens every blot: for where is he,

      Who dares foreshadow for an only son

      A lovelier life, a more unstained, than his?

      Or how should England dreaming of HIS sons

      Hope more for these than some inheritance

      Of such a life, a heart, a mind as thine,

      Thou noble Father of her Kings to be,

      Laborious for her people and her poor—

      Voice in the rich dawn of an ampler day—

      Far-sighted summoner of War and Waste

      To fruitful strifes and rivalries of peace—

      Sweet nature gilded by the gracious gleam

      Of letters, dear to Science, dear to Art,

      Dear to thy land and ours, a Prince indeed,

      Beyond all titles, and a household name,

      Hereafter, through all times, Albert the Good.

      Break not, O woman’s-heart, but still endure;

      Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure,

      Remembering all the beauty of that star

      Which shone so close beside Thee that ye made

      One light together, but has past and leaves

      The Crown a lonely splendour.

      May all love,

      His love, unseen but felt, o’ershadow Thee,

      The love of all Thy sons encompass Thee,

      The love of all Thy daughters cherish Thee,

      The love of all Thy people comfort Thee,

      Till God’s love set Thee at his side again!

      The Coming of Arthur

      Leodogran, the King of Cameliard,

      Had one fair daughter, and none other child;

      And she was the fairest of all flesh on earth,

      Guinevere, and in her his one delight.

      For many a petty king ere Arthur came

      Ruled in this isle, and ever waging war

      Each upon other, wasted all the land;

      And still from time to time the heathen host

      Swarmed overseas, and harried what was left.

      And so there grew great tracts of wilderness,

      Wherein the beast was ever more and more,

      But man was less and less, till Arthur came.

      For first Aurelius lived and fought and died,

      And after him King Uther fought and died,

      But either failed to make the kingdom one.

      And after these King Arthur for a space,

      And through the puissance of his Table Round,

      Drew all their petty princedoms under