[Third.
THOMAS THE RHYMER.
697
Yet fragments of the lofty strain
Float down the tide of years,
As, buoyant on the stormy main,
A parted wreck appears.
Float down the tide of years,
As, buoyant on the stormy main,
A parted wreck appears.
He sung King Arthur's table round:
The warrior of the lake;
How courteous Gawaine met the wound,
And bled for ladies' sake.
The warrior of the lake;
How courteous Gawaine met the wound,
And bled for ladies' sake.
But chief, in gentle Tristrem's praise,
The notes melodious swell;
Was none excelled in Arthur's days,
The knight of Lionelle.
The notes melodious swell;
Was none excelled in Arthur's days,
The knight of Lionelle.
For Marke, his peels uncle's right,
A venomed wound he bore;
When fierce Morholde he la in fight,
Upon the Irish shore.
A venomed wound he bore;
When fierce Morholde he la in fight,
Upon the Irish shore.
No art the poison might withstand;
No medicine could be found,
Till lovely Isolde's lilye hand
Had probed the rankling wound.
No medicine could be found,
Till lovely Isolde's lilye hand
Had probed the rankling wound.
With gentle hand and soothing tongue,
She bore the leech's part;
And, while she o'er his sick-bed hung,
He paid her with his heart.
She bore the leech's part;
And, while she o'er his sick-bed hung,
He paid her with his heart.
O fatal was the gift, I ween!
For, doomed in evil tide,
The maid must be rude Cornwall's queen,
His cowardly uncle's bride.
For, doomed in evil tide,
The maid must be rude Cornwall's queen,
His cowardly uncle's bride.
Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard
In fairy tissue wove;
Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright,
In gay confusion strove.
In fairy tissue wove;
Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright,
In gay confusion strove.
The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale,
High reared its glittering head;
And Avalon's enchanted vale
In all its wonders spread.
High reared its glittering head;
And Avalon's enchanted vale
In all its wonders spread.
Brangwain was there, and Segramore,
And fiend-born Merlin's gramarye;
Of that famed wizard's mighty lore,
O who could sing but he?
And fiend-born Merlin's gramarye;
Of that famed wizard's mighty lore,
O who could sing but he?
Through many a maze the winning song
In changeful passion led,
Till bent at length the listening throng
O'er Tristrem's dying bed.
In changeful passion led,
Till bent at length the listening throng
O'er Tristrem's dying bed.
His ancient wounds their scars expand
With agony his heart is wrung:
With agony his heart is wrung:
