HIC JACET ARTHURUS REX QUONDAM REXQUE FUTURUS : Arthur is gone....Tristan in Carcol sleeps, with a broken sword.....And Yseult sleeps beside him, where the westering waters roll over drowned Lyonesse to the outer deeps. Lancelot is fallen....The ardent helms that shone so knightly and the splintered lances rust, in the anonymous mould of Avalon: Gawain and Gareth and Galahad....all are dust! Where do the vanes and towers of Camelot and tall Tintagel crumble? Where do those tragic lovers and their bright-eyed ladies rot? We cannot tell....for lost is Merlins magic. And Guinevere.....call her not back again least she betray the loveliness Time lent, A name that blends the rapture and the pain linked in the lonely nightingales lament. Nor pry too deeply, lest you should discover the bower of Astolat a smoky hut of mud and wattle.....find the knightliest lover a braggart, and his Lily Maid a slit; And all that coloured tale a tapestry woven by poets. As the spiders skeins are spun of its own substance , so have they Embroidered empty legend.... What remains? This: That when Rome fell, like a writhen oak, that age had sapped and cankered at the root. Resistant, from her topmost bough there broke, the miracle of one unwithering shoot, Which was the spirit of Britain.....that certain men, uncouth, untutored, of our island brood loved freedom better than their lives; and when the tempest crashed around them, rose and stood. And charged into the storms black heart, with sword lifted, or lance at rest, and rode there, helmed, with a strange majesty that the heathern horde remembered after all was overwhelmed; And made of them a legend, to their chief, Arthur, Ambrosius.....no man knows his name......Granting a gallantry beyond belief, and to his knights imperishable fame. They were so few......We know not in what manner or where or when they fell.....whether they went riding into the dark under Christs banner or died beneath the blood-red Dragon of Gwent. But this we know; That, when the Saxon rout swept over them, the sun no longer shone on Britian, and the last lights flickered out; And men in darkness murmured: Arthur is gone. BY FRANCIS BRETT YOUNG.
Posted on: Mon, 21 Oct 2013 23:19:56 +0000
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