Beyond stars and constellations which guard the 

 the Blue marches of the Arctic North. To the mass of 

 wna t is already extant, what need to add 

 further matter ? And yet there is ever new 

 justification in that continual need of the soul 

 to hear over and over again and in ever-vary- 

 ing ways even the most fragmentary runes or 

 sagas of this unfathomably mysterious stellar 

 universe which encloses us with Silence and 

 Beauty and Wonder, the three Veils of God 

 as the Hebridean islesman, the Irish Gael of 

 the dreaming west, and the Arab of the 

 Desert alike have it. 



I have elsewhere spoken of the legendary 

 association of Arthur (the Celtic- British King 

 and the earlier mythical Arthur, semi-divine, 

 and at last remote and celestial) with Arcturus, 

 that lovely Lamp of the North, the glory of 

 Bootes. But now, I may add what there I 

 had to omit. 



In all European lands, and above all in the 

 countries of the West, there is none without 

 its legend of King Arthur. The Bretons claim 

 him as theirs, and the places of his passage and 

 exploit are familiar, though only the echo, only 

 the phantom of a great fame ever reached 

 Arvor. . In the Channel and Scilly Isles the 

 story runs that there is Lyonesse, and that 

 Arthur sleeps in a cavern of the seas. The 



