Читать книгу The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2 - George MacDonald - Страница 13

Through the wood the sunny day

  Glimmered sweetly glad;

Through the wood his weary way

  Rode sir Galahad.

All about stood open porch,

  Long-drawn cloister dim;

'Twas a wavering wandering church

  Every side of him.

On through columns arching high,

  Foliage-vaulted, he

Rode in thirst that made him sigh,

  Longing miserably.

Came the moon, and through the trees

  Glimmered faintly sad;

Withered, worn, and ill at ease

  Down lay Galahad;

Closed his eyes and took no heed

  What might come or pass;

Heard his hunger-busy steed

  Cropping dewy grass.

Cool and juicy was the blade,

  Good to him as wine:

For his labour he was paid,

  Galahad must pine!

Late had he at Arthur's board,

  Arthur strong and wise,

Pledged the cup with friendly lord,

  Looked in ladies' eyes;

Now, alas! he wandered wide,

  Resting never more,

Over lake and mountain-side,

  Over sea and shore!

Swift in vision rose and fled

  All he might have had;

Weary tossed his restless head,

  And his heart grew sad.

With the lowliest in the land

  He a maiden fair

Might have led with virgin hand

  From the altar-stair:

Youth away with strength would glide,

  Age bring frost and woe;

Through the world so dreary wide

  Mateless he must go!

Lost was life and all its good,

  Gone without avail!

All his labour never would

  Find the Holy Grail!

Galahad was in the night,

  And the wood was drear;

But to men in darksome plight

  Radiant things appear:

Wings he heard not floating by,

  Heard no heavenly hail;

But he started with a cry,

  For he saw the Grail.

Hid from bright beholding sun,

  Hid from moonlight wan,

Lo, from age-long darkness won,

  It was seen of man!

Three feet off, on cushioned moss,

  As if cast away,

Homely wood with carven cross,

  Rough and rude it lay!

To his knees the knight rose up,

  Loosed his gauntlet-band;

Fearing, daring, toward the cup

  Went his naked hand;

When, as if it fled from harm,

  Sank the holy thing,

And his eager following arm

  Plunged into a spring.

Oh the thirst, the water sweet!

  Down he lay and quaffed,

Quaffed and rose up on his feet,

  Rose and gayly laughed;

Fell upon his knees to thank,

  Loved and lauded there;

Stretched him on the mossy bank,

  Fell asleep in prayer;

Dreamed, and dreaming murmured low

  Ave, pater, creed;

When the fir-tops gan to glow

  Waked and called his steed;

Bitted him and drew his girth,

  Watered from his helm:

Happier knight or better worth

  Was not in the realm!

Belted on him then his sword,

  Braced his slackened mail;

Doubting said: "I dreamed the Lord

  Offered me the Grail."

Ere the sun had cast his light

  On the water's face,

Firm in saddle rode the knight

  From the holy place,

Merry songs began to sing,

  Let his matins bide;

Rode a good hour pondering,

  And was turned aside,

Saying, "I will henceforth then

  Yield this hopeless quest;

Tis a dream of holy men

  This ideal Best!"

"Every good for miracle

  Heart devout may hold;

Grail indeed was that fair well

  Full of water cold!

"Not my thirst alone it stilled

  But my soul it stayed;

And my heart, with gladness filled,

  Wept and laughed and prayed!

"Spectral church with cryptic niche

  I will seek no more;

That the holiest Grail is, which

  Helps the need most sore!"

And he spake with speech more true

  Than his thought indeed,

For not yet the good knight knew

  His own sorest need.

On he rode, to succour bound,

  But his faith grew dim;

Wells for thirst he many found,

  Water none for him.

Never more from drinking deep

  Rose he up and laughed;

Never more did prayerful sleep

  Follow on the draught.

Good the water which they bore,

  Plenteously it flowed,

Quenched his thirst, but, ah, no more

  Eased his bosom's load!

For the Best no more he sighed;

  Rode as in a trance;

Life grew poor, undignified,