ON HIS " IDYLLS OF THE KING"

They told me in their shadowy phrase,
Caught from a tale gone by,
That Arthur, King of Cornish praise,
Died not, and would not die!

Dreams had they, that in fairy bowers,
Their living warrior lies;
Or wears a garland of the flowers
That grow in Paradise!

I read the Rune with deeper ken,
And thus the myth I trace: —
A bard should rise, mid future men,
The mightiest of his race.

He would great Arthur's deeds rehearse,
On grey Dundagel's shore;
And so, the King, in laurelled verse,
Shall live, and die no more!