eeds. Though often deceived, he was optimist, hoping the best from
men. He counted life to be a chance for service. There was a hidden
quality in him, as when he, unknown to all, went out from Camelot to
tilt with Balin and overthrew him. His life was pure as the heart of
"the lily maid of Astolat," and demanded in man a purity as great as
that of woman. His love was mighty, unsuspicious, tender. He was
himself a king, born to rule, fitted to inspire. No littleness sapped
his greatness. He rejoiced in others' strength, prowess, victory. His
was an eye quick to discover merit in woman or man, as in Lynette. His
heart was tender, and a cry for help awoke him from deep sleep. He
hated foulness as he hated hell. He was like a sky, so high, pure,
open. Himself makes an era, for his age clusters about him as if he
were a sun to sway a system. Like Cordelia, in "Lear," he is a figure
in the background; yet, despite his actual slight participancy in the
"Idyls of the King," he always seems the one person of the poem. What
is Lancelot matched with him, or pure Sir Galahad? If knighthood
misconceived King Arthur then, men do not misconceive him now. A great
spirit must not murmur if misconceived. The world will cluster to him
hereafter, himself being God's hand to lift them to his Alp of
nobleness. Arthur's life upbraids men for their sin. His very purity
alienated Guinevere. Goodness has tempests in its sky, and storms make
morning murk as night; and one true knight. King Arthur, goes sick at
heart to battle with rebels in the West. Lancelot and Guinevere are
fled; Modred has raised standard of rebellion; some knights are dead,
slain in battle or searching for the Holy Grail; some have left off
knighthood,--and King Arthur is defeated! Nay, this can not be. He
rides into the battle, having forgiven Guinevere "as Eternal God
forgives"--the battle where

"Host to host
Shocks, and the splintering spear, the hard mail hewn,
Shield-breakings, and the clash of brands, the crash
Of battle-axes on shatter's [shatter'd?] helms, and shrieks
After the Christ, of those who falling down
Look'd up for heaven, and only saw the mist."

And, the battle ended, Arthur moans, "My house hath seen my doom;" but
he has not forgotten God, nor hath God forgotten him. God is his
destination, and he trusts him now as in the golden yesterdays:

"I have lived my life, and that which I have done
May He wi