Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran,
  And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged
  Among the bulrush-beds, and clutch’d the sword, 135
  And strongly wheel’d and threw it.  The great brand
  Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon,
  And flashing round and round, and whirl’d in an arch,
  Shot like a streamer of the northern morn,
  Seen where the moving isles of winter shock 140
  By night, with noises of the northern sea. 
  So flash’d and fell the brand Excalibur: 
  But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm
  Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
  And caught him by the hilt, and brandish’d him 145
  Three times, and drew him under in the mere. 
  And lightly went the other to the King.

  Then spoke King-Arthur, drawing thicker breath: 
  ’Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. 
  Speak out:  what is it thou has heard, or seen?’ 150

  And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: 
  ’Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems
  Should blind my purpose, for I never saw,
  Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die,
  Not tho’ I live three lives of mortal men, 155
  So great a miracle as yonder hilt. 
  Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him;
  But when I look’d again, behold an arm,
  Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
  That caught him by the hilt, and brandish’d him 160
  Three times, and drew him under in the mere.’

  And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard: 
  ’My end draws nigh; ’tis time that I were gone. 
  Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight,
  And bear me to the margin; yet I fear 165
  My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die.’

  So saying, from the pavement he half rose,
  Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm,
  And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes
  As in a picture.  Him Sir Bedivere 170
  Remorsefully regarded thro’ his tears,
  And would have spoken, but he found not words,
  Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee,
  O’er both his shoulders drew the languid hands,
  And rising bore him thro’ the place of tombs. 175

  But, as he walk’d, King Arthur panted hard,
  Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed
  When all the house is mute.  So sigh’d the King,
  Muttering and murmuring at his ear, ’Quick, quick! 
  I fear it is too late, and I shall die.’ 180

  But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge,
  Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walk’d,
  Larger than human on the frozen hills. 
  He heard the deep behind him, and a cry
  Before.  His own thought drove him like a goad. 185
  Dry clash’d his harness in the icy caves
  And barren chasms, and all to left and