Part 5 (1/2)

Upon these rules of accent and alliteration the strict form of Anglo-Saxon verse was based. But when the Normans came they brought a new form of poetry, and gradually rhymes began to take the place of alliteration. Layamon wrote his Brut more than a hundred years after the coming of the Normans, and although his poem is in the main alliterative, sometimes he has rhyming lines such as ”mochel dal heo iwesten: mid harmen pen mesten,” that is:--

”Great part they laid waste: With harm the most.”

Sometimes even in translation the rhyme may be kept, as:--

”And faer forh nu to niht: In to Norewaieze forh riht.”

which can be translated:--

”And fare forth now to-night Into Norway forth right.”

At times, too, Layamon has neither rhyme nor alliteration in his lines, sometimes he has both, so that his poem is a link between the old poetry and the new.

I hope that you are not tired with this long explanation, for I think if you take the trouble to understand it, it may make the rest of this chapter more interesting. Now I will tell you a little more of the poem itself.

Layamon tells many wonderful stories of Arthur, from the time he was born to his last great battle in which he was killed, fighting against the rebel Modred.

This is how Layamon tells the story of Arthur's death, or rather of his ”pa.s.sing”:

”Arthur went to Cornwall with a great army.

Modred heard that and he against him came With unnumbered folk. There were many of them fated.

Upon the Tambre they came together, The place was called Camelford, evermore has that name lasted.

And at Camelford were gathered sixty thousand And more thousands thereto. Modred was their chief.

Then hitherward gan ride Arthur the mighty With numberless folk fated though they were.

Upon the Tambre they came together, Drew their long swords, smote on the helmets, So that fire sprang forth. Spears were splintered, s.h.i.+elds gan shatter, shafts to break.

They fought all together folk unnumbered.

Tambre was in flood with unmeasured blood.

No man in the fight might any warrior know, Nor who did worse nor who did better so was the conflict mingled, For each slew downright were he swain were he knight.

There was Modred slain and robbed of his life day.

In the fight There were slain all the brave Arthur's warriors n.o.ble.

And the Britons all of Arthur's board, And all his lieges of many a kingdom.

And Arthur sore wounded with war spear broad.

Fifteen he had fearful wounds.

One might in the least two gloves thrust.

Then was there no more in the fight on life Of two hundred thousand men that there lay hewed in pieces But Arthur the king alone, and of his knights twain.

But Arthur was sore wounded wonderously much.

Then to him came a knave who was of his kindred.

He was Cador's son the earl of Cornwall.

Constantine hight the knave. He was to the king dear.

Arthur him looked on where he lay on the field, And these words said with sorrowful heart.

Constantine thou art welcome thou wert Cador's son, I give thee here my kingdom.

Guard thou my Britons so long as thou livest, And hold them all the laws that have in my days stood And all the good laws that in Uther's days stood.