“And from the top of Brith, so high and wondrous steep Where Dinas Emris stood, showed where the serpents fought, The White that tore the Red; from whence the prophet wrought The Briton’s sad decay then shortly to ensue.” On the south of Carnarvon Bay is Nant Gwrtheryn, the Hollow of Vortigern, a precipitous ravine by the sea, said to be the last resting-place of the usurper, when he fled to escape the rage of his subjects on finding themselves betrayed to the Saxons. “Scarce longer time Than at Caerleon the full-tided Usk, Before the time to fall seaward again, Pauses.” Modern Caerleon, however, with its commonplace railway station, its porters shouting “Car—lion,” its new bridge, its spoilt Norman church, and its street of small dwelling-houses, is likely at first to disappoint the pilgrim, who only by searching and waiting can hope to find the links with the city’s historic past. “And certainly they say, for fine behaving King Arthur’s Court has never had its match; True point of honour, without pride or braving, Strict etiquette for ever on the watch; There manners were refined and perfect—saving Some modern graces which they could not catch, As spitting through the teeth, and driving stages, Accomplishments reserved for distant ages. They looked a manly, generous generation; Beards, shoulders, eyebrows, broad, and square, and thick; Their accents firm and loud in conversation, Their eyes and gestures eager, sharp, and quick, Showed them prepared on proper provocation, To give the lie, pull noses, stab, and kick; And for that very reason it is said, They were so very courteous and well bred.” When we come to consider probabilities, aided by such unsparing lines as these, we may even accept as truth the old folk-song which tells that when King Arthur ruled the land he “ruled it like a swine.” The American poet, the late Mr. Eugene Field, in his “Lay of Camelot,” has also shown the humorous aspect of the Arthurian Court. While all this may be legitimate enough, and provide opportunities for the wit of the authors, it is not the aspect which we prefer to contemplate for any length of time, or one which has any continuous pleasure for the mind. “Frank Gawaine, Whom mirth for ever, like a fairy child, Lock’d from the cares of life.” William Morris, in The Defence of Guenevere, makes Gawaine the accuser of the queen, and he is denounced for treachery. “For like Excalibur, With gemmed and flashing hilt it will not sink. There rises from below a hand that grasps it, And waves it in the air: and wailing voices Are heard along the shore.” “Presently He rode on giddy still, until he reach’d A place of apple-trees, by the Thorn-Tree Wherefrom St. Joseph in the past days preach’d.” Transcriber’s Notes: Variations in spelling and hyphenation remain as in the original unless noted below.
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