George MacDonald - The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2

Youth away with strength would glide,
Age bring frost and woe;
Through the world so dreary wide
Mateless he must go!

Lost was life and all its good,
Gone without avail!
All his labour never would
Find the Holy Grail!

Galahad was in the night,
And the wood was drear;
But to men in darksome plight
Radiant things appear:

Wings he heard not floating by,
Heard no heavenly hail;
But he started with a cry,
For he saw the Grail.

Hid from bright beholding sun,
Hid from moonlight wan,
Lo, from age-long darkness won,
It was seen of man!

Three feet off, on cushioned moss,
As if cast away,
Homely wood with carven cross,
Rough and rude it lay!

To his knees the knight rose up,
Loosed his gauntlet-band;
Fearing, daring, toward the cup
Went his naked hand;

When, as if it fled from harm,
Sank the holy thing,
And his eager following arm
Plunged into a spring.

Oh the thirst, the water sweet!
Down he lay and quaffed,
Quaffed and rose up on his feet,
Rose and gayly laughed;

Fell upon his knees to thank,
Loved and lauded there;
Stretched him on the mossy bank,
Fell asleep in prayer;

Dreamed, and dreaming murmured low
Ave, pater, creed;
When the fir-tops gan to glow
Waked and called his steed;

Bitted him and drew his girth,
Watered from his helm:
Happier knight or better worth
Was not in the realm!

Belted on him then his sword,
Braced his slackened mail;
Doubting said: "I dreamed the Lord
Offered me the Grail."

Ere the sun had cast his light
On the water's face,
Firm in saddle rode the knight
From the holy place,

Merry songs began to sing,
Let his matins bide;
Rode a good hour pondering,
And was turned aside,

Saying, "I will henceforth then
Yield this hopeless quest;
Tis a dream of holy men
This ideal Best!"

"Every good for miracle
Heart devout may hold;
Grail indeed was that fair well
Full of water cold!

"Not my thirst alone it stilled
But my soul it stayed;
And my heart, with gladness filled,
Wept and laughed and prayed!

"Spectral church with cryptic niche
I will seek no more;
That the holiest Grail is, which
Helps the need most sore!"

And he spake with speech more true
Than his thought indeed,
For not yet the good knight knew
His own sorest need.

On he rode, to succour bound,
But his faith grew dim;
Wells for thirst he many found,
Water none for him.

Never more from drinking deep
Rose he up and laughed;
Never more did prayerful sleep
Follow on the draught.

Good the water which they bore,
Plenteously it flowed,
Quenched his thirst, but, ah, no more
Eased his bosom's load!

For the Best no more he sighed;
Rode as in a trance;
Life grew poor, undignified,

In a lovely garden walking
Two lovers went hand in hand;
Two wan, worn figures, talking
They sat in the flowery land.

On the cheek they kissed one another,
On the mouth with sweet refrain;
Fast held they each the other,
And were young and well again.

Two little bells rang shrilly—
The dream went with the hour:
She lay in the cloister stilly,
He far in the dungeon-tower!