from that island, and left the government and defence of the country to its native inhabitants. The northern parts of the island belonged to the Scots and Picts, and these barbarous tribes, soon after the departure of the Romans, invaded and ravaged the more southern territory. The British were divided into small independent tribes, each governed by its own prince; and these petty sovereigns, in their common danger, had not sufficient wisdom to unite in the common defence; though, in seasons of imminent peril, they like the ancient Romans, appointed a Dictator invested with supreme power over the collective forces of the nation. The British Dictator was called the Pendragon. He, however could not prevent discordant counsels and civil warfare among the inferior chiefs, so that the Saxons, who had come over from Germany as helpers of the Britons, easily subjugated them. According to some historians, though in modern times there are others who deny the existence of such a hero, Arthur, the son of Uther, succeeded his father as Pendragon about the year 517. His history, as generally received, whether it be true or false, is the following. Arthur, prince of the Silures, in conjunction with other chiefs, his countrymen, resisted the Saxons; but, though his prowess has been celebrated by poets and romance-writers, he was not successful against the Saxons. Mordred, a powerful Pictish chief, went over to the enemy, and was victorious against Arthur in the battle of Camlan. Arthur, notwithstanding he was once defeated, renewed the war, and many feats of valour are imputed to him; but he is said to have been mortally wounded in an engagement with Mordred, and to have died, and been buried at Avalon. The place of his interment is unknown, and Dr. Warton has founded a pretty poem upon this disputed fact. It is proper here to state, that among the fictions related of Prince Arthur is this, that he created a military order called the Knights of the Round Table. Of his and their achievments many marvellous stories are related. Dr. Warton describes a festival of Henry II. king of England, as he was about embarking for Ireland. Ireland previous to the year 1172 had been divided into five independent kingdoms. Two kings of Ireland, Dermod and Roderick O'Connor, had a desperate war, and the former came over to England to solicit the interference of Henry II. in his behalf. Henry availed himself of this strife to include Ireland in his dominions. He first obtained the gift of that island in a bull from the Pope, who in that age claimed the right to dispose of kingdoms, and when Henry went over to Ireland with the Pope's bull, and an army to enforce it, the country was partially surrendered to him. Henry's army was, as appears by the poem, attended by a company of bards, who entertained the king with their songs. Just before the embarkation for Ireland, one of the bards is represented as celebrating Prince Arthur, and declaring that the hero had been carried away by the enchanter Merlin, and was destined to re-appear at a future time in Britain; but another of the tuneful brethren asserts that no enchanter bore him off the field of battle, and demands of the king to repair to his tomb, and by some religious services in honour of him, pay homage to his departed glory. "It was," says Mr. Gray, "the common belief of the Welsh nation, that king Arthur was still alive in Fairyland, and would return and reign again over Britain." THE GRAVE OF PRINCE ARTHUR. Stately the feast, and high the cheer: A thousand torches flamed aloof; "O'er Cornwall's cliffs the tempest roared On Tintagel's topmost tower Armed with fate the mighty blow; Her mantle of ambrosial blue; To her green isle's enamelled steep, She pillowed his majestic head; His knightly table to restore, And brave the tournaments of yore." They ceased when on the tuneful stage Advanced a bard of aspect sage; His silver tresses, thin besprent, And thus he waked the warbling wire. 66 Not from fairy realms I lead With songs of Uther's glorious son, Never yet in rhyme enrolled, Nor sung nor harped in hall or bower; "When Arthur bowed his haughty crest, Where crowned with wreaths of misletoe, But when he fell, with winged speed Bore him to Joseph's towered fane, "Around no dusky banners wave, No mouldering trophies mark the grave: Away the ruthless Dane has torn Each trace that Time's slow touch had worn; And long, o'er the neglected stone, Oblivion's veil its shade had thrown: The faded tomb, with honour due, 'Tis thine, O Henry, to renew! 'Thither, when conquest has restored Yon recreant isle, and sheathed the sword, When peace with palm has crowned thy brows. Haste thee to pay thy pilgrim vows. There observant of my lore, The pavement's hallowed depth explore ; Dive into the vaults of death. "There shall thine eye, with wild amaze, On his gigantic stature gaze : There shalt thou find the monarch laid, Nor heed the slings of Ulster's clan; |