A gentle sound, an awful light!

Three angels bear the Holy Grail:
With folded feet, in stoles of white,
On sleeping wings they sail.
Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!

My spirit beats her mortal bars,
As down dark tides the glory slides,

And star-like mingles with the stars.

When on my goodly charger borne
Through dreaming towns I go,
The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,
The streets are dumb with snow.

The tempest crackles on the leads,

And, ringing, springs from brand and mail;
But o'er the dark a glory spreads,
And gilds the driving hail.

I leave the plain, I climb the height;
No branchy thicket shelter yields;
But blessed forms in whistling storms
Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields.

A maiden knight--to me is given
Such hope, I know not fear;
I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven
That often meet me here.

I muse on joy that will not cease,
Pure spaces clothed in living beams,
Pure lilies of eternal peace,

Whose odors haunt my dreams;
And, stricken by an angel's hand,

This mortal armor that I wear,

This weight and size, this heart and eyes,
Are touched, are turned to finest air.

The clouds are broken in the sky,
And through the mountain-walls

A rolling organ-harmony

Swells up, and shakes and falls.

Lady Clare

Then move the trees, the copses nod,
Wings flutter, voices hover clear:
"O just and faithful knight of God!
Ride on! the prize is near."
So pass I hostel, hall, and grange;

By bridge and ford, by park and pale,
All-armed I ride, whate'er betide,

Until I find the Holy Grail.

2637

Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892]

LADY CLARE

It was the time when lilies blow,
And clouds are highest up in air,
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.

I trow they did not part in scorn:
Lovers long-betrothed were they:
They two will wed the morrow morn,-
God's blessing on the day!

"He does not love me for my birth,
Nor for my lands so broad and fair;
He loves me for my own true worth,
And that is well," said Lady Clare.

In there came old Alice the nurse,

Said, "Who was this that went from thee?" "It was my cousin," said Lady Clare, "To-morrow he weds with me."

"O God be thanked!" said Alice the nurse,
"That all comes round so just and fair:
Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,
And you are not the Lady Clare."

"Are

ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse," Said Lady Clare, "that ye speak so wild?" "As God's above," said Alice the nurse, "I speak the truth: you are my

child.

"The old earl's daughter died at my breast;

I speak the truth, as I live by bread! I buried her like my own sweet child, And put my child in her stead.”

"Falsely, falsely have ye done,

O mother," she said, "if this be true, To keep the best man under the sun

So many years from his due."

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse,
"But keep the secret for your life,
And all you have will be Lord Ronald's,
When you are man and wife.”

"If I'm a beggar born," she said,

"I will speak out, for I dare not lie. Pull off, pull off, the brooch of gold, And fling the diamond necklace by."

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, "But keep the secret all you can."

She said, "Not so: but I will know

If there be any faith in man."

"Nay now, what faith?” said Alice the nurse, "The man will cleave unto his right.” "And he shall have it," the lady replied, "Though I should die to-night."

"Yet give one kiss to your mother dear
Alas, my child, I sinned for thee."
"O mother, mother, mother," she said,

So strange it seems to me.

"Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear,
My mother dear, if this be so,
And lay your hand upon my head,
And bless me, mother, ere I go."

Lady Clare

She clad herself in a russet gown,
She was no longer Lady Clare:

She went by dale, and she went by down,
With a single rose in her hair.

The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought
Leaped up from where she lay,

Dropped her head in the maiden's hand,
And followed her all the way.

Down stepped Lord Ronald from his tower:
"O Lady Clare, you shame your worth!
Why come you dressed like a village maid,
That are the flower of the earth?"

"If I come dressed like a village maid,
I am but as my fortunes are:
I am a beggar born," she said,
"And not the Lady Clare."

"Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald,
"For I am yours in word and in deed.
Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald,
"Your riddle is hard to read."

O, and proudly stood she up!

Her heart within her did not fail; She looked into Lord Ronald's eyes, And told him all her nurse's tale.

He laughed a laugh of merry scorn:

He turned and kissed her where she stood:

"If you are not the heiress born,

And I," said he, "the next in blood

"If you are not the heiress born,
And I," said he, "the lawful heir,
We two will wed to-morrow morn,
And you shall still be Lady Clare.”

2639

Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]

GLENKINDIE

ABOUT Glenkindie and his man,

A false ballant hath long been writ;

Some bootless loon had written it, Upon a bootless plan:

But I have found the true at last,

And here it is, so hold it fast!

'Twas made by a kind damosel

Who loved him and his man right well:

Glenkindie, best of harpers, came

Unbidden to our town;

And he was sad, and sad to see,
For love had worn him down.

The love that brought him down,

The hopeless love for the King's daughter,

The dove that heired a crown.

Now he wore not that collar of gold,

His dress was forest green,

His wondrous fair and rich mantle

Had lost its silvery sheen.

But still by his side walked Rafe, his boy,

In goodly cramoisie:

Of all the boys that ever I saw,
The goodliest boy was he.

O Rafe the page! O Rafe the page!
Ye stole the heart frae me:

O Rafe the page! O Rafe the page!
I wonder where ye be;

We ne'er may see Glenkindie more,
But may we never see thee?

Glenkindie came within the hall,

We set him on the dais,

And gave him bread, and gave him wine,
The best in all the place.