The flames approach with giant strides, They scorch his hands and brow; One arm disabled seeks his side: Ah, he is conquered now! But no; his teeth are firmly set, He crushes down his pain; His knee upon the stanchion pressed, He guides the ship again.
One moment yet, one moment yet! Brave heart, thy task is o’er! The pebbles grate beneath the keel, The steamer touches shore. Three hundred grateful voices rise In praise to God, that He Hath saved them from the fearful fire And from th’ ingulfing sea.
But where is he, that helmsman bold? The captain saw him reel; His nerveless hands released their task, He sank beside the wheel. The wave received his lifeless corpse, Blackened with smoke and fire. God rest him! Never hero had A nobler funeral pyre.
Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: “The sequel of to-day unsolders all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep They sleep,--the men I loved. I think that we Shall never more, at any future time, Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds, Walking about the gardens and the halls Of Camelot, as in the days that were. I perish by this people which I made,-- Though Merlin swear that I should come again To rule once more; but let what will be, be: I am so deeply smitten through the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how In those old days, one summer noon, an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, Holding the sword; and how I rowed across And took it, and have worn it, like a king: And, wheresoever I am sung or told In after-time, this also shall be known: But now delay not: take Excalibur, And fling him far into the middle mere. Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word.”
Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran, And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged Among the bulrush beds, and clutched the sword, And strongly wheeled and threw it. The great brand Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon, And flashing round and round, and whirled in an arch, Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night, with noises of the northern sea. So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur: But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, And caught him by the hilt, and brandished him Three times, and drew him under in the mere. And lightly went the other to the king.