lf in wonder, half in fear,
Lest there should be "something wicked" mingled with a sport so dear;
Sages, who, with show of reason, 'gainst all reason can discourse
Of ideo-motor systems, motive wills, and vital force;
Dupes of every age and clime, whate'er your station, sex, or years,
Lend me all your strength of credence, all your wondrous length of ears,
Whilst of things that in the old time in KING ARTHUR'S court befel,
Till his very table moved, a veritable tale I tell.

Good KING ARTHUR had a custom, whence he swerved not in the least,
That the morn should bring the tourney, and the noon should bring the
feast,
For he knew his knights, aye ready for the battle or the board,
Were as prompt with knife and cleaver as with battle-axe and sword,
With the same good will would carve a haunch and cut a foeman down,
And with equal satisfaction crack a marrow-bone or crown;
Or with smiles and winks would bid them listen to the nasal tune
Of the King, who dozed--"_his_ custom always of an afternoon."
Thus in Camelot around the great loo table in the hall
Just thrice fifty knights were daily ranged by KAYE the Seneschal,
Whilst KING ARTHUR in the centre of the table took his seat,
That he might the better notice if his knights were off their meat.
'Twas a sultry day in summer: e'en the castle's massive walls
Could not keep the heat from out the lofty corridors and halls:
Open were the doors and windows (partly for the sake of air,
Partly that the baser people might behold them dining there,
For in high baronial state but little pleasure would there be
If a crowd of reverential paupers were not there to see),

And the sunlight, pouring through them, on the shining armour gleamed
Gleamed on all the banners bright that over every chieftain streamed,
Gleamed upon the golden flagons, and the monarch's flashing sword
Laid before him, and his silver beard down flowing on the board.
Floating in there came a murmur, of the trees that whispered near,
Of the river babbling to the reeds in accents low but clear,
Of the birds, and of sweet silver voices from the green alcove,
Where GINEVRA and her maidens prattled of their champions' love.
Silent were the knights, and in that happy meditative mood,
Which an ample meal induces, each his brother warriors viewed,
Thus they sat, and each upon the table laid his brawny hand,
Idly musing, till SIR TOR, the younges