Part 2

I invoke the assistance of the God of Heaven, Christ our Saviour, whom to neglect is impious. That gift is true which descendeth from above. The gifts that are given me are immortal, to discern, according to the great apostle, _what is right and decent_; and, among other grand subjects, to celebrate my prince, who avoids not the battle nor its danger; Llewelyn the generous, the maintainer of Bards. He is the dispenser of happiness to his subjects, his noble deeds cannot be sufficiently extolled. His spear flashes in a hand accustomed to martial deeds. It kills and puts its enemies to flight by the palace of Rheidiol. {20a} I have seen, and it was my heart's delight, the guards of Lleision {20b} about its grand buildings; numberless troops of warriors mounted on white steeds. They encompassed our eagle: Llewelyn the magnanimous hero, whose armour glistened; the maintainer of his rights. He defended the borders of Powys, a country renowned for its bravery; he defended its steep passes, and supported the privileges of its prince. Obstinate was his resistance to the treacherous English. In Rhuddlan he was like the ruddy fire flaming with destructive light. There have I seen Llewelyn the brave gaining immortal glory. I have seen him gallantly ploughing the waves of Deva, when the tide was at its height. I have seen him furious in the conflict of Chester, where he doubly repaid his enemies the injuries he suffered from them. It is but just that he should enjoy the praise due to his valour. I will extol thee, and the task is delightful. Thou art like the eagle amongst the nobles of Britain. Thy form is majestic and terrible, when thou pursuest thy foes. When thou invadest thy enemies, where Owain thy predecessor invaded them in former times; full proud was thy heart in dividing the spoils, it happened as in the battles of Kulwydd and Llwyvein. {21a} Thy beautiful steeds were fatigued with the labour of the day, where the troops wallowed in gore, and were thrown in confusion. The bow was full bent before the mangled corse, the spear aimed at the breast in the country of Eurgain. {21b} The army at Offa's Dike panted for glory, the troops of Venedotia, and the men of London, were as the alternate motion of the waves on the sea-shore, where the sea-mew screams; great was our happiness to put the Normans to fear and consternation. Llewelyn the terrible with his brave warriors effected it; the prince of glorious and happy Mona. He is its ornament and distinguished chief.

The lord of Demetia {21c} mustered his troops, and out of envy met his prince in the field. The inhabitants of Stone-walled Carmarthen were hewn to pieces in the conflict. Nor fort, nor castle, could withstand him: and before the gates the English were trampled under foot. Its chief was sad, the unsheathed sword shone bright, and hundreds of hands were engaged in the onset at Llan Huadain. {22a} In Cilgeran {22b} they purchased glory and honour . . . In Aber Teivi the hovering crows were numberless . . . thick were the spears besmeared with gore. The ravens croaked, they were greedy to suck the prostrate carcases. Llewelyn, may such fate attend thy foes. Mayest thou be more prosperous than the noble Llywarch {22c} with his bloody lance. Thy glory shall not be obscured. There is none that exceedeth thee in bestowing gifts on the days of solemnity. In battle thy sword is conspicuous. Wherever thou goest to war, to whatever distant clime, glory follows thee from the rising to the setting sun. I have a generous and noble prince, the lord of a large territory. He is renowned for his coolness and conduct. Whole troops fall before him; he defendeth his men like an eagle. My prince's brave actions will be celebrated in the country by Tanad. {22d} He is valorous as a lion, who can resist his lance? He is charitable to the needy, and his relief is not sought in vain. My prince is dressed in fine purple robes. He is like generous Nudd {22e} in bestowing presents. Like valiant Huail {22f} in defying his enemy. He is like Rhydderch {22g} in distributing his gold. Let his praise resound in every country. He possesses a large territory and immense riches wherever you turn your eyes. In wealth he is equal to Mordaf; like him he opens his liberal hand to the Bard. He is like warlike Rhun {23a} in bestowing his favours. He is the subject of my meditation. I am to him as an hand or an eye. {23b} He is not descended from a base degenerate stock; and I myself am descended from his father's courtiers. His fury in battle is like lightning when he attacks the foe: his heart glows with ardour in the field like magnanimous Gwriad. {23c} His enemies are scattered as leaves on the side of hills drove by tempestuous hurricanes. He is the honourable support and owner of Hunydd. {23d} He is the grace, the ornament of Arvon. {23e} Llewelyn, terror of thy enemy, death issued out of thy hand in the South. Thou art to us like an anchor in the time of storm. Protector of our country, may the shield of God protect thee. Britain, fearless of her enemies, glories in being ruled by him, by a chief who has numerous troops to defend her; by Llewelyn, who defies his enemies from shore to shore. He is the joy of armies, and like a lion in danger. He is the emperor and sovereign of sea and land. He is a warrior that may be compared to a deluge, to the surge on the beach that covereth the wild salmons. His noise is like the roaring wave that rusheth to the shore, that can neither be stopped or appeased. He puts numerous troops of his enemies to flight like a mighty wind. Warriors crowded about him, zealous to defend his just cause; their shields shone bright on their arms. His Bards make the vales resound with his praises; the justice of his cause, and his bravery in maintaining it, are deservedly celebrated. His valour is the theme of every tongue. The glory of his victories is heard in distant climes. His men exult about their eagle. To yield or die is the fate of his enemies--they have experienced his force by the shivering of his lance. In the day of battle no danger can turn him from his purpose. He is conspicuous above the rest, with a large, strong, crimson lance. He is the honour of his country, great is his generosity, and a suit is not made to him in vain. Llewelyn is a tender-hearted prince. He can nobly spread the feast, yet is he not enervated by luxury. May he that bestowed on us a share of his heavenly revelation, grant him the blessed habitation of the saints above the stars.

A PANEGYRIC

_Upon Owain Gwynedd_, _Prince of North Wales_, _by Gwalchmai_, _the son of Meilir_, _in the year_ 1157.

I will extol the generous hero descended from the race of Roderic, {25a} the bulwark of his country, a prince eminent for his good qualities, the glory of Britain, Owain the brave and expert in arms, a prince that neither hoardeth nor coveteth riches.--Three fleets arrived, vessels of the main, three powerful fleets of the first rate, furiously to attack him on a sudden. One from Iwerddon, {25b} the other full of well-armed Lochlynians, {25c} making a grand appearance on the floods, the third from the transmarine Normans, {25d} which was attended with an immense, though successless toil.

The Dragon of Mona's sons {26a} were so brave in action, that there was a great tumult on their furious attack, and before the prince himself, there was vast confusion, havoc, conflict, honourable death, bloody battle, horrible consternation, and upon Tal Moelvre a thousand banners. There was an outrageous carnage, {26b} and the rage of spears, and hasty signs of violent indignation. Blood raised the tide of the Menai, and the crimson of human gore stained the brine. There were glittering cuirasses, and the agony of gashing wounds, and mangled warriors prostrate before the chief, distinguished by his crimson lance. Lloegria was put into confusion, the contest and confusion was great, and the glory of our prince's wide-wasting sword shall be celebrated in an hundred languages to give him his merited praise.

AN ELEGY

_To Nest_, {27a} _the daughter of Howel_, _by Einion_, _the son of Gwalchmai_, _about the year_ 1240.

The spring returns, the trees are in their bloom, and the forest in its beauty, the birds chaunt, the sea is smooth, the gently-rising tide sounds hollow, the wind is still. The best armour against misfortune is prayer. But I cannot hide nor conceal my grief, nor can I be still and silent. I have heard the waves raging furiously towards the confines of the land of the sons of Beli. {27b} The sea flowed with force, and conveyed a hoarse complaining noise, on account of a gentle maiden. I have passed the deep waters of the Teivi {27c} with slow steps. I sung the praise of Nest ere she died. Thousands have resounded her name, like that of Elivri. {27d} But now I must with a pensive and sorrowful heart compose her elegy, a subject fraught with misery. The bright luminary of Cadvan {27e} was arrayed in silk, how beautiful did she shine on the banks of Dysynni, {27f} how great was her innocence and simplicity, joined with consummate prudence: she was above the base arts of dissimulation. Now the ruddy earth covers her in silence. How great was our grief, when she was laid in her stony habitation. The burying of Nest was an irreparable loss. Her eye was as sharp as the hawk, which argued her descended from noble ancestors. She added to her native beauty by her goodness and virtue. She was the ornament of Venedotia, and her pride. She rewarded the Bard generously. Never was pain equal to what I suffer for her loss. Oh death, I feel thy sting, thou hast undone me. No man upon earth regreteth her loss like me; but hard fate regardeth not the importunity of prayers, whenever mankind are destined to undergo its power. O generous Nest, thou liest in thy safe retreat, I am pensive and melancholy like Pryderi. {28a} I store my sorrow in my breast, and cannot discharge the heavy burden. The dark, lonesome, dreary veil, which covereth thy face, is ever before me, which covereth a face that shone like the pearly dew on Eryri. {28b} I make my humble petition to the great Creator of heaven and earth, and my petition will not be denied, that he grant, that this beautiful maid, who glittered like pearls, may, through the intercession of Holy Dewi, {28c} be received to his mercy, that she may converse with the prophets, that she may come into the inheritance of the All-wise God, with Mary and the Martyrs. And in her behalf I will profer my prayer, which will fly to the throne of Heaven. My love and affection knew no bounds. May she never suffer. Saint Peter be her protector. God himself will not suffer her to be an exile from the mansions of bliss. Heaven be her lot.

A POEM

_To Llewelyn-ap-Iorwerth_, _or Llewelyn the Great_; _in which many of his victories are celebrated_.

_Composed by Llywarch Brydydd y Moch_, _a Bard_, _who_, _according to Mr. Edward Llwyd of the Museum's Catalogue of the British writers_, _flourished about the year_ 1240; _but this poem is certainly of more ancient date_, _for prince Llewelyn died in the year_ 1240. _However that be_, _the original was taken from Llyfr Coch o Hergest_, _or the Red book of Hergest_, _kept in the Archives of Jesus College_, _Oxon_. _I have no apology to make for the Bards' method of beginning or concluding their poems_, _but that it was their general custom ever since the introduction of Christianity to this island_, _which was very early_. _We have no poems that I know of before that period_, _but some few remains of the Druids in that kind of verse called Englyn Milwr_. _It was the custom of the heathen poets themselves to begin their poems with an invocation of the Supreme Being_. _As for instance_, _Theocritus in the beginning of his Idyllium in praise of Ptolemoeus Philadelphus_,

[Greek text].

_But I shall not here enter into a critical dissertation of their merits or defects_; _my business_, _as a translator_, _being to give as faithful a version from the original as I possibly could at this distance of time_; _when many of the matters of fact_, _the manners of the age_, _and other circumstances_, _alluded to in their poems_, _must remain obscure to those that are best versed in the records of antiquity_.

May Christ, the Creator and Governor of the hosts of heaven and earth, defend me from all disasters; may I, through his assistance, be prudent and discreet ere I come to my narrow habitation in the grave. Christ, the son of God, will give me the gift of song to extol my prince, who giveth the warlike shout with joy. Christ who hath formed me of the four elements, and hath endowed me with the deep and wonderful gift of poetry--Llewelyn is the ruler of Britain and her armour. He is a lion-like brave prince, unmoved in action, the son of Iorwerth, {30a} our strength and true friend, a descendant of Owain {30b} the destroyer, whose abilities appeared in his youth. He came to be a leader of forces, dressed in blue, neat and handsome. In the conflicts of battle, in the clang of arms, he was an heroic youth. When ten years old he successfully attacked his kinsman. {30c} In Aber Conwy, ere my prince, the brave Llewelyn, got his right, he contested with David, {30d} who was a bloody chief, like Julius Caesar. A chief without blemish, not insulting his foes in distress, but in war impetuous and fierce, like the points of flaming fire burning in their rage. It is a general loss to the Bards, that he is covered with earth. We grieve for him.--Llewelyn was our prince ere the furious contest happened, and the spoils were amassed with eagerness. {30e} The purple gore ran over the snow-white breasts of the warriors, and there was an universal havoc and carnage after the shout. The parti-coloured waves flowed over the broken spear, and the warriors were silent. The briny wave came with force, and another met it mixed with blood, when we went to Porth Aethwy on the steeds of the main over the great roaring of the floods. The spear raged with relentless fury, and the tide of blood rushed with force. Our attack was sudden and fierce. Death displayed itself in all its horrors: so that it was a doubt whether any of us should die of old age. Noble troops, in the fatal hour, trampled on the dead like prancing steeds. Before Rhodri was brought to submission, the church-yards were like fallow grounds. When Llewelyn the successful prince overcame near the Alun {31a} with his warriors of the bright arms, ten thousand were killed, and the crows made a noise, and a thousand were taken prisoners. Llewelyn, though in battle he killed with fury, though he burnt like outrageous fire, yet he was a mild prince when the mead-horns were distributed - - - - - - he gave generously under his waving banners to his numerous Bards gold and silver, which he regardeth not, and Gasgony prancing steeds, with rich trappings, and great scarlet cloaks, shining like the ruddy flame: warlike, strong, well-made destroying steeds, with streams of foam issuing out of their mouths. He generously bestoweth, like brave Arthur, snow-white steeds by hundreds, whose speed is fleeter than birds.

Thou that feedest the fowls of the air like Caeawg {31b} the hero, the valiant ruler of all Britain, the numerous forces of England tumble and wallow in the field before thee. He bravely achieved above Deudraeth Dryfan, {31c} the feats of the renowned Ogrfan. {31d} Men fall silently in the field, and are deprived of the rites of sepulture. Thou hast defeated two numerous armies, one on the banks of Alun of the rich soil, where the Normans were destroyed, as the adversaries of Arthur in the battle of Camlan. {32a} The second in Arfon, near the sea shore - - - - - - And two ruling chiefs, flushed with success, encouraged us like lions, and one superior to them both, a stern hero, the ravage of battles, like a man that conquers in all places. Llewelyn with the broken blade of the gilt sword, the waster of Lloegr, a wolf covered with red, with his warriors about Rhuddlan. His forces carry the standard before him waving in the air. Thou art possessed of the valour of Cadwallon, {32b} the son of Cadfan. He is for recovering the government of all Britain. He kindly stretched his hand to us, while his enemies fled to the sea shore, to embark to avoid the imminent destruction, with despair in their looks, and no place of refuge remained, and the crimson lance whizzed dreadfully over their brows. We the Bards of Britain, whom our prince entertaineth on the first of January, shall every one of us, in our rank and station, enjoy mirth and jollity, and receive gold and silver for our reward - - - - - - - Caer Lleon, {32c} the chief of Mon, has brought thee to a low condition. Llewelyn has wasted thy land, thy men are killed by the sea - - - - He has entirely subdued Gwyddgrug, {33a} where the English ran away, with a precipitate flight, full of horror and consternation. Thy fields are miserably wasted, thy cloister, and thy neat houses, are ashes. The palace of Elsmere {33b} was with rage and fury burnt by fire. Ye all now enjoy peace by submitting to our prince, for wherever he goeth with his forces, whether it be hill or dale, it is the possession of one sole proprietor. Our lion has brought to Trallwng three armies that will never turn their backs, the residence of our enemies ever to be abhorred. The numerous Bards receive divers favours from him. He took Gwyddgrug. See you who succeeds in Mochnant {33c} when he victoriously marches through your country. On its borders the enemy were routed, and the Argoedwys {33d} were furiously attacked, and covered with blood. We have two palaces now in our possession. Let Powys {33e} see who is the valiant king of her people, whether it argueth prudence to act treacherously. Whether a Norman chief be preferable to a conquering Cymro. We have a prince, consider it, who, though silent about his own merit, putteth Lloegr to flight, and is fully bent to conquer the land that was formerly in the possession of Cadwallon, the son of Cadfan, the son of Iago - - - - - A noble lion, the governor of Britain, and her defence, Llewelyn, numerous are thy battles, thou brave prince of the mighty, that puttest the enemy to flight. Mayest thou my friend and benefactor overcome in every hardship. He is a prince with terrible looks who will conquer in foreign countries, as well as in Mon the mother of all Wales. His army has made its way broad thro' the ocean, and filled the hills, promontories, and dales. The blood flowed about their feet when the maimed warriors fought. In the battle of Coed Aneu, {34a} thou supporter of Bards, didst overthrow thy enemies. The other hard battle was fought at Dygen Ddyfnant, {34b} where thousands behaved themselves with manly valour. The next contest, where noble feats were achieved, was on the hill of Bryn yr Erw, {34c} where they saw thee like a lion foremost in piercing thy enemies, like a strong eagle, a safeguard to thy people. Upon this account they will no longer dispute with thee. They vanish before thee like the ghosts of Celyddon. {34d} Thou hast taken Gwyddgrug and Dyfnant by force, and Rhuddlan with its red borders, and thousands of thy men overthrew Dinbych, {34e} Foelas, {34f} and Gronant; {34g} and the men of Carnarvon, thy friends, were busy in action, and Dinas Emreis {34h} strove bravely in thy cause, and they vanquished with the renowned Morgant {34i} at their head all that stood before them. Thy pledges know not where to turn their faces, they cannot enjoy mirth or rest. Thou wert honourably covered with blood, and thy wound is a glory to thee. When thou didst resist manfully the attack of the enemy, thou wert honoured by thy sword, with thy buckler on thy shoulders. Thou didst bravely lead thy forces, the astonishment of Lloegr, to the borders of Mechain {35a} and Mochnant. Happy was the mother who bore thee, who art wise and noble, and freely distributest rich suits of garments, thy gold and silver. And thy Bards celebrate thee for presenting them thy bred steeds, when they sit at thy tables. And I myself am rewarded for my gift of poetry, with gold and distinguished respect. And should I desire of my prince the moon as a present, he would certainly bestow it on me. Thy praise reacheth as far as Lliwelydd, {35b} and Llywarch is the man who celebrates with his songs - - - - - - My praises are not extravagant to thee the prodigy of our age, thou art a prince firm in battle like an elephant. When thou arrivest at the period of thy glory, when thy praises cease to be celebrated by the Bard and the harp, my brave prince, ere thou comest, before thy last hour approaches, to confess thy sins, after thou hast through thy prowess vanquished thy enemies, mayest thou at last become a glorious saint.

AN ODE

_To Llewelyn_, _the son of Griffydd_, _last prince of Wales of the British line_, _composed by Llygad Gwr_, _about the year_ 1270.

IN FIVE PARTS.

I.

I address myself to God, the source of joy, the fountain of all good gifts, of transcendent majesty. Let the song proceed to pay its tribute of praise, to extol my hero, the prince of Arllechwedd, {36a} who is stained with blood, a prince descended from renowned kings. Like Julius Caesar is the rapid progress of the arms of Griffydd's heir. His valour and bravery are matchless, his crimson lance is stained with gore. It is natural to him to invade the lands of his enemies. He is generous, the pillar of princes. I never return empty-handed from the North. My successful and glorious prince, I would not exchange on any conditions. I have a renowned prince, who lays England waste, descended from noble ancestors. Llewelyn the destroyer of thy foes, the mild and prosperous governor of Gwynedd, Britain's honour in the field, with thy sceptered hand extended on the throne, and thy gilt sword by thy side. The lion of Cemmaes, {36b} fierce in the onset, when the army rusheth to be covered with red. Our defence who slighteth alliance with strangers, who with violence maketh his way through the midst of his enemy's country. His just cause will be prosperous at last. About Tyganwy {37a} he has extended his dominion, and his enemies fly from him with maimed limbs, and the blood flows over the soles of men's feet. Thou dragon of Arfon {37b} of resistless fury, with thy beautiful well-made steeds, no Englishman shall get one foot of thy country. There is no Cymro thy equal.

II.