Practice Book - Leland Powers
EDWARD ROWLAND SILL.
* * * * *
THE COMING OF ARTHUR.
[_Abridged_.]
LEODOGRAN, the King of Cameliard,
Had one fair daughter, and none other child;
And she was 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
Swarm'd over seas, 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. . . .
* * * * *
And thus the land of Cameliard was waste,
Thick with wet woods, and many a beast therein,
And none or few to scare or chase the beast;
So that wild dog and wolf and boar and bear
Came night and day, and rooted in the fields,
And wallow'd in the gardens of the King.
* * * * *
. . . . . And King Leodogran
Groan'd for the Roman legions here again
And Caesar's eagle. . . . .
* * * * *
He knew not whither he should turn for aid.
But--for he heard of Arthur newly crown'd,
. . . . . . . . . --the King
Sent to him, saying, 'Arise and help us thou!
For here between the man and beast we die.'
And Arthur yet had done no deed of arms,
But heard the call and came; and Guinevere
Stood by the castle walls to watch him pass;
But since he neither wore on helm or shield
The golden symbol of his kinglihood,
But rode, a simple knight among his knights,
And many of these in richer arms than he,
She saw him not, or marked not, if she saw,
One among many, tho' his face was bare.
But Arthur, looking downward as he past,
Felt the light of her eyes into his life
Smite on the sudden, yet rode on, and pitch'd
His tents beside the forest. Then he drave
The heathen; after, slew the beast, and fell'd
The forest, letting in the sun, and made
Broad pathways for the hunter and the knight
And so returned.
For while he linger'd there,
A doubt that ever smoulder'd in the hearts
Of those great lords and barons of his realm
Flashed forth and into war; for most of these,
Colleaguing with a score of petty kings,
Made head against him crying: "Who is he
That should rule us? Who hath proven him
King Uther's son?"
And, Arthur, passing thence to battle, felt
Travail, and throes and agonies of the life,
Desiring to be join'd with Guinevere,
And thinking as he rode: "Her father said
That there between the man and beast they die.
Shall I not lift her from this land of beasts
Up to my throne and side by side with me?
What happiness to reign a lonely king?
* * * * *
. . . . But were I join'd with her,
Then might we live together as one life,
And reigning with one will in everything
Have power on this dark land to lighten it,
And power on this dead world to make it live."
* * * * *
When Arthur reached a field of battle bright
With pitch'd pavilions of his foe, the world
Was all so clear about him that he saw
The smallest rock far on the faintest hill,
And even in high day the morning star.
* * * * *
. . . . But the Powers who walk the world,
Made lightnings and great thunders over him,
And dazed all eyes, till Arthur by main might,
And mightier of his hands with every blow,
And leading all his knighthood, threw the kings.
* * * * *
So like a painted battle the war stood
Silenced, the living quiet as the dead,
And in the heart of Arthur joy was lord.
* * * * *
Then quickly from the foughten field he sent
. . . . . . . . . Sir Bedivere
. . . . . . . . . to King Leodogran,
Saying, "If I in aught have served thee well,
Give me thy daughter Guinevere to wife."
Whom when he heard, Leodogran in heart
Debating--"How should I that am a king,
However much he holp me at my need,
Give my one daughter saving to a king,
And a king's son"?--lifted his voice, and call'd
A hoary man, his chamberlain, to whom
He trusted all things, and of him required
His counsel: "Knowest thou aught of Arthur's birth?"
* * * * *
Then while the King debated with himself,
* * * * *
. . . . . there came to Cameliard,
* * * * *
Lot's wife, the Queen of Orkney, Bellicent;
Whom . . . . . . . . the King
Made feast for, as they sat at meat:
* * * * *
'Ye come from Arthur's court. Victor his men
Report him! Yea, but ye--think ye this king--
So many those that hate him, and so strong,
So few his knights, however brave they be--
Hath body enow to hold his foeman down?'
'O King,' she cried, 'and I will tell thee: few,
Few, but all brave, all of one mind with him;
For I was near him when the savage yells
Of Uther's peerage died, and Arthur sat
Crowned on the dais, and all his warriors cried,
"Be thou the King, and we will work thy will
Who love thee," Then the King in low deep tones,
And simple words of great authority,
Bound them by so straight vows to his own self
That when they rose, knighted from kneeling, some
Were pale as at the passing of a ghost,
Some flush'd, and others dazed, as one who wakes
Half blinded at the coming of a light.
'But when he spake, and cheer'd his Table Round
With large, divine, and comfortable words,
Beyond my tongue to tell thee--I beheld
From eye to eye thro' all their Order flash
A momentary likeness of the King;
* * * * *
'And there I saw mage Merlin, whose vast wit
And hundred winters are but as the hands
Of loyal vassals toiling for their liege.
'And near him stood the Lady of the Lake,
Who knew a subtler magic than his own--
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful.
She gave the King his huge cross-hilted sword,
Whereby to drive the heathen out: a mist
Of incense curl'd about her, and her face
Wellnigh was hidden in the minster gloom;
But there was heard among the holy hymns
A voice as of the waters, for she dwells
Down in a deep--calm, whatsoever storms
May shake the world--and when the surface rolls,
Hath power to walk the waters like our Lord.'
Thereat Leodogran rejoiced, but thought
To sift his doubtings to the last, and ask'd,
Fixing full eyes of question on her face,
'The swallow and the swift are near akin,
But thou art closer to this noble prince,
Being his own dear sister;'
* * * * *
. . . . . . . . 'What know I?
For dark my mother was in eyes and hair,
And dark in hair and eyes am I; . .
. . . . yea and dark was Uther too,
Wellnigh to blackness; but this king is fair
Beyond the race of Britons and of men.
'But let me tell thee now another tale:
* * * * *
. . . . . . . . on the night
When Uther in Tintagil past away
Moaning and wailing for an heir, Merlin
Left the still King, and passing forth to breathe,
* * * * *
Beheld, so high upon the dreary deeps
It seem'd in heaven, a ship, the shape thereof
A dragon wing'd and all from stem to stern
Bright with a shining people on the decks,
And gone as soon as seen. . . . . . He
. . . . . .watch'd the great sea fall,
Wave after wave, each mightier than the last,
Till last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep
And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged
Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame:
And down the wave and in the flame was borne
A naked babe, and rode to Merlin's feet,
Who stoopt and caught the babe, and cried, "The King!"
* * * * *
And presently thereafter follow'd calm,
Free sky and stars: "And this same child," he said,
"Is he who reigns." . . . .
* * * * *
. . . . . . And ever since the Lords
Have foughten like wild beasts among themselves,
So that the realm has gone to wrack; but now,
This year, when Merlin--for his hour had come--
Brought Arthur forth, and sat him in the hall,
Proclaiming, "Here is Uther's heir, your King,"
A hundred voices cried: "Away with him!
No king of ours!" . . . . .
* * * * *
. . . . Yet Merlin thro' his craft,
And while the people clamor'd for a king,
Had Arthur crown'd; but after, the great lords
Banded, and so brake out in open war.
* * * * *
. . . . and Merlin in our time
Hath spoken also, . . . . .
Tho' men may wound him that he will not die,
But pass, again to come, and then or now
Utterly smite the heathen under foot,
Till these and all men hail him for their king.'
. . . . . King Leodogran rejoiced,
But musing 'Shall I answer yea or nay?'
Doubted, and drowsed, nodded and slept, and saw,
Dreaming a slope of land that ever grew,
Field after field, up to a height, the peak
Haze-hidden, and thereon a phantom king,
Now looming, and now lost; and on the slope
The sword rose, the hind fell, the herd was driven,
Fire glimpsed; and all the land from roof and rick,
In drifts of smoke before a rolling wind,
Stream'd to the peak, and mingled with the haze
And made it thicker; while the phantom king
Sent out at times a voice; and here or there
Stood one who pointed toward the voice, the rest
Slew on and burnt, crying, 'No king of ours,
No son of Uther, and no king of ours;'
Till with a wink his dream was changed, the haze
Descended, and the solid earth became
As nothing, but the king stood out in heaven,
Crown'd. And Leodogran awoke, and sent
* * * * *
Back to the court of Arthur answering yea.
Then Arthur charged his warrior whom he loved
And honor'd most, Sir Lancelot, to ride forth
And bring the Queen, and watched him from the gates:
And Lancelot past away among the flowers--
For then was latter April--and return'd--
Among the flowers, in May, with Guinevere.
To whom arrived, by Dubric the high saint,
Chief of the church in Britain, and before
The stateliest of her altar-shrines, the King
That morn was married, while in stainless white,
The fair beginners of a noble time,
And glorying in their vows and him, his knights
Stood around him, and rejoicing in his joy.
Far shone the fields of May thro' open door,
The sacred altar blossom'd white with May,
The sun of May descended on their King,
They gazed on all earth's beauty in their Queen,
Roll'd incense, and there past along the hymns
A voice as of the waters, while the two
Sware at the shrine of Christ a deathless love.
And Arthur said, 'Behold, thy doom is mine.
Let chance what will, I love thee to the death!'
To whom the Queen replied with drooping eyes,
'King and my Lord, I love thee to the death!'
And holy Dubric spread his hands and spake:
'Reign ye, and live and love, and make the world
Other, and may the Queen be one with thee,
And all this Order of thy Table Round
Fulfil the boundless purpose of their King!'
* * * * *
And Arthur's knighthood sang before the King:--
'_Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May!!
Blow trumpet, the long night hath roll'd away!
Blow thro' the living world--"Let the King reign_!"
'_Shall Rome or Heathen rule in Arthur's realm?
Flash brand and lance, fall battle-axe on helm,
Fall battle-axe, and flash brand! Let the King reign_!
'_Strike for the King and live! his knights have heard
That God hath told the King a secret word.
Fall battle-axe and flash brand! Let the King reign_!
* * * * *
'_Strike for the King and die! and if thou diest,
The king is king, and ever wills the highest.
Clang battle-axe, and clash brand! Let the King reign_!
* * * * *
'_The King will follow Christ, and we the King,
In whom high God hath breathed a secret thing.
Fall battle-axe, and clash brand! "Let the King reign_!"
And Arthur and his knighthood for a space
Were all one will, and thro' that strength the King
Drew in the petty princedoms under him,
Fought, and in twelve great battles overcame
The heathen hordes, and made a realm and reign'd.
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.
* * * * *
ELAINE.
Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable,
Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat,
High in her chamber up a tower to the east
Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;
Which first she placed where morning's earliest ray
Might strike it, and awaken her with the gleam;
Then fearing rust or soilure, fashion'd for it
A case of silk, and braided thereupon
All the devices blazon'd on the shield
In their own tinct, and added, of her wit,
A border fantasy of branch and flower,
And yellow-throated nestling in the nest.
Nor rested thus content, but day by day
Leaving her household and good father, climb'd
That eastern tower, and entering barr'd the door,
Stript off the case, and read the naked shield,
Now guess'd a hidden meaning in his arms,
Now made a pretty history to herself
Of every dint a sword had beaten in it,
And every scratch a lance had made upon it,
Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh;
That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle;
That at Cearleon; this at Camelot;
And ah, God's mercy what a stroke was there!
And here a thrust that might have kill'd, but God
Broke the Strong lance and roll'd his enemy down,
And saved him; so she lived in fantasy.
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
* * * * *
THE LADY OF SHALOTT.
PART I.
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The Island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes, dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow-veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly,
From the river winding clearly,
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."
PART II.
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colors gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving thro' a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market-girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two;
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights,
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed:
"I am half sick of shadows" said
The Lady of Shalott.
PART III.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the Golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot;
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung,
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather.
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burned like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot;
As often through the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra" by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She looked down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror cracked from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.
PART IV.
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods are waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance--
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right--
The leaves upon her falling light--
Thro' the noises of the night
She floated down to Camelot;
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Til' her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken'd wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reached upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died.
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name
_The Lady of Shalott_.
Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.
* * * * *
IF WE HAD THE TIME.
If I had the time to find a place
And sit me down full face to face
With my better self, that cannot show
In my daily life that rushes so:
It might be then I would see my soul
Was stumbling still towards the shining goal,
I might be nerved by the thought sublime,--
If I had the time!
If I had the time to let my heart
Speak out and take in my life a part,
To look about and to stretch a hand
To a comrade quartered in no-luck land;
Ah, God! If I might but just sit still
And hear the note of the whip-poor-will,
I think that my wish with God's would rhyme--
If I had the time!
If I had the time to learn from you
How much for comfort my word could do;
And I told you then of my sudden will
To kiss your feet when I did you ill;
If the tears aback of the coldness feigned
Could flow, and the wrong be quite explained,--
Brothers, the souls of us all would chime,
If we had the time!
RICHARD BURTON.
* * * * *
A SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV.
"FALSTAFF'S RECRUITS."
_Introduction_.--Sir John Falstaff has received a commission from the
King to raise a company of soldiers to fight in the King's battles. After
drafting a number of well-to-do farmers, whom he knows will pay him snug
sums of money rather than to serve under him, he pockets their money and
proceeds to fill his company from the riff-raff of the country through
which he passes.
The scene is a village green before Justice Shallow's house. The Justice
has received word from Sir John that he is about to visit him, and desires
him to call together a number of the villagers from which recruits may be
selected.
These villagers are now grouped upon the green, with Justice Shallow
standing near.
Bardolph, Sir John Falstaff's corporal, enters and addresses Justice
Shallow.
_Bardolph_.--Good morrow, honest gentlemen. I beseech you, which is
Justice Shallow?
_Shallow_.--I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire of this county,
and one of the King's justices of the peace. What is your good pleasure
with me?
_Bardolph_.--My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, Sir
John Falstaff, a tall gentlemen, by heaven, and a most gallant leader.
_Shallow_.--He greets me well, sir. I knew him a good backsword man.
How doth the good Knight now? Look! here comes good Sir John. _(Enter
Falstaff_.) Give me your good hand, give me your worship's good hand.
By my troth you look well and bear your years very well; welcome, good Sir
John.
_Falstaff_.--I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert Shallow.
Fie, this is hot weather, gentlemen. Have you provided me with half a
dozen sufficient men?
_Shallow_.--Marry have we, sir.
_Falstaff_.--Let me see them, I beseech you.
_Shallow_.--Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Let
me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so, so, so, so; yea, marry
sir.--Ralph Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them do so, let them do
so. Let me see; where is Mouldy?
_Mouldy_.--Here, an't please you.
_Shallow_.--What think you, Sir John? A good limbed fellow: young,
strong, and of good friends.
_Falstaff_.--Is thy name Mouldy?
_Mouldy_.--Yea, an't please you.
_Falstaff_.--'Tis the more time thou wert used.
_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that are
mouldy lack use; very singular good! Well said, Sir John, very well said.
Shall I prick him, Sir John?
_Falstaff_.--Yes, prick him.
_Mouldy_.--I was pricked well enough before, an' you could have let
me alone; my old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry and
her drudgery; you need not to have pricked me; there are other men fitter
to go out than I.
_Shallow_.--Peace, fellow, peace! Stand aside; know you where you
are? For the next, Sir John; let me see.--Simon Shadow?
_Falstaff_.--Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He's like to
be a cold soldier.
_Shallow_.--Where's Shadow?
_Shadow_.--Here, sir.
_Falstaff_.--Shadow, whose son art thou?
_Shadow_.--My mother's son, sir.
_Falstaff_.--Thy mother's son! Like enough, and thy father's shadow.
Prick him. Shadow will serve for summer.
_Shallow_.--Thomas Wart!
_Falstaff_.--Where's he?
_Wart_.--Here, sir!
_Falstaff_.--Is thy name Wart?
_Wart_.--Yea, sir.
_Falstaff_.--Thou art a very ragged wart.
_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! Shall I prick him down, Sir John?
_Falstaff_.--It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon his
back and the whole frame stands upon pins; prick him no more.
_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you can do it; I commend
you well.--Francis Feeble.
_Feeble_.--Here, sir.
_Falstaff_.--What trade art thou, Feeble?
_Feeble_.--I'm a woman's tailor, sir.
_Falstaff_.--Well, good woman's tailor, wilt thou make as many holes
in an enemy's battle as thou hast done in a woman's petticoat?
_Feeble_.--I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more.
_Falstaff_.--Well said, good woman's tailor! Well said, courageous
Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove, or most magnanimous
mouse. Prick me the woman's tailor well, Master Shallow; deep, Master
Shallow.
_Feeble_.--I would Wart might have gone, too, sir.
_Falstaff_.--I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst mend
him and make him fit to go. Let that suffice, most forcible Feeble.
_Feeble_.--It shall suffice, sir.
_Falstaff_.--I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next?
_Shallow_.--Peter Bullcalf, o' the green.
_Falstaff_.--Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf.
_Bullcalf_.--Here, sir.
_Falstaff_.--Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till
he roar again.
_Bullcalf_.--O Lord! Good my lord captain,--
_Falstaff_.--What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked?
_Bullcalf_.--O Lord, sir! I'm a diseased man.