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VERSES BY PRINCE OWEN CYVEILIOG.

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-CERIDWEN, fair and tall, of slowly-languid gait, her complexion vies with the warm dawn in the evening hour; of a splendid, delicate form, beautifully mild, and white-hued prefence; in stepping over a rush, nearly falling feems the little tiny fair one, gentle in her air; fhe appears but fcarcely older than a tenth year infant. Young, fhapely, and full of gracefulness, it were a congenial virtue that she should freely give; but the youthful female does more embarrass good fortune by a fiile, than an expreffion from her lip checks impertinence.

A worshipping pilgrim, she will send me to the celeftial prefence! How long shall I worship thee?— Stop, and think of thine office!-If I am unskilful, through the dotage of love, Jesus! the well-informed will not rebuke me!

Englynion a gant teulu OWAIN CYVEILIOG, i Gylchau CYMRU :

or, Verses, fung by the Family of Prince OWEN CYVEILIOG to the Circuits of Wales. Owen Cyveiliog was a Prince of Powys, from about the year 1171, to 1197: he was like the laft-mentioned Chieftain of Wales, diftinguished for his warlike exploits, for being a Poet, and a great patron of the Bards. But I believe there are only two of this princely Bard's compofitions preserved: his animated poem called the Hirlas Owen, has already been given, in the first Volume of this work, page 118, &c.; and the other is given here, which is on the cuftom of the Welth princes making their periodical circuits at the three great festivals of Christmas, Eafter, and Whitfuntide. Thefe circuits conftituted one confiderable means of fupport to them, as the different officers of their eftablishments were alfo entitled to be received, according to their ranks amongst the vaffals, as may be seen by the various regulations in Leges Wallica: and respecting the Bards, fee the first Volume of this work, page 27. 33. and 86.

A TRANSLATION..

Family of Owen the mild, whom the reftlefs hofts of violence frowardly threaten on the paths of fongs and focial feasts, which way shall we repair to Mortun?

Go, youth, quickly, without greeting the good man there, take thy course, penetrate through it; fay that we fhall come to Ceri.

Go, youth, from Ceri, we request of thee, for fear of our wrath, and the end we have in store to bring upon thee; fay that we come to Arwyftli.

Meffenger, be fetting off, before an illustrious band, to the confines of Ceredic; take thy course wildly on an arrow's wing; say that we shall vific Penwedic.

Go from Penedic, meffenger of honourable toil, fince no difgrace belongs to thee; range, and, with encreased eloquence, fay that we shall vifit Meirion.

Meffenger, be fetting off, approaching the green ocean ftream, bordered with loud tumult; take a course, the third of the journey is done, fay that we shall vifit Ardudwy.

Meffenger, be fetting off along the fair borders of the country, which Mervyn fwayed; go and be a gueft with Nest of Nevyn; speak of our coming to Lleyn.

Meffenger, be fetting off, drawing near a mild leader of magnanimous heart; go, armed knight, and traverse Arvon; fay that we visit Môn.

Family of Owen the bounteous, to whom belongs the ravage of England, abundant in spoils, will meet with a welcome after a tedious journey: fhall we abide one night at Rhôs?

Young man, go from me, and no one greet, unless it be my miftrefs; fweep along on the fleet bay fteed; fay that we vifit Llannerch.

Meffenger, be fetting off, over the ftrong region of a tribe deferving mead out of the horn, and traverse Tyno Bydwal; and say that we vifit Iál.

Pass onward to its extremity, heeding not the gallantry of its men with the long yellow fpears; take thy course, on the first day of January, fay we vifit Maelor.

Go, youth, and linger not, let not thy progrefs be half complete; to ftop thee is no easy task; from tedious Maelor take thy way; make known we visit Cynllaith.

Young man, go with discretion, announce not our troop as of forry tribes; take thy courfe, with the fleetness of a ftag thy tidings bear; fay we visit Mechain.

The family of Owen, the chief, withstood kingdoms, may the regions of Heaven be our retreat! A range altogether pleasant, altogether profperous, with united pace, the circuit of Wales we have taken.

The places mentioned in the foregoing verfes are all well known at the present time; they are points which nearly describe a circle round North Wales. Arwyftli, and Ardudwy, are diftricts in Meirion, or Merionethfhire: Caradic is in Cardiganfhire: Nevyn, and Lleyn, are diftricts of Arvon, or Caernarvonshire: Môn is Anglesey: Rhôs, and Iál, are districts of Denbighfhire: Marlor, a district in Flintshire: and Cynllaith, Ceri, and Mechain, are in Montgomery shire.

Dau

Dau Englyn, a gânt Cynddelw, i Gynyddion Llywelyn ab Madawc ab Meredydd, ac i'w Cyrn; o achaws rhoddi iddaw y Carw a laddaffent yn ymyl ei Dÿ ef.

Balch ei fugunawr ban nefawr ei lêf
Pan ganer Cyrn cydawr ;
Corn Llywelyn, Llyw lluyddfawr,
Bôn ebang, blaen bang, bloedd fawr !

Corn wedi lladd, Corn llawen;

Corn llugynar Llywelyn ;

Corn gwyd gwydr a'i cân,

Corn rbueinell yn ôl Gellgwn,

O Lyfr Côch o Hergest.

Two Verfes, fung by Cynddelw", the Bard, to the Huntsmen of Llywelyn, the son of Madog ab Maredydd, Prince of Powys, and to their horns; on the occafion of their prefenting him the ftag, which they bad chaced, and killed near his boufe.

Grand are the echoing peals, uplifting to Heaven!
When the refounding horns of acclamation join!
The horn of Llywelyn, the leader of mighty hosts:
Wide is the circle of its bafe, and flender the iffue
of its awful blast!

The horn after the death, a joyous horn!

The war-affembling horn of Llywelyn!

The horn that calls through the dale, and woodlands!
The fhrill-founding horn of the ftag-hounds!
Taken from the Red Book of Hergeft

21 Cynddelw had an epithet to his name, The Great Bard; he flourished about the year 1150.

The SONG of EVA, Daughter of MADAWC, the Son of MAREDYDD, the last Prince of Powys; by Cyn

ddelw: written about A. D. 1160. (Tranflation from the Welsh. A Fragment.)

I bear a strong resentment against her whom now I am going to celebrate, and whom

I have formerly celebrated.

She now equals in whiteness the foam of water when ruffled by the ftormy wind;

She who fpeaks with a gentle accent, who dwells in the palace of the vale;

She who is bright as the dawning of the early-rifing morn;

Who is in colour equal to the whiteft fnow that falls on the lofty Eppynt :

The maiden of foft, and gentle manners, of a bright aspect:

This is the cruel Fair who makes no account of me; although noble maids respected, and

Told her that they admired the song in praise of Eva.

They paffed along the plains of Powys in due order, with downcaft look.

When I got there, they faw me in the day through glass windows

An ODE to LLYWELYN AB IORWERTH, (or LLYWELYN THE GREAT ;) written by the Bard, David Benvras, about A. D. 1240.-Verfified from Mr. Evans's Specimens of Welsh Poetry, by the Reverend Rd. Williams, of Vron.

Creator of yon glorious fun,

Grant that my gen'rous verfe may run
As bright, as ftrong as his meridian fire;
Yet chafte as Dian's filver beams,
That dance on Alyn's curling ftreams.
Merddin my muse inspire!

Oh touch thy magic lyre,
That I may catch th' inftructive fong,
Whilst I Llywelyn's praife prolong :

Teach me, fweeteft Bard, to fing
Venedotia's warlike King.
Great Aneurin, lend thine aid;

Hear, oh hear me, awful shade;
Who whilom skill'd in Celtic lays,
Didft fire the foul with martial praise.
Well did thy majestic verse,
Cattraeth's stubborn fight rehearse.

Το

ODE TO LLYWELYN THE GREAT.

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Had I the gift of Prophecy,

To Gwynedd's Prince my lays belong;
Cambrian-Muse inspire my fong.
How happy liv'd the Cambrian swain
Under his aufpicious reign!
Noble, gen'rous, great and good,
Sprung from Iorwerth's royal blood:

King of Battles! his bright spear
Flam'd like a meteor to the air:
Lloeger's-King before him fled;
Far, and wide the battle bled;

Princes were number'd with the dead:
With Saxon blood his fword was dy'd;
Thousands fell wounded by his fide,

And gnash'd their teeth with pain.
Hark! hark! I hear the battle rave!
And fee old Offa's crimson wave,

O'erwhelm'd with warriors flain! Far as Pumlumon cafts his shade; Far as Sabrina, Royal Maid,

Extends her crystal flood; So far Llywelyn's might is known; So far his angry fhafts have flown;

And ting'd their points with blood.

Oh! ever honour'd, ever mourn'd,
The laft who Cambria's Throne adorn'd:

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Or charm of ancient Poefy,
My verfe unequal to the task would prove,
To paint thy virtues, and thy country's love.
Rife, old Taliefin, from the dead,
With oaken wreath, and hoary head;
Chief of Bards! arife, and fing
Venedotia's warlike King.

None, but thy foul-commanding lyre,
Speaking rapture, breathing fire,
Shou'd to fuch high themes afpire.
O King, or e'er thy course be gone,
Or e'er thy earthly race be run;

Many and happy be thy days,
Full of glory, full of praise !
E'er the green herbs, upon thy tomb,
Or grateful flower, begin to bloom;
Or e'er the bone-beftrewed grave

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22 This illuftrious Prince came to the Sovereignty of North Wales about the year 1194. He married Joan, the daughter of King John, in the year 1204: and died after a reign of 46 years, and was interred, with much honour to his memory, in the abbey of Conway, in A. D. 1240. See Caradoc's Welsh Chronicle: and Warrington's Hiftory of Wales.

An ELEGIAC ODE to NEST, the Daughter of HOWEL (Son of Prince Owen Gwynedd;) by EINION AB GWALCHMAI, about the year 1240. Tranflated from the Welsh.

The Spring returns; the trees are in their bloom; The blackbird carols all the live-long day;

But Neft lies with'ring in her wint'ry tomb,

Nor heeds th' invigorating fmiles of May. Though smooth the fea, and foft the zephyrs blow, The charms of Nature bring me no relief; Alas! my tears will never ceafe to flow! Fruitless my pray❜r, immoderate my grief! Have I not feen, on Beli's rocky shore,

The foaming billows of the angry deep? Have I not heard the raging tempests roar, When in despair I laid me down to weep?

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AN ELEGY, ON THE DEATH OF PRINCE LLYWELYN, THE LAST.

What sweet simplicity was in her face!

What innocence her artless fmiles exprefs'd; Where ev'ry virtue tempered ev'ry grace,

And drove diffimulation from her breast.

But now, in everlasting filence laid,

Beneath yon rock her mould'ring reliques lie; In yon cold habitation refts her shade,

The fource of many a tear, of many a figh. Her eagle-eye her ancestors proclaim'd;

Yet was the gentle as the turtle dove ; Far o'er the hills of Venedotia fam'd,

Her country's ornament, her country's love. From thee, fair Princefs of the tuneful ftrain, No difappointed fuitor e'er return'd; To thee no Bard, or Minftrel play'd in vain, Oh Neft! for ever honour'd, ever mourn'd! Long may my ineffectual sorrows flow;

Thy grave bedew'd with many a fruitless tear; Stern fate regardeth not the voice of woe, And scorns the importunity of pray'r.

Weary, and melancholy are my days!

Like fad Pryderi inwardly I moan ; The heavy burthen on my vitals preys,

Since thou, my pride, my patronefs, art gone. Can I forget the black and envious veil,

That hid thy beauties from the gazer's view? The gloomy shroud, that did those charms conceal, As fnowdown bright, or winter's early dew. O holy David! tutelary pow'r

Of Cambria, listen to a Cambrian's pray'r; On the fair maid thy choiceft bleffings pour, And be her virtues thy peculiar care! Receive my Princess in thy blefs'd abodes,

Thou great Creator of earth, fea, and heaven! Rank her with Martyrs, Angels, Saints, and Gods; And be her fins (if the have finn'd,) forgiven! Verfified by the Rev. Rd. Williams.

An ELEGY, on the Death of LLYWELYN AB GRUFFYDD; written by his Bard, GRUFFYDD, the Son of the RED JUDGE, in A. D. 1282.

Frequent is heard the voice of woe;
Frequent the tears of forrow flow;
Such founds, as erft in Camlan heard,
Rous'd to wrath old Arthur's Bard.
Cambria's warrior we deplore;
Our Llywelyn is no more.

Who like Llywelyn now remains,

To fhield from wrong his native plains?

My foul with piercing grief is fill'd;
My vital blood with horror chill'd:
Nature herself is chang'd! and lo!
Now all things fympathize below!
Hark, how the howling wind, and rain,
In loudeft fymphony complain!
Hark! how the confecrated oaks,
Unconscious of the woodman's ftrokes,
With thund'ring crash, proclaim he's gone;
Fall in each other's arms, and groan!

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Tranflated from Mr. Evans's Differtatio de Bardis, page 88, by the Rev. Rd. Williams, of Vron, in Flintshire.

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CYWYDD to MORVUDD: an Ode, written about 430 Years ago, by DAVID AB GWILYM, who has been denominated the OVID of WALES †. A literal Translation.

I have selected this Cywydd in preference to many lefs exceptionable pieces, because it reminds me of those beautiful lines in Shakespeare; "Tis not the Lark, it is the Nightingale, &c."

For seven long years I had declared my paffion to the slender and gentle maid: but in vain. My tongue was eloquent in the expreffion of my love: but till last night, forrow was the fole fruit of my cares. Then I obtained the reward of all my disappointments, from her whofe complexion is the image of the wave. Then, favourably receiving my addresses, she admitted me to all the happy myfteries

of love-to converfe without reftraint; to kifs the dear fair-one with the jetty eyebrows; and with my arm support her head! Bright maid, with the fnowy hue: how charming the lovely burden!

While I was thus enjoying, with my inestimable. jewel, the most perfect felicity that love can bestow, I prudently mentioned (it was an angry reflection!) that the appointed day was approaching when her jealous hunks would return: and thus the fnowy maid replied:

Morvudd. My accomplish'd love, gentle and amiable, we shall hear, ere it dawns, the fong of the loud, clear voice of the ftately cock!

David. What if the jealous churl should come in before the dawn appears ?

Morvudd. David, fpeak of a more agreeable fubject. Faint, alas! and gloomy are thy hopes.

David. My charmer, bright as the fields that

glitter with the goffamer, I perceive day-light through the crevice of the door.

Morvudd. It is the new moon, and the twinkling ftars, and the reflection of their beams upon the pillar.

David. No, my charmer, bright as the fun, by all that's facred, it has been day this hour.

Morvudd. Then, if thou art fo inconftant, follow thy inclinations, and depart.

I arose, and fled from all fearch, with my garmen:s in my hand, and fear in my breast: I ran through wood, and brake, from the face of day, into the green thickets of the dale. Looking forward, I beheld an abfence longer than ages behind me; the folly of my flight.

† David ab Gwilym informs us, in one of his poems, that his beloved Morvudd was the theme of no less than a hundred and forty-feven Cywyddau, or Odes; and I think they far furpafs Petrarch's Sonnets. The work of this bard confifts of about three hundred poems. See the firft Volume, page 42, &c. There is a Volume of all his works, published in Welsh, entitled Barddoniaeth Davydd ab Gwilym. He died in the year 1400; and was buried in the church-yard of Ystrad Fflur, in Cardiganshire.

When the Druidical, or Bardic Hierarchy began to decline in Britain, it was fucceeded by the Hermitical, and Monaftical Inftitution; which, like the former, afterwards became the Nursery of Learning, and the grand Repository of Music and Poetry, and of the British Bards, and Records, until the reign of Henry the Eighth, (filed the Dread Sovereign,) who abolished the Monafteries, in 1537. Prior to this period, our greater Monafteries, kept Bards and Minstrels of their own in regular pay. So early as the year 1180, in the reign of Henry the Second, Jeffrey, the Harper, is recorded to have received a corrody, or annuity, from the Benedictine Abbey of Hide, near Winchester "; undoubtedly on condition that he fhould ferve the Monks in the profeffion of a Mufician, on public occafions. Davydd ab Gwilym is faid to have been Bard to the Monastery of 'Strata-Florida, in South Wales: I am not certain whether it was the Poet, who flourished about 1380; or the Harper of that name, who flourished about 1480. Gutto o'r Glyn was Poet to Llan Egwefil, or Valle Crucis Abbey, in Denbighshire, about A. D. 1450. Iorwerth Vynglwyd was the Poet to Margam Abbey, in Glamorganfhire, about 1460: and Guttyn Owen was the Hiftorian, and Herald-Bard to Bafingwerk Abbey, in Flintshire, and to Yftrad-Fflûr Monaftery, in South Wales, about the year 1480 26. The records of thefe Abbeys were compared together every third year, when the Bards belonging to those houses went their ordinary vifitations, which was called Clera, and every thing remarkable that occurred was registered; and that cuftom was continued until about the year 1270, or a little before the death of the laft Prince Llywelyn.

25 Madox's Hiftory of the Exchequer, p. 251.

25 Caradoc's Welsh Chronicle, the preface: and the firft Volume of the Bards, page 16, & 26.

An

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