The Prophecy of Merlin and Other Poems

Sir Bedivere, in silence, watched the barge

That bore away King Arthur to the vale

Of Avalon, till it was seen no more.

Then, on the beach, alone amid the dead,

He lifted up his voice and sorely wept.

“Alas!” he cried, “gone are the pleasant days

At Camelot, and the sweet fellowship

Of noble knights and true, and beauteous dames

Who have no peers in all the living world,

Is quite dissolved for ever, and the King

Has gone and left none like him among men.

O happy, thrice and fourfold, ye who rest,

Both friends and foemen, in one peaceful bed,

While I am sick at soul and cannot die!

Oh! that the battle might be fought again!

Then would I surely seek the way to death,

And bleed and sleep like you, and be at peace.

But now, ah! whither, whither can I go,

Since he is gone who was my light of life,

And whom to see was bliss? What can I do

Without the voice that gave my arm its strength?

Or wherefore bear a sword, since now no more

Excalibur points forth to noble deeds?”