A man named Arthur is said to have been called upon to lead the Britons against the Saxon invaders of the Isle sometime in the 5th century. This man, a combination of truth and legend, was referenced in multiple high medieval works as a hero to all Britons. His legend varies from that of a minor noble elected to lead all the Welsh against the barbarians, to a world conquering Emperor of all the lands from Iceland to Syria. While the latter is untrue, this Arthur Pendragon is the foundation of medieval storytelling, a king both noble and valiant, willing to lead the charges himself yet at the same time able to administer a kingdom near flawlessly. Though the legend of Camelot, the knights of the round table, and characters like Lancelot were later additions to the Arthurian Legend, the one Arthur who stands above all the fable is a simple hero. I decided the best way to present him is in the style of the historians of his time; through poetry. The bards of ancient Cymru would have sung his tales to audiences in feasting halls in the dark months of the winter, bringing warmth to the hearts of lords and their subjects. Arthur Pendragon, King of the Britons, the Dragon of Cymru, and Protector of the Realm, is the greatest lasting effect on the world of a people both ancient and mysterious, oppressed and violated by the English since the 5th Century AD. Though their people have been crowded into the hills and mountains of western Britain, their language tossed aside, and their voice squashed by the invaders who still control the Isle, the Welsh gave us Arthur – and Arthur gave us all our stories.
The wind swept over the hills of Gododdin
The corpses of heroes bent over and broken
Here Angle slew Briton in fields now abandoned
Not far from shore where Ida and his barbarians landed
Fell Gododdin and Rheged in shame and defeat
Gwynedd, Gwent and Powys to live by retreat
Alt Clut and Strathclyde both stung in the fight
Men of the Cymraeg slain by Germania’s might
Descendants of Odin, Freya and Thor
Invaded the Isle by Dingnayrdi’s shore
Now the lords of Prydein cower and hide
From the sea of barbarians who flow in on the tide
Long gone are the days when the dragon did roar
Undead King of the Britains, may you come forth once more
Arthur ap Urien, Dragon of Wales!
Drove them back the invaders, to their ships and their sails
Though many more noble than he could have led
No other man filled vile Hengist and Horsa with dread
The Ri of the Cymraeg, all of Wales rallied by him
Charged into the shield wall of Saxons impious
Where first he met Saxon, he slew them at Glein
Then rode them down on the banks in Linnuis
At Bassus and Celidon the the Angles were broken
The Dragon of Cyrmu, the Celtic fire awoken
When last he fought the Kentish at Badon
Charged into the fray with sword and saddle
He slew himself nine hundred and sixty that day
With the Lord above’s fury pushed the Saxons away
But yet they came still, and Arthur no more
Sailed to the North, to Dingnyardi’s shore
And there reigned Ida, Bernician scourge
Then his son Adda, of Gododdin’s dirge
In the year six hundred the Fflamddwyn came
And now all we have is Arthur’s old name
April 14, 2017 at 12:48 pm
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