Part 3

There is none equal to my prince with his numerous troops in the conflict of war. He is a generous Cymro descended from Beli Hir, {37c} if you enquire about his lineage. He generously distributeth gold and riches. An heroic wolf from Eryri. {37d} An eagle among his nobles of matchless prowess; it is our duty to extol him. He is clad in a golden vest in the army, and setteth castles on fire. He is the bulwark of the battle with Greidiawl's {37e} courage. He is a hero that with fury breaketh whole ranks, and fighteth manfully. His violence is rapid, his generosity overflowing. He is the strength of armies arrayed in gold. He is a brave prince whose territories extend as far as the Teivi, {37f} whom nobody dares to punish. Llewelyn the vanquisher of England is a noble lion descended from the race of kings. Thou art the king of the mighty, the entertainer and encourager of Bards. Thou makest the crows rejoice, and the Bryneich {38a} to vomit blood, they feasted on their carcases. He never avoided danger in the storm of battle, he was undaunted in the midst of hardships. The Bards {38b} prophecy that he shall have the government and sovereign power; every prediction is at last to be fulfilled. The shields of his men were stained with red in brave actions from Pwlffordd {38c} to the farthest bounds of Cydweli. {38d} May he find endless joys, and be reconciled to the Son of God, and enjoy Heaven by his side.

III.

We have a prudent prince, his lance is crimson, his shield is shivered to pieces; a prince furious in action, his palace is open to his friends, but woe is the lot of his enemies. Llewelyn the vanquisher of his adversaries is furious in battle like an outrageous dragon; to be guarded against him availeth not, when he cometh hand to hand to dispute the hardy contest. May he that made him the happy governor of Gwynedd and its towns, strengthen him for length of years to defend his country from hostile invasion. It is our joy and happiness that we have a brave warrior with prancing steeds, that we have a noble Cymro, descended from Cambrian ancestors, to rule our country and its borders. He is the best prince that the Almighty made of the four elements. He is the best of governors, and the most generous. The eagle of Snowdon, and the bulwark of battle. He pitched a battle where there was a furious contest to obtain his patrimony on Cefn Gelorwydd; {39a} such a battle never happened since the celebrated action of Arderydd. {39b}

He is the brave lion of Mona, the kind-hearted Venedotian, the valiant supporter of his troops in Bryn Derwen. He did not repent of the day in which he assaulted his adversaries: it was like the assault of a hero descended from undaunted ancestors. I saw a hero disputing with hosts of men like a man of honour in avoiding disgrace. He that saw Llewelyn like an ardent dragon in the conflict of Arfon and Eiddionydd, {39c} would have observed that it was a difficult task to withstand his furious attack by Drws Daufynydd. {39d} No man has ever compelled him to submit: may the Son of God never put him to confusion.

IV.

Like the roaring of a furious lion in the search of prey, is thy thirst of praise, like the sound of a mighty hurricane over the desert main, thou warlike prince of Aberffraw. {39e} Thy ravage is furious, thy impetuosity irresistible, thy troops are enterprising in brave actions, they are fierce and furious like a conflagration. Thou art the warlike prince of Dinefwr, {40a} the defence of thy people, the divider of spoils. Thy forces are comely and neat, and of one language. Thy proud Toledo sword is gilt with gold and its edge broke in war. Thou prince of Mathrafal, {40b} extensive are the bounds of thy dominions, thou rulest people of four languages. He staid undaunted in battle against a foreign nation, and its strange language. May the great King of heaven defend the just cause of the warlike prince of the three provinces.

V.

I make my address to God, the source of praise, in the best manner I am able, that I may extol with suitable words the chief of men, who rageth like fire from the flashes of lightning, who exchangeth thrusts with the burnished steel. I stand in armour by the side of my prince with the red spear in the conflict of war, he is a brave fighter, and the foremost in action. Llewelyn, thy qualities are noble, I will valiantly make my path broad with the edge of my sword. May the prints of the hoofs of my prince's steeds be seen as far as Cornwall. Numerous are the persons that congratulate him upon this success, for he is a sure friend. The lion of Gwynedd, and its extensive territories, the governor of the men of Powys, and the South, who hath a general assembly of his armed troops at Chester, who ravageth Lloegr to amass spoils. In battle his success is certain, in killing, burning, and in overthrowing castles. In Rhos, and Penfro, {40c} and in contests with the Normans, his impetuosity prevaileth. The offspring of Griffydd, of worthy qualities, generous in distributing rewards for songs. His shield shines, and the strong lances quickly meet the streams of gushing gore. He extorteth taxes from his enemies, and claimeth another country as a sovereign prince. His noble birth is an ornament to him. He besiegeth fortified towns, and his furious attacks like those of Fflamddwyn {41} reach far. He is a prosperous chief with princely qualities, his Bards are comely about his tables. I have seen him generously distributing his wealth, and his mead-horns filled with generous liquors. Long may he live to defend his borders with the sharp sword, like Arthur with the lance of steel. May he who is lawful king of Cymru, endued with princely qualities, have his share of happiness at the right hand of God.

A POEM

_Entitled the Ode of the Months_, _composed by Gwilym Ddu of Arfon_, _to Sir John Griffydd Llwyd_, _of Tregarnedd and Dinorwig_.

Why the Bard called this piece the "Ode of the Months" I cannot guess; but by what he intimates in the poem, which is that when all nature revives, and the whole animal and vegetable creation are in their full bloom and vigour, he mourned and pined for the decayed state of his country. The hero he celebrates made a brave but successless attempt to rescue it from slavery. It will not be amiss to give a short account of the inhuman massacre of the Bards made by that cruel tyrant Edward the first, which gave occasion to a very fine Ode by Mr. Gray. Sir John Wynne, of Gwydir, a descendant in a direct line from Owain Gwynedd, mentions this particular, and says he searched all the records in the Exchequer at Carnarvon, and in the Tower of London, for the antiquities of his country in general, and of his own family in particular. I shall set down his own words, as I find them in a very fair copy of that history lent me by Sir Roger Mostyn, of Gloddaeth and Mostyn, Bart., a person no less eminent for his generous communicative temper, than for many other public and private virtues.

"This is the most ancient song (i.e. one of Rhys Goch of Eryri's, a Bard who flourished A.D. 1400) I can find extant of my ancestors since the reign of Edward the first, who caused our Bards all to be hanged by martial law, as stirrers of the people to sedition; whose example being followed by the governors of Wales until Henry the Fourth's time, was the utter destruction of that sort of men; and since then that kind of people were at some further liberty to sing, and to keep pedigrees, as in ancient time they were wont; since which time we have some light of antiquity by their songs and writings," &c.

The following is taken from an old British grammar, written in English, by William Salesbury, printed at London, 1567. I have transcribed it faithfully according to the old orthography. "Howbeit when the whole Isle was commonlye called Brytayne, the dwellers Brytons, and accordingly their language Brytishe, I will not refell nor greatly deny; neither can I justly gainsaye, but their tongue then was as copious of syt woordes, and all manner of proper vocables, and as well adornated with woorshipful sciences and honourable knowledge as any other of the barbarous tongues were. And so still continued (though their sceptre declined, and their kingdom decayed, and they also by God's hand were driven into the most unfertyl region, barenest country, and most desart province of all the isle) untyll the conquest of Wales. For then, as they say, the nobles and the greatest men beyng captives and brought prysoners to the tower of London, there to remayne during their lyves, desired of a common request, that they might have with them all such bokes of their tongue, as they most delited in, and so their petition was heard, and for the lightness soon granted, and thus brought with them all the principallest and chiefest books, as well of their own as of other their friends, of whom they could obtain anye to serve for their purpose. Whose mind was none other but to pass the time, and their predestinate perpetual captivitie in the amenous varietie of over reading and revoluting many volumes and sundry books of divers sciences and strange matters.

"And that is the common answer of the Welshe Bardes (for so they call their country poets) when a man shall object or cast in their teeth the foolysh uncertainty and the phantasticall vanities of their prophecies (which they call BRUTS) or the doubtful race and kinde of their uncanonized saynctes: whom that notwithstanding they both invocate and worship wyth the most hyghe honoure and lowliest reverence. Adding and allegying in excuse thereof, that the reliques and residue of the books and monuments, as well as the saynctes lyves, as of their Brutysh prophecies and other sciences (which perished not in the tower, for there, they say, certain were burned) at the commotion of OWAIN GLYNDWR, were in like manner destroyed, and utterly devastat, or at the least wyse that there escaped not one, that was not uncurablye maymed, and irrecuperably torn and mangled.

"'Llyfrau Cymru au llofrudd Ir twr Gwyn aethant ar gudd Ysceler oedd Yscolan Fwrw'r twrr lyfrau ir tan.'

Gutto'r Glyn. A.D. 1450.

"The books of Cymru and their remains went to the White Tower, where they were hid. Cursed was Ysgolan's act in throwing them in heaps into the fire."

It is not improbable that our Bard might have been one of those who suffered in the cause of his country, though he had the good luck to escape Edward's fury. I wish I may be so happy as to convey some faint idea of his merit to the English reader. The original has such touches, as none but a person in the Bard's condition could have expressed so naturally. However not to anticipate the judicious reader's opinion, to which I submit mine with all deference, I shall now produce some account of this great man, taken from that skilful and candid antiquary Mr. Robert Vaughan of Hengwrt's notes on Dr. Powel's history of Wales, printed at Oxford, 1663.

"Sir John Griffydd Llwyd, knight, the son of Rhys ap Griffydd ap Ednyfed Fychan, was a valiant gentleman, but unfortunate, 'magnae quidem, sed calamitosae virtutis,' as Lucius Florus saith of Sertorius. He was knighted by king Edward, when he brought him the first news of his queen's safe delivery of a son at Carnarvon Castle; the king was then at Rhuddlan, at his parliament held there. This Sir Griffydd afterwards taking notice of the extreme oppression and tyranny exercised by the English officers, especially Sir Roger Mortimer, lord of Chirk, and justice of North Wales, towards his countrymen the Welsh, became so far discontented, that he broke into open rebellion, verifying that saying of Solomon, 'Oppression maketh a wise man mad.' He treated with Sir Edward Bruce, brother to Robert, then king of Scotland, who had conquered Ireland, to bring or send over men to assist him in his design against the English; but Bruce's terms being conceived too unreasonable, the treaty came to nought; however being desperate, he gathered all the forces he could, and, in an instant, like a candle that gives a sudden blaze before it is out, overran all North Wales and the Marches, taking all the castles and holds; but to little purpose, for soon after he was met with, his party discomfited, and himself taken prisoner. This was in the year of our Lord 1322."

I thought so much by way of introduction necessary to commemorate so gallant a person; what became of him afterwards is not mentioned by our historians. However the following poem remains not only as a monument of the hero's bravery, but of the Bard's genius.

* * * * *

Before the beginning of May I lived in pomp and grandeur, but now, alas! I am deprived of daily support, the time is as disastrous as when our Saviour Christ was taken and betrayed. How naked and forlorn is our condition! We are exposed to anxious toils and cares. O how heavy is the Almighty's punishment, that the crimson sword cannot be drawn! I remember how great its size was, and how wide its havoc; numerous are now the oppressed captives who languish in gnashing indignation. Our native Bards are excluded from their accustomed entertainments. How great a stop is put to generosity since a munificent hero, like Nudd, {46a} is confined in prison. The valorous hawk of Griffydd, {46b} so renowned for ravaging and destroying his enemies, is deplored by the expert Bards, who have lost their festivity and mirth in the place where mead was drunk. I cannot bear to think of his injurious treatment. His hospitality has fed thousands. He is, alas! in a forlorn prison, such is the unjust oppression of the land of the Angles. {46c} Years of sorrow have overwhelmed me. I reckon not what becomes of the affairs of this world. The Bards of two hundred regions lament that they have now no protector. This is a certain, but a sad truth. Though the unthinking vulgar do not reflect as I do on the time when my eagle shone in his majesty. I am pierced by the lance of despair. Hard is the fate of my protector, Gwynedd {47a} is in a heavy melancholy mood, its inhabitants are oppressed because of their transgressions. Long has the bright sword, that shone like a torch, been laid aside, and the brave courage of the dauntless Achilles been stopped. The whole pleasant season of May is spent in dismal sorrow; and June is comfortless and cheerless. It increaseth my tribulation, that Griffydd with the red lance is not at liberty. I am covered with chilly damps. My whole fabric shakes for the loss of my chief. I find no intermission to my pain. May I sink, O Christ! my Saviour, into the grave, where I can have repose; for now, alas! the office of the Bard is but a vain and empty name. I am surprised that my despair has not burst my heart, and that it is not rent through the midst in twain. The heavy stroke of care assails my memory, when I think of his confinement, who was endowed with the valour of Urien {47b} in battle. My meditation on past misfortunes is like that of the skilful Cywryd, {47c} the Bard of Dunawd. {47d} My praise to the worthy hero is without vicious flattery, and my song no less affecting than his. My panegyric is like the fruitful genius of Afan Ferddig {48a} in celebrating Cadwallon {48b} of royal enterprise. I can no more sing of the lance, in well-laboured verse. Since thou doest not live, what avails it that the world has any further continuance? Every region proclaims thy generosity. The world droops since thou art lost. There are no entertainments or mirth, Bards are no longer honoured: the palaces are no longer open, strangers are neglected, there are no caparizoned steeds, no trusty endearing friendship. No, our country mourns, and wears the aspect of Lent. There is no virtue, goodness, or any thing commendable left among us, but vice, dissoluteness, and cowardice bear the sway. The great and towering strength of Mon {48c} is become an empty shadow, and the inhabitants of Arfon {48d} are become insignificant below the ford of Rheon. {48e} The lofty land of Gwynedd is become weak. The heavy blow of care strikes her down. We must now renounce all consolation. We are confined in a close prison by a merciless unrelenting enemy; and what avails a bloody and brave contest for liberty.

* * * * *

_Having finished the present small collection of the British Bards_, _I take this opportunity to acquaint the reader_, _that the time in which they flourished is not accurately set down by Dr. Davies_, _at the end of his Dictionary_, _nor by Mr. Llwyd_, _of the Museum_, _in his Catalogue of British Writers_, _in the Archaeologia Britannica. Indeed it is impossible to be so exact_, _as to fix the year when the Bards wrote their several pieces_, _unless the actions they celebrate are mentioned in our Annals_, _because some of them_ _lived under several princes_. _This I thought proper to mention_, _lest any should blame the translator for his inaccuracy_, _in settling the Chronology of the Poems_.

A SHORT ACCOUNT OF TALIESIN,

_The Chief of Bards_, _and Elphin_, _the son of Gwyddno Goranhir_, _his Patron_.

Gwyddno Goranhir, was a petty king of Cantre'r Gwaelod, whose country was drowned by the sea, in a great inundation that happened about the year 560, through the carelessness of the person into whose care the dams were committed, as appears from a poem of Taliesin upon that sad catastrophe. In his time the famous Taliesin lived, whose birth and education is thus related in our ancient manuscripts. He was found exposed in a wear belonging to Gwyddno, the profit of which he had granted to his son, Prince Elphin, who being an extravagant youth, and not finding the usual success, grew melancholy; and his fishermen attributed his misfortune to his riotous irregular life. When the prodigal Elphin was thus bewailing his misfortune, the fishermen espied a coracle with a child in it, enwrapped in a leathern bag, whom they brought to the young prince, who ordered care to be taken of him, and when he grew up gave him the best education, upon which he became the most celebrated Bard of his time. The accomplished Taliesin was introduced by Elphin to his father Gwyddno's court, where he delivered him a poem, giving an account of himself, entitled, Hanes Taliesin, or Taliesin's History; and at the same time another to his patron and benefactor Elphin to console him upon his past misfortune, and to exhort him to put his trust in Divine Providence. This is a fine moral piece, and very artfully addressed by the Bard, who introduces himself in the person and character of an exposed infant. As it is probable that the prince's affairs took another turn since that period, this was done with great propriety. Sir John Pryse mentions the poem that Taliesin delivered to king Gwyddno, in his Historiae Britannicae defensio. "Taliesinus quidem in odula, quam de suis erroribus composuit, sic inscripta Britannice (Hanes Taliesin) videlicet errores Taliesini, ait se tandem divertisse ad reliquias Trojae;

"'Mi a ddaethum yma at Weddillion Troia;'

"neque dubitandum est hoc fuesse opus Taliesini: nam praeter innumeros codices vetustissimos, qui inscriptionem hujusmodi attestentur, nullo reclamante, nullus est recentiorum qui vel phrasin illius tam antiquam, carminisve majestatem assequi potuit. Et ideo summus ille vates inter Britannos censetur et nominatur." I never could procure a perfect nor correct copy of this poem of Taliesin, otherwise I would gratify the curious with a translation of it. It is certain from his history, that he was a very learned man for his time, and seems to have been well versed in the doctrine of the Druids, particularly the [Greek text], which accounts for the extravagant flights frequent in his poems. I have now in my possession above fifty of them; but they are so difficult to be understood, on account of their great antiquity, and numerous obsolete words, and negligence of transcribers, that it is too great a task for any man at this distance of time to go about a translation of them. However I have selected this ode, as a specimen of his manner of writing, not as it is the best in the collection, but as it is the only one I could thoroughly understand. There are many spurious pieces fathered upon this Bard, in a great many hands in North Wales; but these are all forged either by the monks, to answer the purposes of the church of Rome, or by the British Bards, in the time of the latter princes of Wales, to spirit up their countrymen against the English, which anybody versed in the language may easily find by the style and matter. It has been my luck to meet with a manuscript of all his genuine pieces now extant, which was transcribed by the learned Dr. Davies, of Mallwyd, from an old manuscript on vellum of the great antiquary Mr. R. Vaughan, of Hengwrt. This transcript I have shewn to the best antiquaries and critics in the Welsh language now living. They all confess that they do not understand above one half of any of his poems. The famous Dr. Davies could not, as is plain from the many obsolete words he has left without any interpretation in his dictionary. This should be a caveat to the English reader concerning the great antiquity of the poems that go under the name of Ossian, the son of Fingal, lately published by Mr. Macpherson. It is a great pity Taliesin is so obscure, for there are many particulars in his poems that would throw great light on the history, notions, and manners of the Ancient Britons, especially of the Druids, a great part of whose learning it is certain he had imbibed. This celebrated Bard was in great favour with all the great men of his time, particularly with Maelgwn Gwynedd, the warlike and victorious king of all Britain, with Elphin his patron, whom he redeemed with his songs from the castle of Tyganwy, where he was upon some account confined by his uncle Maelgwn. He likewise celebrated the victories of Urien Reged, king of Cumbria, and a great part of Scotland, as far as the river Clyde. In short, he was held in so great esteem by posterity, that the Bards mentioned him with the greatest honour in their works. In his poem entitled Anrheg Urien, or Urien's Present, he says that his habitation was by Llyn Geirionnydd, in the parish of Llan Rhychwyn, in Carnarvonshire, and mentions therein his cotemporary, the famous Aneurin Gwawdrydd, author of the Gododin, an heroic poem on the battle of Cattraeth, of which some account is given in the Dissertatio de Bardis.

A wn ni enw Aneurin Gwawdrydd Awenydd A minnau Daliesin o lann Llyn Geirionnydd.

i.e. I know the fame of that celebrated genius Aneurin Gwawdrydd, who am Taliesin, whose habitation is by the pool Geirionnydd.--

Having finished this short account of our author, I shall now proceed to his poem, entitled, Dyhuddiant Elphin, or Elphin's Consolation, which I offer now to the public.

Dr. John David Rhys quotes it at length in his Linguae Cymraecae Institutiones Accuratae; which, to save further trouble, I shall beg leave to transcribe here in his own words. "Caeterum nunc et propter eorum authoritatem, et quod huic loco inter alia maxime quadrant, non pigebit quaedem antiquissima Taliesini Cambro-Britannica Carmina subjungere," &c.

I have nothing more to acquaint the reader with, but that I have used two copies in my translation, one in print by the said Dr. John David Rhys, the other in manuscript by Dr. Thomas Williams. I have followed the copy I thought most correct, and have given the different reading of the manuscript in the margin.

TALIESIN'S POEM

_To Elphin_, _the son of Gwyddno Goranhir_, _king of Cantre'r Gwaelod_, _to comfort him upon his ill success at the Wear_; _and to exhort him to trust in Divine providence_.

I.