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Morte d'Arthur

from The Spoken Word by Rick Miller

/

lyrics

A storm was coming, but the winds were still,
And in the wild woods of Broceliande,
Before an oak, so hollow, huge and old
It looked a tower of ivied masonwork,
At Merlin's feet the wily Vivien lay.

For he that always bare in bitter grudge
The slights of Arthur and his Table, Mark
The Cornish King, had heard a wandering voice,
A minstrel of Caerlon by strong storm
Blown into shelter at Tintagil, say
That out of naked knightlike purity
Sir Lancelot worshipt no unmarried girl
But the great Queen herself, fought in her name,
Sware by her--vows like theirs, that high in heaven
Love most, but neither marry, nor are given
In marriage, angels of our Lord's report.

So all day long the noise of battle roll'd
Among the mountains by the winter sea;
Until King Arthur's table, man by man,
Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their Lord,

And so the old order changeth, yielding place to new
But now farewell. I am going a long way
To the island-valley of Avilion;
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,
Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.

credits

from The Spoken Word, released January 31, 2013
Lyrics: Alfred, Lord Tennyson

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