King Arthur An Heroick Poem. In Twelve Books. By Richard Blackmore. To which is Annexed, An Index, Explaining the Names of Countrys, Citys, and Rivers, &c |
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 | King Arthur |  |
The Messengers that from the Rebels went
Back to their Friends were by King Arthur sent.
Where they their Monarch's gracious Pardon read,
As was agreed, at every Squadron's head.
That done, the Chiefs did all their Troops disband,
And from Seditious Uproar freed the Land.
Thus did Britannia's jarring Discord Cease,
And in its place return'd Harmonious Peace.
So soon King Arthur's Fame and Presence quell'd
The Discontented Britons who Rebel'd.
As when a Heav'nly Angel comes to Chase
Infernal Fiends from some Inchanted Place.
Forthwith th'Inchantment's force is gone, and Hell
No longer Aids the black Magician's Spell.
Th'Imaginary Castles disappear,
The brazen Gates and Bulwarks melt to Air.
No Warriours more in Airy Armour stand,
Griping prodigious Bucklers in their hand:
Phantastic Monsters are no longer seen,
But all the Pageant Horrors quit the Scene.
The struggling Air throws off the Magic Chains,
And strait appear sweet Meads and flowry Plains.
So all the Terrours which did Albion feare,
At Arthur's Presence vanish'd into Air.
Back to their Friends were by King Arthur sent.
Where they their Monarch's gracious Pardon read,
As was agreed, at every Squadron's head.
That done, the Chiefs did all their Troops disband,
And from Seditious Uproar freed the Land.
Thus did Britannia's jarring Discord Cease,
And in its place return'd Harmonious Peace.
So soon King Arthur's Fame and Presence quell'd
The Discontented Britons who Rebel'd.
As when a Heav'nly Angel comes to Chase
Infernal Fiends from some Inchanted Place.
Forthwith th'Inchantment's force is gone, and Hell
No longer Aids the black Magician's Spell.
Th'Imaginary Castles disappear,
The brazen Gates and Bulwarks melt to Air.
No Warriours more in Airy Armour stand,
Griping prodigious Bucklers in their hand:
Phantastic Monsters are no longer seen,
But all the Pageant Horrors quit the Scene.
The struggling Air throws off the Magic Chains,
And strait appear sweet Meads and flowry Plains.
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At Arthur's Presence vanish'd into Air.
| King Arthur | |