“And so they rowed from the land; and Sir Bedivere beheld all the ladies go with him. Then Sir Bedivere cried, Ah my Lord Arthur, what shall become of me now ye go from me, and leave me here alone among mine enemies? Comfort thyself, said the King. For I will go into the vale of Avilon, to heal me of my grievous wound. And if thou never more hear of me, pray for my soul.”—Malory.
“Whether the Kinge were there or not,
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde,
For from that sad and direful daye
Hee never more was seene on molde.”
Percy Reliques.
“O, three times favoured isle, where’s the place that might
Be with thyself compared for glory or delight
Whilst Glastonbury stood?...
Not great Arthur’s tomb, nor holy Joseph’s grave,