Told, when the man was no more than a voice
In the white winter of his age, to those
With whom he dwelt, new faces, other minds.
Who slowly paced among the slumbering4 host,
Heard in his tent the moanings of the King:
“I found Him in the shining of the stars,
I marked Him in the flowering of His fields,
But in His ways with men I find Him not.
I waged His wars, and now I pass and die.
O me! for why is all around us here
But had not force to shape it as he would,
And enter it, and make it beautiful?
Or else as if the world were wholly fair,
And have not power to see it as it is:
Perchance, because we see not to the close;—
For I, being simple, thought to work His will,
And have but stricken with the sword in vain;
And all whereon I leaned in wife and friend
Reels back into the beast, and is no more.
My God, thou hast forgotten me in my death;
Nay—God my Christ—I pass but shall not die.”
There came on Arthur sleeping, Gawain killed
In Lancelot’s war, the ghost of Gawain blown
Along a wandering wind, and past his ear
Hail, King! tomorrow thou shalt pass away.
And I am blown along a wandering wind,
And hollow, hollow, hollow all delight.”
From cloud to cloud, down the long wind the dream
As of some lonely city sacked by night,
When all is lost, and wife and child with wail
Pass to new lords; and Arthur woke and called,
“Who spake? A dream. O light upon the wind,
Thine, Gawain, was the voice—are these dim cries
Thine? or doth all that haunts the waste and wild
Mourn, knowing it will go along with me?”
This heard the bold Sir Bedivere and spake:
“O me, my King, let pass whatever will,
But in their stead thy name and glory cling
To all high places like a golden cloud
For ever: but as yet thou shalt not pass.
Light was Gawain in life, and light in death
Is Gawain, for the ghost is as the man;
And care not thou for dreams from him, but rise—
I hear the steps of Modred in the west,
And with him many of thy people, and knights
Once thine, whom thou hast loved, but grosser grown
Right well in heart they know thee for the King.
Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
“Far other is this battle in the west
Whereto we move, than when we strove in youth,
And brake the petty kings, and fought with Rome,
Or thrust the heathen from the Roman wall,
To war against my people and my knights.
The king who fights his people fights himself.
And they my knights, who loved me once, the stroke
That strikes them dead is as my death to me.
Yet let us hence, and find or feel a way
Through this blind haze, which ever since I saw
One lying in the dust at Almesbury,
Hath folded in the passes of the world.”
Then rose the King and moved his host by night,
And ever pushed Sir Modred, league by league,
Back to the sunset bound of Lyonnesse—
A land of old upheaven from the abyss
By fire, to sink into the abyss again;
Where fragments of forgotten peoples dwelt,
And the long mountains ended in a coast
Of ever-shifting sand, and far away
There the pursuer could pursue no more,
And he that fled no further fly the King;
And there, that day when the great light of heaven
Burned at his lowest in the rolling year,
On the waste sand by the waste sea they closed.
Nor ever yet had Arthur fought a fight
Like this last, dim, weird battle of the west.
A deathwhite mist slept over sand and sea:
Whereof the chill, to him who breathed it, drew
Down with his blood, till all his heart was cold
With formless fear; and even on Arthur fell
Confusion, since he saw not whom he fought.
And some had visions out of golden youth,
Look in upon the battle; and in the mist
Was many a noble deed, many a base,
And chance and craft and strength in single fights,
And ever and anon with host to host
Shocks, and the splintering spear, the hard mail hewn,
Shield-breakings, and the clash of brands, the crash
After the Christ, of those who falling down
Looked up for heaven, and only saw the mist;
And shouts of heathen and the traitor knights,
In that close mist, and cryings for the light,
Moans of the dying, and voices of the dead.
Last, as by some one deathbed after wail
Of suffering, silence follows, or through death
Or deathlike swoon, thus over all that shore,
A bitter wind, clear from the North, and blew
The mist aside, and with that wind the tide
Rose, and the pale King glanced across the field
Of battle: but no man was moving there;
Brake in among dead faces, to and fro
Swaying the helpless hands, and up and down
Tumbling the hollow helmets of the fallen,
And shivered brands that once had fought with Rome,
And rolling far along the gloomy shores
The voice of days of old and days to be.
Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere,
And whiter than the mist that all day long
Had held the field of battle was the King:
“Hearest thou this great voice that shakes the world,
And wastes the narrow realm whereon we move,
And beats upon the faces of the dead,
My dead, as though they had not died for me?—
O Bedivere, for on my heart hath fallen
Confusion, till I know not what I am,
Nor whence I am, nor whether I be King.
Behold, I seem but King among the dead.”
Then spake the bold Sir Bedivere: “My King,
King everywhere! and so the dead have kings,
There also will I worship thee as King.
Yet still thy life is whole, and still I live
Who love thee; but who hates thee, he that brought
The heathen back among us, yonder stands,
Modred, unharmed, the traitor of thine house.”
Then spake the King: “My house hath been my doom.
But call not thou this traitor of my house
Who hath but dwelt beneath one roof with me.
My house are rather they who sware my vows,
Yea, even while they brake them, owned me King.
And well for thee, saying in my dark hour,
That quick or dead thou holdest me for King.
King am I, whatsoever40 be their cry;
And one last act of kinghood shalt thou see
Yet, ere I pass.” And uttering this the King
Hard on that helm which many a heathen sword
Had beaten thin; while Arthur at one blow,
Striking the last stroke with Excalibur,
So all day long the noise of battle rolled
Among the mountains by the winter sea;
Until King Arthur’s Table, man by man,
Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their lord,
King Arthur. Then, because his wound was deep,
The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,
A broken chancel with a broken cross,
That stood on a dark strait of barren land:
On one side lay the Ocean, and on one
Lay a great water, and the moon was full.
Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
“The sequel of today 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,
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 sware that I should come again
To rule once more; but, let what will be, be,
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
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 aftertime, this also shall be known:
But now delay not: take Excalibur,
Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word.”
To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere:
“It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus,
Aidless, alone, and smitten through the helm—
A little thing may harm a wounded man;
Yet I thy hest will all perform at full,
Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word.”
And in the moon athwart the place of tombs,
Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang
Came on the shining levels of the lake.
There drew he forth the brand Excalibur,
And o’er him, drawing it, the winter moon,
Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth
And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt:
For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks,
Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long
That both his eyes were dazzled as he stood,
This way and that dividing the swift mind,
In act to throw: but at the last it seemed
There in the many-knotted waterflags,
That whistled stiff and dry about the marge.
So strode he back slow to the wounded King.
Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
“Hast thou performed my mission which I gave?
What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?”
And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
And the wild water lapping on the crag.”
To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale:
“Thou hast betrayed thy nature and thy name,
For surer sign had followed, either hand,
Or voice, or else a motion of the mere.
Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again,
As thou art lief and dear, and do the thing
I bade thee, watch, and lightly bring me word.”
Then went Sir Bedivere the second time
But when he saw the wonder of the hilt,
His palms together, and he cried aloud:
“And if indeed I cast the brand away,
Should thus be lost for ever from the earth,
Which might have pleased the eyes of many men.
What good should follow this, if this were done?
Were it well to obey then, if a king demand
An act unprofitable, against himself?
The King is sick, and knows not what he does.
Should be to aftertime, but empty breath
Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings,
Saying, ‘King Arthur’s sword, Excalibur,
Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps
Upon the hidden bases of the hills.’
So might some old man speak in the aftertime
But now much honour and much fame were lost.”
And hid Excalibur the second time,
And so strode back slow to the wounded King.
“What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?”
And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
“I heard the water lapping on the crag,
And the long ripple washing in the reeds.”
Authority forgets a dying king,
Laid widowed of the power in his eye
That bowed the will. I see thee what thou art,
For thou, the latest-left of all my knights,
In whom should meet the offices of all,
Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt;
Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes.
Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice,
But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur,
Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran,
Among the bulrush beds, and clutched the sword,
And strongly wheeled and threw it. The great brand
Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon,
And flashing round and round, and whirled in an arch,
Shot like a streamer of the northern morn,
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 brandished85 him
Three times, and drew him under in the mere.
And lightly went the other to the King.
Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker breath:
“Now see I by thine eyes that this is done.
Speak out: what is it thou hast heard, or seen?”
And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
Should blind my purpose, for I never saw,
Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die,
Not though I live three lives of mortal men,
So great a miracle as yonder hilt.
Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him;
But when I looked again, behold an arm,
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
That caught him by the hilt, and brandished him
Three times, and drew him under in the mere.”
And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard:
“My end draws nigh; ’tis time that I were gone.
Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight,
My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die.”
So saying, from the pavement he half rose,
Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm,
And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes
As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere
Remorsefully89 regarded through his tears,
And would have spoken, but he found not words;
Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee,
O’er both his shoulders drew the languid hands,
And rising bore him through the place of tombs.
But, as he walked, King Arthur panted hard,
Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed
When all the house is mute. So sighed the King,
Muttering and murmuring at his ear, “Quick, quick!
I fear it is too late, and I shall die.”
But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge,
Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walked,
Larger than human on the frozen hills.
He heard the deep behind him, and a cry
Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves
The bare black cliff clanged round him, as he based
His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang
And on a sudden, lo! the level lake,
And the long glories of the winter moon.
Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern,
That all the decks were dense with stately forms,
Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream—by these
Three Queens with crowns of gold: and from them rose
And, as it were one voice, an agony
All night in a waste land, where no one comes,
Or hath come, since the making of the world.
Then murmured Arthur, “Place me in the barge.”
So to the barge they came. There those three Queens
Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept.
But she, that rose the tallest of them all
And fairest, laid his head upon her lap,
And called him by his name, complaining loud,
And dropping bitter tears against a brow
Striped with dark blood: for all his face was white
Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east;
And all his greaves and cuisses dashed with drops
That made his forehead like a rising sun
Mixed with the knightly growth that fringed his lips.
So like a shattered column lay the King;
Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest,
Shot through the lists at Camelot, and charged
Before the eyes of ladies and of kings.
Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere:
“Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go?
Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?
For now I see the true old times are dead,
When every morning brought a noble chance,
And every chance brought out a noble knight.
Such times have been not since the light that led
The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh.
But now the whole Round Table is dissolved
Which was an image of the mighty world,
And I, the last, go forth companionless,
And the days darken round me, and the years,
Among new men, strange faces, other minds.”
And slowly answered Arthur from the barge:
“The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
And God fulfils himself in many ways,
Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?
I have lived my life, and that which I have done
May He within himself make pure! but thou,
If thou shouldst never see my face again,
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice
Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
For what are men better than sheep or goats
That nourish a blind life within the brain,
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer
Both for themselves and those who call them friend?
For so the whole round earth is every way
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.
But now farewell. I am going a long way
With these thou seest—if indeed I go
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)—
To the island-valley of Avilion;
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea,
Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.”
With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere
But when that moan had past for evermore,
The stillness of the dead world’s winter dawn
And therewithal came on him the weird rhyme,
“From the great deep to the great deep he goes.”
Whereat he slowly turned and slowly clomb
The last hard footstep of that iron crag;
Thence marked the black hull moving yet, and cried,
“He passes to be King among the dead,
And after healing of his grievous wound
He comes again; but—if he come no more—
O me, be yon dark Queens in yon black boat,
On that high day, when, clothed with living light,
They stood before his throne in silence, friends
Of Arthur, who should help him at his need?”
Then from the dawn it seemed there came, but faint
As from beyond the limit of the world,
Like the last echo born of a great cry,
Sounds, as if some fair city were one voice
Around a king returning from his wars.
Thereat once more he moved about, and clomb
Even to the highest he could climb, and saw,
Straining his eyes beneath an arch of hand,
Down that long water opening on the deep
Somewhere far off, pass on and on, and go
From less to less and vanish into light.
And the new sun rose bringing the new year.
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收听单词发音
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1
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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2
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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3
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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4
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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5
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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6
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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7
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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8
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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9
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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10
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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11
shrilling
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的现在分词 )； 凄厉 | |
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12
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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14
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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15
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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16
shrilled
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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18
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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19
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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20
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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21
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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26
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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27
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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28
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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29
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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30
blasphemies
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| n.对上帝的亵渎，亵渎的言词[行为]( blasphemy的名词复数 )；侮慢的言词（或行为） | |
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31
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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32
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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33
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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34
dolorous
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| adj.悲伤的；忧愁的 | |
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35
drearier
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| 使人闷闷不乐或沮丧的( dreary的比较级 )； 阴沉的； 令人厌烦的； 单调的 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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38
ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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39
purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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40
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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41
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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42
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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knightly
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| adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
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smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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46
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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48
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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50
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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51
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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52
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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53
juts
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| v.（使）突出( jut的第三人称单数 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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54
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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55
myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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56
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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57
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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58
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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59
fealty
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| n.忠贞，忠节 | |
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60
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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61
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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62
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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63
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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64
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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65
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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66
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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67
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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68
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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69
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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70
joust
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| v.马上长枪比武，竞争 | |
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71
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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72
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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73
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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74
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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75
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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76
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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77
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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79
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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80
prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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81
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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82
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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83
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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85
brandished
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| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
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86
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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87
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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88
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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remorsefully
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| adv.极为懊悔地 | |
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90
goad
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| n.刺棒，刺痛物；激励；vt.激励，刺激 | |
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chasms
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| 裂缝( chasm的名词复数 )； 裂口； 分歧； 差别 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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93
barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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94
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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95
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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96
lamentation
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| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
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97
shrills
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的第三人称单数 ) | |
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98
chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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99
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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100
onset
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| n.进攻，袭击，开始，突然开始 | |
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101
lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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102
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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103
clotted
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| adj.凝结的v.凝固( clot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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105
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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106
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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107
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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108
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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109
fluting
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| 有沟槽的衣料； 吹笛子； 笛声； 刻凹槽 | |
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110
ruffles
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| 褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
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111
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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112
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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113
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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114
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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115
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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116
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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