THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL PRELUDE TO PART FIRST Over his keys the musing organist, And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay: Then, as the touch of his loved instrument Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme, First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent Along the wavering vista of his dream. Not only around our infancy Over our manhood bend the skies; The great winds utter prophecies: With our faint hearts the mountain strives; Its arms outstretched, the druid wood Waits with its benedicite; And to our age's drowsy blood Still shouts the inspiring sea. Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us; The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us, At the Devil's booth are all things sold, And what is so rare as a day in June? An instinct within it that reaches and towers, Now is the high-tide of the year, And whatever of life hath ebbed away Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer, Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, We are happy now because God wills it; No matter how barren the past may have been, 'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green. What wonder if Sir Launfal now PART FIRST I "My golden spurs now bring to me, Shall never a bed for me be spread, Here on the rushes will I sleep, And perchance there may come a vision true Ere day create the world anew." Slowly Sir Launfal's eyes grew dim, Slumber fell like a cloud on him, And into his soul the vision flew. II The crows flapped over by twos and threes, In the pool drowsed the cattle up to their knees, The little birds sang as if it were The one day of summer in all the year, And the very leaves seemed to sing on the trees: The castle alone in the landscape lay Like an outpost of winter, dull and gray: 'Twas the proudest hall in the North Countree, And never its gates might opened be, Save to lord or lady of high degree; Summer besieged it on every side, But the churlish stone her assaults defied; Though around it for leagues her pavilions tall Over the hills and out of sight; Green and broad was every tent, And out of each a murmur went Till the breeze fell off at night. III The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang Sir Launfal flashed forth in his unscarred mail, |