So all day long the noise of battle roll’d
  Among the mountains by the winter sea;
  Until King Arthur’s Table, man by man,
  Had fall’n in Lyonnesse about their lord,
  King Arthur.  Then, because his wound was deep,
  The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,
  And bore him to a chapel nigh the field,
  A broken chancel with a broken cross,
  That stood on a dark strait of barren land: 
  On one side lay the Ocean, and on one
  Lay a great water, and the moon was full.

  Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: 
  “The sequel of to-day unsolders all
  The goodliest fellowship of famous knights
  Whereof this world holds record.  Such a sleep
  They sleep—­the men I loved.  I think that we
  Shall never more, at any future time,
  Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,
  Walking about the gardens and the halls
  Of Camelot, as in the days that were. 
  I perish by this people which I made,—­
  Tho’ Merlin sware that I should come again
  To rule once more; but, let what will be, be,
  I am so deeply smitten thro’ the helm
  That without help I cannot last till morn. 
  Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,
  Which was my pride:  for thou rememberest how
  In those old days, one summer noon, an arm
  Rose up from out the bosom of the lake,
  Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
  Holding the sword—­and how I row’d across
  And took it, and have worn it, like a king;
  And, wheresoever I am sung or told
  In aftertime, this also shall be known: 
  But now delay not:  take Excalibur,
  And fling him far into the middle mere:[4]
  Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word.”

[Footnote 4:  Mere is a poetic word for lake.]

  To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere: 
  “It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus,
  Aidless, alone, and smitten thro’ the helm—­
  A little thing may harm a wounded man;
  Yet I thy best will all perform at full,
  Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word.”

  So saying, from the ruin’d shrine he stept,
  And in the moon athwart the place of tombs,
  Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men,
  Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang
  Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam.  He, stepping down
  By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock,
  Came on the shining levels of the lake.

  There drew he forth the brand Excalibur,
  And o’er him, drawing it, the winter moon,
  Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth
  And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt: 
  For all-the haft twinkled with diamond sparks,
  Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work
  Of subtlest jewelry.  He gazed so long
  That both his eyes were dazzled as he stood,
  This way and that dividing the swift mind,
  In act to throw:  but at the last it seem’d
  Better to leave Excalibur conceal’d
  There in the many-knotted waterflags
  That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. 
  So strode he back slow to the wounded King.