Gwendolen, Page 4 Of 4 Poem by John Bliven Morin

“I will not spare your daughter,
Nor will I pity thee;
You shall be bound, and then be drowned
In the river there you see.”

Gwendolen was a princess born
Dumnonian daughter of steel
With a sword to harm and a shield on her arm
And a wolf-hound at her heel.

The armies of the king and queen
Put all their arms away;
United again, the British men,
Did her their homage pay.

The queen she lived for many a year,
And a good queen she became;
In bardic song her fame lives on,
Remembered is her name.

And Mathan, her son, became a king,
High King of the Britons, he,
Who wed, in time, and sired the line
Of British royalty.