By ghostly shores without a name,
Whereon grim phantoms went and came:
He sailed 'mid alien voices.
VII.
He sailed upon his sacred quest,
And where the falling waters made
A hollow murmur, seeking rest;
Through swollen shadows of the rain,
Whose music tingled in his brain
Like blood, and where white fountains
Spilt light down sombre mountains.
VIII
A stately figure hush'd in woe,
Who, leaning o’er a silver stream,
Was darkly calentured below;
Her face, as passed that golden bark,
Flash'd like a jewel from the dark,
And in the distance shaded,
It, star-like, came and faded.
IX.
Upon whose mouth sin’s self seemed sweet,
And, looking on my foulness here,
I penance do, till made complete,
To cut my heart from earthly things,
And join the lily white flower of kings,
Whose heart, once mine completely,
Now pleads my pardon sweetly.
X.
I, seeing my woman's shame revealed,
Mind me of kingly Arthur when
His pity was a fountain sealed!"
Whereon Sir Tristem cries in tones
Hollow as waves 'mong pebble-stones,
"Where is the King, my master?"
The boat sped onward faster.
XI.
Till thy dark fantasies are gone."
Murmured the voice. "and seek the pure
King in remote Avilion."
Whereat Sir Tristem's snowy swound
Deepened to loss of sight and sound,
And the white light that crowned him
Brightened the waves around him.
XII.
Low shores where vapours dim did move,
He sailed, in pathless track, where gleamed
Stars with no fellows up above;
Netted in cloud the winds reposed,
The golden valves of heaven were closed,
Like living things the enchanted
Waters fell calm and panted.
XIII.
Of a dark isle where calm was not,
And on whose banks a dome of air
Mimick'd the palace at Camelot;
The dingy walls were sad and stern,
The courts; were rusted o’er with fern,
Rank weeds and grasses many
Choked up each nook and cranny.
XIV.
He saw a crew of knights carouse,
With the centre of the ball,
With haggard beards and wine-flushed brows;
And marked a sombre knight and tall,
Who stood upon the meated wall,
And watched the dim and foamless
With eyes most homeless.
XV.
But leant upon a sheathless sword:
"I am that same Sir Lancelot
Who turned against his blameless lord;
I, Tristem, am thy sometime friend,
Who here a weary way must wend,
Amid rude blows and broiling,
In heartache, shame and toiling.
XVI.
While, bound in tears that find no pause,
I haunt the shadowy counterpart
Of the decay myself did cause;
A devil gnaws me day and night,
While, guided by that stainless light,
Thou sailest to thy master."
The boat sped on faster.
XVII.
And the light, brightening in his trail,
In fading, shed a ghastly gleam
Upon Sir Lancelot, grim and pale;
And then Sir Tristem sank again
To mute oblivion of the brain,
And the white light that crowned him
Illumed the waters round him.
XVIII.
Sir Tristem sailed for many an hour,
And under shade of mountains, where
The thyme fulfilled its purple flower;
Until he reached a flowery land,
With night and day on either hand,
A land of endless bowers,
Languid with scent of flowers.
XIX.
With its own lead, and under eaves
Of giant poppy it grew sick
With a deep breath of lotus leaves;
The waters, impotent to cool
Parch'd lips, lay in a seething pool,
And made a burning summer
Around the bright new-comer.
XX.
And frivolous songs and idle jests,
A troop of chattering knights and dames,
In flashing robes and gaudy crests;
Some lay among the lotus bowers,
Some quaffed red wine on beds of flowers,
And some with gleaming faces
Lay clasped in soft embraces.
XXI.
"Go on in peace, thou stainless knight,
Here, for a time, we must rejoice,
Sick, satiate with our own delight;
