Then murmur'd Arthur, "Place me in the barge." So to the barge they came. There those three Queens Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept. But she, that rose the tallest of them all

5 And fairest, laid his head upon her lap,

And loosed the shatter'd casque, and chafed his hands,
And call'd him by his name, complaining loud,
And dropping bitter tears against a brow
Striped with dark blood: for all his face was white
10 And colourless, and like the wither'd moon
Smote by the beam of the springing east;

And all his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops
Of onset; and the light and lustrous curls-
That made his forehead like a rising sun

15 High from the daïis-throne were parch'd with dust; a platform

Or clotted into points and hanging loose,

Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips.

So like a shatter'd column lay the King; Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest 20 From spur to plume a star of tournament, Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged Before the eyes of ladies and of kings.

Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere:
"Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go?
25 Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?
For now I see the true old times are dead,
When every morning brought a noble chance,
And every chance brought out a noble knight.
Such times have been not since the light that led
30 The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh.

But now the whole Round Table is dissolved
Which was an image of the mighty world,
And I, the last, go forth companionless,
And the days darken round me, and the years,
35 Among new men, strange faces, other minds."

above the floor

Good to Car a, the chang f

world, the

And slowly answer'd Arthur from the barge:
"The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
And God fulfils himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world,
5 Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?
I have lived my life, and that which I have done
May He within himself make pure! but thou,
If thou shouldst never see my face again,

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer 10 Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

For what are men better than sheep or goats
That nourish a blind life within the brain,
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer

15 Both for themselves and those who call them friend?
For so the whole round earth is every way

Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.
But now farewell. I am going a long way
With these thou seëst-if indeed I go

20 (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)—
To the island-valley of Avilion;

Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow.
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies

Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns 25 And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound."

HELPS TO STUDY
Notes and Questions.

Why did Sir Bedivere wish to
save the sword Excalibur?
How did King Arthur regard Sir
Bedivere's disobedience?
Notice the beauty of the lines

where Tennyson compares the

light flashing from Excalibur to
the Aurora Borealis. "Shot
like a streamer of the northern
morn.

Why does the poet call icebergs
"moving isles of winter''q

#

Our interest in people usually increases as we become better acouainted with them. The select company whom we are to meet in the following pages claim not only our interest-but our affection; for they are all just our own home folks, were once Just plain American boys. As men most of them have, in addition to their service as writers, also served our country in important public places. It seems well, therefore, to bring together the most important facts of their lives, so that we may better appreciate their writings.

THE NEW YORK GROUP.

With the transferring of the capital of the United States to New York City at the close of the Revolutionary War and the rapid growth of that city in commercial importance, it became

WASHINGTON
IRVING

1783-1859

also for a time the center of literary activing. It happened that in the very

year in which the Treaty of Peace that ended the Revolution was signed in Paris, there was born in this bustling city a little boy who was destito do peaceably for American literature what the War had already done for American government and the American people make it independent and respected among all nations. The glad mother said: "Washington's great work is done. Let us name our boy Washington"-little dreaming when thus naming him after the

Father of his Country that he should himself one day come to be called the "Father of American Letters."

On April 30, 1789, when this little boy was six years old, his father took him to Federal Hall in Wall Street to witness Washington's inauguration as the first president of the United States. It is told that President Washington laid his hand kindly on the head of his little namesake and gave him his blessing.

1

Young Washington Irving led a happy life, ambling in his boyhood about every nook and corner of the city and the adjacent woods, which at that time were not very far to seek, idling about the busy wharves, making occasional trips up the lordly Hudson, roaming, gun in hand, along its banks and over the neighboring Kaatskills, listening to the tales of old Dutch landlords and gossipy old Dutch housewives. When he became a young man he wove these old tales, scenes, experiences and much more that his imagination and is merry humor added, into some of the most rollicking, mirthful stories that had been read in many day. The first of these was a burlesque "History of New York," purporting to have been found among the papers of a certain old Dutch burgher by the name of Diedrich Knickerbocker (1809). This may be said to have been his first serious work. It made him instantly famous. But better than that, it silenced the sneers of the snobbish English critics who up to that time had been asking contemptuously: "Who. reads an American book?", and set them all to reading and laughing over it with the rest of the world. It also discovered to Americans as well as to foreigners what wealth of literary material this new country already possessed in its local legends and history.

Ten years later, during his residence in England (1819-20), Irving published "The Sketch Book," containing the inimitable "Rip van Winkle" and the delicious "Legend of Sleepy Hollow." This may be said to mark the real beginning of American literature.