The river was dumb and could not speak, From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun. Again it was morning, but shrunk and cold, For a last dim look at earth and sea. II Sir Launfal turned from his own hard gate, 250 For another heir in his earldom sate; An old, bent man, worn out and frail, He came back from seeking the Holy Grail; No more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross, The badge of the suffering and the poor. III Sir Launfal's raiment thin and spare 260 Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one, To where, in its slender necklace of grass, shade, And with its own self like an infant played, 270 IV "For Christ's sweet sake, I beg an alms; "- V And Sir Launfal said, "I behold in thee scorns, And to thy life were not denied The wounds in the hands and feet and side: Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me; Behold, through him, I give to thee!" 280 VI Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he Remembered in what a haughtier guise He broke the ice on the streamlet's brink, 290 'T was a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread, 'T was water out of a wooden bowl, Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed, 300 And 't was red wine he drank with his thirsty soul. VII As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face, The leper no longer crouched at his side, Shining and tall and fair and straight As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate, Himself the Gate whereby men can Enter the temple of God in Man. VIII His words were shed softer than leaves from ..the pine, And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine, 310 Which mingle their softness and quiet in one With the shaggy unrest they float down upon; And the voice that was calmer than silence said, "Lo it is I, be not afraid! In many climes, without avail, Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail; 320 Who gives himself with his alms feeds three,Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me." IX Sir Launfal awoke as from a swound:- 330 He must be fenced with stronger mail X The castle gate stands open now, And the wanderer is welcome to the hall As the hangbird is to the elm-tree bough; No longer scowl the turrets tall, The summer's long siege at last is o'er; When the first poor outcast went in at the door, She entered with him in disguise, And mastered the fortress by surprise; There is no spot she loves so well on ground, She lingers and smiles there the whole year round; The meanest serf on Sir Launfal's land Has hall and bower at his command; 340 345 And there's no poor man in the North Countree But is lord of the earldom as much as he. 1848. James Russell Lowell. ABOU BEN ADHEM ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!) Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, |