brink,
  And gave the leper to eat and drink;
  ’T was a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread,
    ’T was water out of a wooden bowl,—­
  Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed, 300
    And ’t was red wine he drank with his thirsty soul.

  VII

  As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face,
  A light shone round about the place;
  The leper no longer crouched at his side,
  But stood before him glorified, 305
  Shining and tall and fair and straight
  As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate,—­[31]
  Himself the Gate whereby men can
  Enter the temple of God in Man.[32]

  VIII

  His words were shed softer than leaves
      from the pine, 310
  And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine,
  Which mingle their softness and quiet in one
  With the shaggy unrest they float down upon;
  And the voice that was calmer than silence said,
    “Lo, it is I, be not afraid! 315
  In many climes, without avail,
  Thou has spent thy life for the Holy Grail;
  Behold it is here,—­this cup which thou
  Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now;
  This crust is my body broken for thee, 320
  This water His blood that died on the tree;[33]
  The Holy Supper is kept, indeed,
  In whatso we share with another’s need,—­
  Not that which we give, but what we share,—­
  For the gift without the giver is bare; 325
  Who bestows himself with his alms feeds three,—­
  Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.”

  IX

  Sir Launfal awoke, as from a swound;—­
  “The Grail in my castle here is found! 
  Hang my idle armor up on the wall, 330
  Let it be the spider’s banquet-hall;
  He must be fenced with stronger mail
  Who would seek and find the Holy Grail.”

  X

  The castle-gate stands open now,
  And the wanderer is welcome to the hall 335
  As the hangbird[34] is to the elm-tree bough,
    No longer scowl the turrets tall,
  The Summer’s long siege at last is o’er;
  When the first poor outcast went in at the door,
  She entered with him in disguise, 340
  And mastered the fortress by surprise;
  There is no spot she loves so well on ground. 
  She lingers and smiles there the whole year round;
  The meanest serf on Sir Launfal’s land
  Has hall and bower at his command; 345
  And there’s no poor man in the North Countree
  But is lord of the earldom as much as he.

  —­Lowell.

[1] Just as the organist gets into the spirit of his theme by means of a dreamy prelude, so the poet by means of this introduction intends to suggest the spirit of the poem that follows.