Chapter 3

CHAPTER III.
ARTHUR. WE shall begin our history of King Arthur by giving those
particulars of his life which appear to rest on historical evidence;
and then proceed to record those legends concerning him which form the
earliest portion of British literature.
Arthur was a prince of the tribe of Britons called Silures, whose
country was South Wales,- the son of Uther, named Pendragon, a title
given to an elective sovereign, paramount over the many kings of
Britain. He appears to have commenced his martial career about the
year 500, and was raised to the Pendragonship about ten years later.
He is said to have gained twelve victories over the Saxons. The most
important of them was that of Badon, by some supposed to be Bath, by
others Berkshire. This was the last of his battles with the Saxons,
and checked their progress so effectually that Arthur experienced no
more annoyance from them, and reigned in peace, until the revolt of
his nephew Modred, twenty years later, which led to the fatal battle
of Camlan, in Cornwall, in 542. Modred was slain, and Arthur, mortally
wounded, was conveyed by sea to Glastonbury, where he died, and was
buried. Tradition preserved the memory of the place of his interment
within the abbey, as we are told by Giraldus Cambrensis, who was
present when the grave was opened by command of Henry II. in 1150, and
saw the bones and sword of the monarch, and a leaden cross let into
his tombstone, with the inscription in rude Roman letters, "Here
lies buried the famous King Arthur, in the island Avolonia." This
story has been elegantly versified by Warton. A popular traditional
belief was long entertained among the Britons that Arthur was not
dead, but had been carried off to be healed of his wounds in
Fairy-land, and that he would reappear to avenge his countrymen, and
reinstate them in the sovereignty of Britain. In Wharton's Ode a
bard relates to King Henry the traditional story of Arthur's death,
and closes with these lines:- "Yet in vain a paynim foe
Armed with fate the mighty blow;
For when he fell, the Elfin queen,
All in secret and unseen,
O'er the fainting hero threw
Her mantle of ambrosial blue,
And bade her spirits bear him far,
In Merlin's agate-axled car,
To her green isle's enamelled steep,
Far in the navel of the deep.
O'er his wounds she sprinkled dew
From flowers that in Arabia grew. There he reigns a mighty king,
Thence to Britain shall return,
If right prophetic rolls I learn,
Borne on victory's spreading plume,
His ancient sceptre to resume,
His knightly table to restore,
And brave the tournaments of yore." After this narration another bard came forward, who recited a
different story:- "When Arthur bowed his haughty crest,