Dear
Family, Friends, & Colleagues:
Ever since
my childhood days, the Island of the Mighty (Britain) has held a special
fascination for me. Starting with classic Disney films based on British legends
and literature, continuing through my college years (which saw my discovery of
all things Keltik), and now in the present day (as I eagerly devour Anglo-Saxon
poetry and prose in modern English translation), it seems that I’ve been a fan
of British literature ever since I can remember. So here, collected for your
enjoyment, is an ancient British legend about the founding of the Kingdom of
Britain, together with a poem that celebrates the history and legend that
coexist and overlap throughout the British countryside.
The
Legend of Brutus the Trojan
By
Thomas Bulfinch (1796-1867)
Excerpted
from The Age of Chivalry (1858) – Chapter II: “The Mythical History of
England”
Editor’s
Note: Here is the
legend of Brutus the Trojan – an exiled prince who eventually became King
Brutus I Felix of Britain, as retold by Thomas Bulfinch. The legendary migration
of the Trojan exiles from Greece to Britain is supposed to have taken place
around 1100 BCE.
The illustrious poet, [John] Milton, in his History of England,
is the author whom we chiefly follow in this chapter. According to the earliest
accounts, Albion, a giant, and son of Neptune, a contemporary of Hercules,
ruled over the island, to which he gave his name. Presuming to oppose the
progress of Hercules in his western march, he was slain by him. Milton gives
more regard to the story of Brutus, the Trojan, which, he says, is supported by
“descents of ancestry long continued, laws and exploits not plainly seeming to
be borrowed or devised, which on the common belief have wrought no small
impression; defended by many, denied utterly by few.” The principal authority
is Geoffrey of Monmouth, whose history, written in the twelfth century,
purports to be a translation of a history of Britain brought over from the
opposite shore of France, which, under the name of Brittany, was chiefly
peopled by natives of Britain who, from time to time, emigrated thither, driven
from their own country by the inroads of the Picts and Scots.
Brutus was the son of Silvius, and he of Ascanius, the son of Aeneas, whose
flight from Troy and settlement in Italy are narrated in Stories of Gods
and Heroes. Brutus, at the age of fifteen, attending his father to
the chase, unfortunately killed him with an arrow. Banished therefore by his
kindred, he sought refuge in that part of Greece where Helenus, with a band of
Trojan exiles, had become established. But Helenus was now dead, and the
descendants of the Trojans were oppressed by Pandrasus, the king of the
country. Brutus, being kindly received among them, so throve in virtue and in
arms as to win the regard of all the eminent of the land above all others of
his age. In consequence of this, the Trojans not only began to hope, but
secretly to persuade him to lead them the way to liberty. To encourage them,
they had the promise of help from Assaracus, a noble Greek youth, whose mother
was a Trojan. He had suffered wrong at the hands of the king, and for that
reason he more willingly cast in his lot with the Trojan exiles.
Choosing a fit opportunity, Brutus with his countrymen withdrew to the woods
and hills, as the safest place from which to expostulate, and sent this message
to Pandrasus: “That the Trojans, holding it unworthy of their ancestors to
serve in a foreign land, had retreated to the woods, choosing rather a savage
life than a slavish one. If that displeased him, then, with his leave, they
would depart to some other country.” Pandrasus, not expecting so bold a message
from the sons of captives, went in pursuit of them, with such forces as he
could gather, and met them on the banks of the Achelous, where Brutus got the
advantage and took the king captive. The result was that the terms demanded by
the Trojans were granted; the king gave his daughter Imogen in marriage to
Brutus and furnished shipping, money, and fit provision for them all to depart
from the land.
The marriage being solemnized, and shipping from all parts got together, the
Trojans, in a fleet of no less than three hundred and twenty sail, betook
themselves to the sea. On the third day, they arrived at a certain island,
which they found destitute of inhabitants, though there were appearances of
former habitation, and among the ruins a temple of Diana. Brutus, here
performing sacrifice at the shrine of the goddess, invoked an oracle for his
guidance, in these lines:
“Goddess of
shades, and huntress, who at will
Walks on
the rolling sphere, and through the deep;
On thy
third realm, the Earth, look now, and tell
What land,
what seat of rest, thou bids me seek;
What
certain seat where I may worship thee
For aye,
with temples vowed and virgin choirs.”
To whom,
sleeping before the altar, Diana in a vision thus answered:
“Brutus!
Far to the west, in the ocean wide,
Beyond the
realm of Gaul, a land there lies,
Seat-girt
it lies, where giants dwelt of old;
Now, void,
it fits thy people; thither bend
Thy course;
there shall thou find a lasting seat;
There to
thy sons another Troy shall rise,
And kings
be born of these, whose dreaded might
Shall awe
the world, and conquer nations bold.”
Brutus, guided now, as he thought, by divine direction, sped his course towards
the west, and, arriving at a place on the Tyrrhenian Sea, found there the
descendants of certain Trojans who, with Antenor, came into Italy, of whom
Corineus was the chief. These joined company, and the ships pursued their way
till they arrived at the mouth of the river Loire, in France, where the
expedition landed, with a view to a settlement; but [they] were so rudely
assaulted by the inhabitants that they put to sea again and arrived at a part
of the coast of Britain, now called Devonshire, where Brutus felt convinced
that he had found the promised end of his voyage, landed his colony, and took
possession.
The island, not yet Britain, but Albion, was in a manner desert and
inhospitable, occupied only by a remnant of the giant race whose excessive
force and tyranny had destroyed the others. The Trojans encountered these and
extirpated them, Corineus, in particular, signalizing himself by his exploits
against them; from whom Cornwall takes its name, for that region fell to his
lot, and there the hugest giants dwelt, lurking in rocks and caves, till
Corineus rid the land of them. Brutus built his capital city and called it
Troja Nova (New Troy), changed in time to Trinovantum, now London; and,
having governed the isle 24 years, died, leaving three sons, Locrinus,
Albanactus, and Camber. Locrinus had the middle part [England], Camber the
west, called Cambria [Wales] from him, and Albanactus Albany, now Scotland.
Webliography
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brutus_of_Troy = A summary article on Brutus the Trojan, the legendary founder of the Kingdom of Britain
- http://www.bartleby.com/182/ = The Age of Chivalry: Legends of King Arthur by Thomas Bulfinch (1858)
- http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/gem/index.htm = History of the Kings of Britain by Geoffrey of Monmouth (1136)
“Puck's
Song”
By
Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)
See you the
ferny ride that steals
Into the
oak-woods far?
O that was
whence they hewed the keels
That rolled
to Trafalgar.
And mark
you where the ivy clings
To Bayham's
moldering walls?
O there we
cast the stout railings
That stand
around St. Paul's.
See you the
dimpled track that runs
All hollow
through the wheat?
O that was
where they hauled the guns
That smote
King Philip's fleet.
(Out of the
Weald, the secret Weald,
Men sent in
ancient years,
The
horse-shoes red at Flodden Field,
The arrows
at Poitiers!)
See you our
little mill that clacks,
So busy by
the brook?
She has
ground her corn and paid her
Ever since
Domesday Book.
See you our
stilly woods of oak,
And the
dread ditch beside?
O that was
where the Saxons broke
On the day
that Harold died.
See you the
windy levels spread
About the
gates of Rye?
O that was
where the Northmen fled,
When
Alfred's ships came by.
See you our
pastures wide and lone,
Where the
red oxen browse?
O there was
a City thronged and known,
Ere London
boasted a house.
And see
you after rain, the trace
Of mound
and ditch and wall?
O that was
a Legion's camping-place,
When Caesar
sailed from Gaul.
And see you
marks that show and fade,
Like
shadows on the Downs?
O they are
the lines the Flint Men made,
To guard
their wondrous towns.
Trackway
and Camp and City lost,
Salt Marsh
where now is corn--
Old Wars,
old Peace, old Arts that cease,
And so was
England born!
She is not
any common Earth,
Water or
wood or air,
But
Merlin's Isle of Gramarye,
Where you and
I will fare!
Happy
Spring Break & Springtime Holidays! :)
Rob
