ncts,
though so far removed, and pay their tribute to the flood.

Their service was as pronounced and valuable as if they had been huge
as Orontes. There is an absence which is presence, and there is a
presence which is absence; and what is asked of all men, near or far,
is that they be helpers to the general good. They must not, by intent
or mistake, escape their share of the public burden.

A poet seems apart, and is not, but is to be esteemed a portion of this
world's most turbulent life. To intend to have a share in this world's
business is important. To shun the taking up your load when need is,
is to be coward when your honor bids you be courageous. This means, be
a citizen, neglect no office in that worthy relation; be not wandering
knights, pursuing fire-flies, supposing them to be stars; but be as
Arthur, who found the Holy Grail, and drained its sacramental wine in
truest fashion, in "staying by the stuff;" in being statesman, soldier,
defender of the weak, reformer, liver of a clean life in public place,
builder of a State, negotiator of schemes which make for the diminution
of earth's ills and increase of earth's fairer provinces. Edward the
Confessor was a monk, wearing a king's crown and refusing to discharge
a king's offices, and thought himself a saint by such omission, when
what God and the realm wanted and needed was a man to rule and suffer
for the common weal. Arthur was not a thing "enskied and sainted;"
rather a wholesome man, whose duty lay in working for men. Sir
Percivale became a monk; other knights returned no mote, thus spilling
the best blood of the table round. Meantime the king's enemies
multiplied, and these visionaries decimated the ranks of opposition to
the wrong; but come what would, King Arthur served. An appeal to him
for help found answer, though treasons plotted at his back. As to his
last battle, though his heart was breaking, he marched nor paused,
perceiving, so long as he was king, he must uphold the order of the
State. He was no dilettante. Great service called him, and he thought
he heard the voice of God. Duty is a ponderous word in Arthur's
lexicon. In "Lucretius," Tennyson shows the moral apathy of
materialism by letting us look on at a suicidal death, and hear the
cry, half-rage and half-despair, "What is duty?" and in that fated cry,
atheism has run its course. Here it empties into its dead sea, and
materialism finds its only possible outcome. This mat