Analysis of Morte D'Arthur

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,
  King Arthur: then, because his wound was deep,
  The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,
  Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights,
  And bore him to a chapel nigh the field,
  A broken chancel with a broken cross,
  That stood on a dark strait of barren land.
  On one side lay the ocean, and on one
  Lay a great water, and the moon was full.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
  "The sequel of to-day unsolders all
  The goodliest fellowship of famous knights
  Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep
  They sleep--the men I loved. I think that we
  Shall never more, at any future time,
  Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,
  Walking about the gardens and the halls
  Of Camelot, as in the days that were.
  I perish by this people which I made,--
  Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again
  To rule once more--but let what will be, be,
  I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm
  That without help I cannot last till morn.
  Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,
  Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how
  In those old days, one summer noon, an arm
  Rose up from out the bosom of the lake,
  Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
  Holding the sword--and how I row'd across
  And took it, and have worn it, like a king:
  And, wheresoever I am sung or told
  In aftertime, this also shall be known:
  But now delay not: take Excalibur,
  And fling him far into the middle mere:
  Watch what thou seëst, and lightly bring me word."

To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere:
  "It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus,
  Aidless, alone, and smitten thro' the helm.
  A little thing may harm a wounded man.
  Yet I thy hest will all perform at full,
  Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word."

So saying, from the ruin'd shrine he stept
  And in the moon athwart the place of tombs,
  Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men,
  Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang
  Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down
  By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock,
  Came on the shining levels of the lake.

There drew he forth the brand Excalibur,
  And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon,
  Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth
  And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt:
  For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks,
  Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth work
  Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long
  That both his eyes were dazzled, as he stood,
  This way and that dividing the swift mind,
  In act to throw: but at the last it seem'd
  Better to leave Excalibur conceal'd
  There in the many-knotted water-flags,
  That whistled stiff and dry about the marge.
  So strode he back slow to the wounded King.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
  "Hast thou perform'd my mission which I gave?
  What is it thou hast seen, or what hast heard?"

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
  "I heard the ripple washing in the reeds,
  And the wild water lapping on the crag."

To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale:
  "Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy name,
  Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd
  Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight:
  For surer sign had follow'd, either hand,
  Or voice, or else a motion of the mere.
  This is a shameful thing for men to lie.
  Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again
  As thou art lief and dear, and do the thing
  I bade thee, watch, and lightly bring me word."

Then went Sir Bedivere the second time
  Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere,
  Counting the dewy pebbles, fixed in thought;
  But when he saw the wonder of the hilt,
  How curiously and strangely chased, he smote
  His palms together, and he cried aloud,

"And if indeed I cast the brand away,
  Surely a precious thing, one worthy note,
  Should thus be lost forever from the earth,
  Which might have pleased the eyes of many men.
  What good should follow this, if this were done?
  What harm, undone? deep harm to disobey,
  Seeing obedience is the bond of rule.
  Were it well to obey then, if a king demand
  An act unprofitable, against himself?
  The King is sick, and knows not what he does.
  What record, or what relic of my lord
  Should be to af