Legends of Avalon: The Crown of Britannia

From Camelot’s gates the young king rode, With Caliburn bright, the blade bestowed. Through vale and moor, through hill and glen, He sought the hearts of lords and men.

Some bent the knee with reverent tone, And hailed the child upon the throne. Yet others stood with steel in hand, And swore no king should rule their land.

With wisdom sharp and courage true, Arthur did what he must needs do. He spoke of peace, of one great land, Yet fought when fate gave ne’er a soft hand.

From northern hills to southern shore, He marched where kings had failed afore. No tribe too fierce, no hall too high, Could still the fire within his eye.

The bards would sing of battles won, Of castles claimed and banners spun. Till one by one, the realms did see, Their fate was bound in unity.

And when the last proud lord did yield, Arthur stood o’er Britain’s field. The crown was set upon his brow, And all did shout their solemn vow:

“Hail Arthur, king by high decree, O’er Britannia’s land and sea! From shore to shore thy word shall bind, All loyal hearts and realm entwined.”

So shone the crown, both fair and dread, A golden weight upon his head. Yet whispers stirred in hall and keep, Of trials yet for knights to meet.