Some Specimens of the Poetry of the Ancient Welsh Bards Part 2

_Ent.i.tled 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 ma.s.sacre 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 G.o.d'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 n.o.bles 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 pet.i.tion was heard, and for the lightness soon granted, and thus brought with them all the princ.i.p.allest 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 pa.s.s 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 antic.i.p.ate 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 a.s.sist 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 a.s.sails 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 ma.n.u.scripts. 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, ent.i.tled, 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 a.s.sequi 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 ete????s??, 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 ma.n.u.script of all his genuine pieces now extant, which was transcribed by the learned Dr. Davies, of Mallwyd, from an old ma.n.u.script 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 c.u.mbria, 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 ent.i.tled 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 G.o.dodin, 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, ent.i.tled, 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 Inst.i.tutiones 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 ma.n.u.script by Dr. Thomas Williams. I have followed the copy I thought most correct, and have given the different reading of the ma.n.u.script 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.

Fair Elphin, cease to weep, let no man be discontented with his fortune; to despair avails nothing. It is not that which man sees that supports him. Cynllo's prayer will not be ineffectual. G.o.d will never break his promise. There never was in Gwyddno's Wear such good luck as to-night.

II.

Fair Elphin, wipe the tears from thy face! Pensive melancholy will never profit thee; though thou thinkest thou hast no gain; certainly too much sorrow will do thee no good; doubt not of the great Creator's wonders; though I am but little, yet am I endowed with great gifts. From the seas and mountains, and from the bottom of rivers, G.o.d sends wealth to the good and happy man.

III.

Elphin with the lovely qualities, thy behaviour is unmanly, thou oughtest not to be over pensive. To trust in G.o.d is better than to forebode evil.

Though I am but small and slender on the beach of the foaming main, I shall do thee more good in the day of distress than three hundred salmons.

IV.

Elphin with the n.o.ble qualities, murmur not at thy misfortune: though I am but weak on my leathern couch, there dwelleth a gift on my tongue.

While I continue to be thy protection, thou needest not fear any disaster. If thou desirest the a.s.sistance of the ever blessed Trinity, nothing can do thee hurt.