In Honor of Amalric Blackhart and Caia Snowden,
King and Queen of An Tir
A poem in the style of Anglo Saxon heroic poetry
Written by THL Caitlin Christiana Wintour, Caid
In honor of TRM Amalric Blackhart and Caia Snowden of An Tir
On the occasion of Pennsic War XXXV
Lived in the West               
A rampant stag               
Amalric the namesake        
Once ruled Jerusalem,      

But restless was he        
Where he served king        
Received there the accolade
Grace and chivalry        
Fealty he owed and        
But knight’s heart         
By the Lady of snow,        
When Amalric to       
Caia of Snowden         

There by right of steel        
Storming the list        
Atlantian shells       
Sea queen’s crown         

Ruled they well and        
Yet the wandering        
And longed the stag        
So when good leave         
And freedom beckoned       
Count and Countess        
Breathed they gladly       
Emerald-green by the         

The Count loved greatly       
High peaks of snow        
A son adopted of         
No son could love his        

So sought he a new crown      

But Viscount Sir Vic,         
The golden diadem        
So battled the Count        
Blackhart and Vikingsson       


On that day fell      
Noble Amalric         
Became its King        

As from the West        
So a son of the West  
      
one who bore
in sable drawn,
of monarchs who
city of thrones.

and hied him to the East
and crown proudly and well.
for courage and honor
changing never.
faithfully he served
was held fast
song’s inspiration.
Atlantia went
went south to the sea.

did sue Amalric
for love of his lady,
shining bright
for Caia the fair.

wisely guided
way was ever strong
for sunset shores.
granted they were
far to the west
to the call did come.
the good air of An Tir,
grey winter sea.

the greening hills
that soared to the sky.
An Tir he became
liege-land more.

for consort beloved.
Avacal’s prince
was determined to take.
upon crown field,
for victory striving.


fair Avacal’s son.
An Tir’s true friend
and Caia its Queen.

An Tir was born,
wins to home at last.
     
Poetry
Is fhearr na’n t-òr sgeul air inns’ air chòir.
Better than gold is the tale well told.