Anonymous - Six Ballads About King Arthur - The d**h of King Arthur lyrics

THE DEATH OF KING ARTHUR. False Mordred spake to Guinever, 'Arthur, thy lord, is dead, And has appointed me to reign O'er England in his stead. 'We will be crowned right royally. To Canterbury haste; We there high festival will make For fifteen days at least, 'And thou shalt be my wedded wife.' She shrank in mute dismay, Knowing King Arthur had embarked His troops from Cardiff Bay: Full threescore thousand gallant men, With his tried friend Gawaine, To 'venge an insult, they had gone To Benwick over main. And now, poor Guinever, take heart; Brush back they bitter tears; Trust in thy subtle woman's wit Born of thy woman's fears. She answered him in gentle guise, 'I may not say thee nay, But grant me that I journey first To London town, I pray, To buy some guards and trinkets fine To grace my bridal day.' False Mordred granted her request, In that she spake so fair; Then quick she hied to London town, And bade her men repair Unto the Tower, the which she filled With food, and arms, and men, Nor aught that Mordred said or did Could lure her forth again. He sued her with false honeyed words, They did not once prevail; He stormed the Tower with mighty guns, It was of no avail. Within her fortress Guinever Sent scornful answers true: 'Thou art a traitor to thy king, Which thou full soon shalt rue. 'Ere I come forth to thee, false knight, E'en though my lord be dead, I liever by this sword will die Than ever I thee wed.' When Mordred heard that Arthur's host Was coming over sea, In eager haste to be avenged For this foul treachery, He writ to all the barons round To come from far and near, And studied words of treason dark He whispered in their ear: How that with Arthur evermore Was naught but war and strife, While he, Sir Mordred, gave them peace, And joy, and bliss of life. Then many that King Arthur had Raised up from low estate, And granted lands, now slanderous words And evil 'gainst him spake. Now, all ye Englishmen, behold What mischief happened here: This King, who was the noblest king, And knight withouten peer, Who loved the fellowship of none But good and brave, who spent His life redressing crime and wrong, Was held in discontent. This old, old custom of the land Is not forgot, they say, That Englishmen are ne'er content, Not even at this day. This is their great default -- no thing Pleaseth this people long. Thus happed it that false Mordred's force Waxed numerous and strong. They met at Dover. Arthur's fleet Came sailing o'er the sea, Bearing its freight of human worth, A goodly company. Then was there launching of great boats And small, in eager haste To lift King Arthur from the realm Whereto God had him placed. They rushed ashore -- ah, woe is me For many a noble slain, For barons bold, and gentle knights, Among them Sir Gawaine. When Arthur saw his sister's son Fall with a deadly blow, He took him gently in his arms, And kissed his pallid brow. 'Gawaine,' he cried, 'my only joy! I pray thee, do not die, And leave me, in this cold bleak world, To utter misery. 'For now I will confess to thee That I have loved thee so, I cannot bear, withouten thee, This life of grief and woe.' The dying man thrice oped his eyes, And gasped amid his pain Some words of comfort to the King, Then never spake again. King Arthur mourned with bitter grief The friend he loved so well, At Dover Castle buried him Within a small chapelle, Where even to this day his skull Is shown, as travellers tell. Meanwhile the battle hurtled on Far as to Barham plain; King Arthur's troops victorious Drave Mordred back again. But then there happed a wondrous thing, For in the dead of night A vision to King Arthur came, Warning him not to fight. Gawaine, surrounded by a troop Of ladies fair and bright, Whom he had rescued from foul wrong, Or aided in the right, Thus spake: 'God sends us here to you His purpose to maintain; For if you fight to-morrow morn, You surely will be slain. 'Wait only till Sir Lancelot With aid shall reappear.' Thus having said, he vanishèd As into empty air. In council it was then decreed That when the morrow came, When both the armies were afield, A herald should proclaim A truce, with gold and lands in pledge, If Mordred would accede. The morning broke, the herald cried, Each party was agreed. But each, mistrustful of his foe, Gave orders to his men To stand prepared for deadly fight, Should aught occur again To mar the truce. Just then from out Some heather on the right An adder glided forth, and stung Upon his foot a knight, Who thought no harm, but drew his sword To strike the reptile dead, Whereat both armies yelled aloud As by one impulse led. At sound of trumpets, beams, and horns, They hasted on to fight, And never in this Christian land Was seen more doleful sight. Oh! there was rushing, riding fast, And many a grim word spoke, Foining and striking everywhere, And many a deadly stroke. They stinted not, but madly fought Through all that livelong day; At night a hundred thousand dead Stark on the common lay. When Arthur gazed across the down, And saw his valiant host All slain, save two poor wounded knights, He knew that all was lost. 'Jesu have mercy!' cried the King; 'Would that I too had been Like these, my comrades, stricken dead, Ere I this day had seen! 'Now would to God I wist me where That traitor foul may be, Who brought such mischief to the realm And misery to me!' Thereat he suddenly turned round, And spied, across the plain, False Mordred leaning on his sword Among a heap of slain. Then cried he to a wounded knight Yclept Sir Bedevere, 'Yonder I spy the traitor false. Give me my trusty spear; 'For tide me life, or tide me d**h, I see him there alone He shall not 'scape my vengeance now As he before hath done.' With both his hands he seized the spear, Crying, 'Thy hour is come -- Die, traitor, die!' rushed headlong on, And drave the weapon home. But with his sword the dying man Smote Arthur on the head, Piercing his helmet to the brain, Then fell down stark and dead. When noble Arthur fell to earth Thrice in a deadly swoon, Sir Lucan and Sir Bedevere Thrice raised him up, and soon They led him on betwixt them both Softly and tenderly, Until they reached a chapel small Close by the moaning sea. And while they sat and hearkened there, All in the broad moonlight, They saw the pillers on the down Rob many a noble knight Of brooch, and beads, and j**els rare, Of many a goodly ring, Which much distressed Sir Bedevere, Who begged the dying King To haste to some securer spot, Where they could hide away. Arthur replied, 'My time flees fast, I have not long to stay. 'Now hie thee to yon waterside, And throw my trusty sword, My own Excalibur, therein, And quickly bring me word 'What there thou see'st.' 'It shall be done,' Replied the willing knight. But when he saw that noble sword, With precious stones bedight On haft and pommel, to himself He reasoned in this wise: 'If I destroy this richest sword, But harm and loss arise, 'For an I throw it in the stream, No good to him or me.' Whereon he hid Excalibur Under the nearest tree. When he gat back unto the King, 'What saw'st thou there?' quoth he. 'Naught but the waves and winds,' he said, 'Moaning most dolefully.' Then said King Arthur, 'Truth is good, To lie is deadly sin; As thou art lief and dear to me, Go back and throw it in.' Sir Bedevere returned again, But thought it sin and shame To cast away the noble sword, So acted just the same. He hid the sword amid the gra**, Then, on his bended knee, Told Arthur his command was done. 'Say then what didst thou see?' 'Sire,' said he, 'I saw nothing there But the great waters wap, And the waves wan; while I remained, Naught else to me did hap.' 'Ah, traitor!' said King Arthur, 'all Thou sayest is untrue; Thou hast betrayed me twice, and now Thou would'st me quite undo. 'Who would have wend that thou, who wast So lief and dear to me, And called a noble knight, for gain Should now deceitful be? Go quickly hence. The cold strikes keen; I have short time to stay; An if thou disobey me now, I surely will thee slay.' Thereat Sir Bevedere rushed forth; Seizing the weapon fast, He bound the girdle round the hilt, And threw it in at last. When lo! an arm and hand appeared Above the watery grave, Caught at the sword, thrice brandished it, Then vanished in the wave. When Arthur heard what had befell, He spake, 'Sir Bedevere, Alas! Now help me hence; I dread Too long I tarry here.' He took the King upon his back, Close to the waterside, Where hovèd in, fast by the bank, A little barge he spied; Wherein there sate a stately queen, And many ladies fair, Who shrieked and wept for grief when they Beheld King Arthur there. 'Now put me in the barge,' he said, Which softly was obeyed; Three queens in sable hood therein Gently King Arthur laid. Upon the lap of one of these His weary head he laid. 'Why have ye tarried, brother dear, So long from me?' she said. 'Alas! the cold has stricken deep Into this wound, I fear;' And then they rowed far far away From sad Sir Bedevere. Their wailing floated on the wind, Most pitiful to hear. Soon as the barge was lost to sight, Forlorn Sir Bedevere Wept and bemoaned the livelong night, Wandering about, in fear Of armed foes and robbers vile, Through devious forest ways. When morning brake, a hermitage Met his bewildered gaze. Close by a little chapel stood, Where holy men might pray; Within, low grovelling on the ground, A saintly hermit lay Beside a new-made grave. The knight Inquired in accents low, 'What man is recent buried there Down in the grave below?' 'Fair Sir,' the hermit then replied, 'I wot not who he be; A band of lovely ladies brought Him here last night to me. 'A hundred tapers, too, they brought, A hundred besants gave, To lay in earth his lovely form, His precious soul to save.' 'Alas! that was my honoured lord,' Replied Sir Bedevere, 'King Arthur, prince of chivalry, Who now lies buried here.' Whereat he fell into a swoon. When he revived again, He begged the hermit piteously To let him there remain. 'In life or d**h I would be near, Not evermore remove, By fasting and by prayer to show My loyalty and love.' And then he doffed his knightly gear, Putting on mean array, And both together wept and prayed Their weary lives away. Queen Guinever became a nun In cloistered Almesbury, Spending her days in deeds of love And acts of charity.