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I. TWO LEGENDS

GLASTONBURY

Thither through moaning woods came Bedivere,At gloomy breaking of a winter's day,Weary and travel-stained and sick at heart,With a great wound gotten in that last frayEre he stood by, and watched the King departDown the long, silent reaches of the mere:And all the earth was sad, and skies were drear,And the wind cried, and chased the relict leavesLike ships,that the storm-tossed ocean batters and heaves,And they fly before the gale, and the mariners fear.
So he found at the last an hermitageHard by a little hill, and sheltering treesThat bent gaunt branches in the winter's breeze;And he drew rein, and leant, and struck the door:Then presently came forth an hermit sageAnd helped him to dismount with labour sore:Straight went they in, but Bedivere being lameStumbled against the open door, and swooned,And would have fallen, but the hermit caughtAnd laid him gently down; then hurrying broughtFrom a great chest a cordial, and cameThat he might drink, and so beheld his wound.
Long time lay Bedivere betwixt life and death,Like a torn traveller on a stormy height'Twixt one wind and another: till his breathCame easier, and he prospered. Then did sleepBathe him in soothing waters, soft and deep,And left him whole, at breaking of the light,So he beheld the old man, and desiredThat he would tell of whom he was, and whence.

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