Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

Goreu cyfgod, cyfgod tir,

A goreu gair yw gair o wir.

ANCIENT BRITISH PROVERBS, &c.

Chwarae ac na friw, cellwair ac na chywilyddia.

Cennad bwyr, drug ei neges.
Gnawd gwin yn llaw wledig.
Mab cof, gur a’tb góf.

Ni bú Arthur, ond tra fû.

Llwyd ac ynfyd ni ddigymmydd.

Da yw cóf Máb.

Gnawd yn ôl dryghin, hindda.

Gwell goddeu na gofal.

Earth is the best shelter,

And truth the best buckler.

Play, but hurt not; jeft, but fhame not.
A late meffage indicates bad news.
The wine in a feaft firft fits the founder.
The man remembereth the boy.
Arthur himself had but his time.
The wild, and the gray, ne'er agrée.

Man's wrong, is remembered long.
After showers, Phabus fhines.

Better patient, than paffionate.

Haws gweuthur bebog o farcut, no marchog o daiog. Easier to make a falcon of a kite,

Hir gnif beb efgor lludded.

Lawer gwir drug ei ddywedyd.

Gwell y wialen a blygo, no'r hon a dorro.

Gwelly tynn merch nå rháff.

Ni wich Ci er ei daro ag asgwrn.

Nid aduna Duw a wnaeth.

Nid anghof Brodyrdde.

Nid bwyd rhyfedd i ddiriaid.

Nid neges beb farch.

Nid dewr, ond Gŵr.

Nid gluth, ond mulfran.

Nid llyfeuwraig ond gafr.

Nid rhywiog ond March. Nid ferchog ond Eos.

Nid trais ond tân.

Nid rhwystr ond dŵr.

Nid ysgafn ond wybr.

Nid trwm ond daiar.

Nid anfeidrol, ond dim.

Nid dim, ond Duw.

Than of a knave a knight.

Long grief, yields no relief.

Many a truth is better untold.

Better the rod that bends, than breaks.

}

}

A rope draws strong, but a maid draws ftronger. The dog fqueaks not when ftruck with a bone.

What God made, he never marrs.

Fields got, are feldom forgot.

Strange dishes antic, make men frantic.

No speed, without a steed.

No valour equal to man's.

No glutton equal to the cormorant.

No herbalift equal to the goat.

Nothing fo tractable and ftately as the fteed.

No melody fo pleasant as the nightingale's,
No ravage equal to that of fire.

No obftruction equal to that of water.
No lightness equal to air.

No weight equal to earth.

No infinity equal to nothing.
Nothing good, but God.

59

Conftantine the Great, the firft Chriftian Emperor of Britain, who flourished about A. D. 320, ufed to fay, that age appeared beft in four things: old wood to burn; old wine to drink; old friends to truft; and old authors to read,

ODE, in Praife of ROBERT AB MEREDITH, by Rys GôсH of Eryri, a Snowdonian Bard; who flourished about A. D. 1400: (tranflated from the Welsh; and verfified by the Rev. Rd. Williams.)

Long had Gruffudd from afar,

Heard the horrid din of war;

His bloody fpear, and glitt'ring fword,
Lay idle near their hoary Lord;
While lion-like he dormant lay,
With

age, and with misfortunes, gray.
His enemies with impious hands
Wrapt in fire his native lands.
Yet ftart not at the tragic tale;
He saw the hoftile flames prevail.
He faw his forefts blazing round,
His caftles hurled on the ground;

And trembled not. From him fhall rife

An offspring, lovely, brave, and wife,

Cambria's boast, and Conan's pride,

To Royalty itself allied.
Loudly let the trump of fame
Tell the gallant hero's name;
Alexander's praise be told,
Wife in peace, in battle bold.
Tryftan's golden crown fhall grace
The fairest flow'r of Conan's race.
"Rapt into future times," I fee
The Baron plu'd with victory,
Severn's filver ftreams between ;
And Garthen's bank, for ever green.
There shall he meet his haughty foe,
And tear the laurels from his brow.

Tho'

Tho' fell detraction's breath impure His fhining merit wou'd obfcure; Caution, avaunt! inglorious fear, Hence! avaunt! and come not near! Truth, guide my honeft pen to praise The hero in deferved lays.

This, this is he, great Conan's 1.it,
Comely, valiant, ftrait, and fair.
'Spight of envy, 'fpight of fcorn,
My Mufe his triumphs fhall adorn,
And no ignoble trophies fpread
Around his ever-honour'd head.

ON THE ANCIENT BRITONS.

Stretch'd out in length,

Where Nature put forth all her ftrength,
In Spring eternal, lay a plain,..
Where our brave fathers us'd to train
Their fons to arms, to teach the art
Of war, and fteel the infant heart.
Labour, their hardy nurse when young,
Their joints had knit, their nerves had ftrung;
Abftinence, foe declar'd to death,

Had, from the time they firft drew breath,
The best of doctors, with plain food,
Kept pure the channel of their blood;
Health in their cheeks bade colour rife,
And glory sparkled in their eyes.
The inftruments of husbandry,
As in contempt, were all thrown by,
And flattering a manly pride,
War's keener tools their place fupply'd:
Their arrows to the head they drew ;
Swift to the point their jav'lins flew;

They grafp'd the fword, they fhook the spear;
Their fathers felt a pleafing fear.
And even Courage, ftanding by,
Scarcely beheld with fteady eye.
Each ftripling, leffon'd by his fire,
Knew when to clofe, when to retire ;
When near at hand, when from afar
To fight, and was himself a war.

Their wives, their mothers all around,
Careless of order, on the ground
Breath'd forth to Heaven, the pious vow,
And for a fon's, or hufband's brow,
With eager fingers wreaths they wove,
Of oak clip'd from the facred grove;
Planted by Liberty they find,
The brows of conquerors to bind,
To give them pride and spirits, fit
To make a world in arms fubmit.

What raptures did the bofom fire
Of the young, rugged, peafant fire,
When, from the toil of mimic fight,
Returning with, return of night;
He faw his babe refign the breast,
And, fmiling, ftroke thofe arms in jeft,
With which hereafter he fhall make
The proudeft heart in Gallia quake!
Gods! with what joy, what honeft pride,
Did each fond, wifhing, ruftic bride,
Behold her manly fwain return!
How did her love-fick bofom burn!
Tho' on parades he was not bred,
Nor wore the livery of red,

When, pleasure height'ning all her charms,
She ftrain'd her warrior in her arms,

And begg'd, whilft Love and Glory fire,
A fon, a fon juft like his fire!

[graphic][merged small][merged small]

This Cromlech (Druidical Altar; or a Sepulchral Monument,) ftands near Lligwy, in the Parish of Penrhos,in Anglefey; and is now erroneously called by the common people, Coeten Arthur, or King Arthur's Quoit; as is also that monument near Aylesford, in Kent, by the name of Kits-Coity; from Catteyrn, or Cattigern, (a brother of King Vortimer,) the British Chieftain of Kent, who fell in a battle with the Saxons, about the year 455; in which conflict Horfa was flain, and a fimilar memorial was erected over his grave at Horfied; whence, that place derived its name,

8

Printed by A. Strahan, Printers Street, London.

[graphic][ocr errors][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][graphic][merged small][subsumed][subsumed][graphic][graphic][merged small]

The above hero was Prince of Powis, in the year 1165. see the first Volume, page 118, and page 89 of this Book..

[graphic]
[ocr errors]
[graphic][merged small][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][graphic]
[ocr errors][merged small][graphic][subsumed][subsumed][graphic][subsumed][graphic][merged small][subsumed][merged small][graphic][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors][subsumed][graphic][graphic]
« ZurückWeiter »