The Horn in the hand of Rhys, in the hall of the director of bounty,
the hall of Owen, that has ever been maintained on spoil, The feasting of a thousand thou mayest hear; open are the gates.
Cup-bearer! I am sad and silent: has he not left me?
Reach thou the Horn for mutual drinking:
Full of sorrow am I for the leader of the hue of the ninth wave;
long and blue its characteristic, gold its cover:
so bring it forth with Bragod, a liquor of exalted pledge,
into the hand of the froward Gwgan, to requite his deed.
The whelps of Goronwy are mighty in the path of wrath,
aptly springing whelps, confident their feet,
men who claim a reward in every difficulty;
Men in the shout greatly valued, of mighty deliverance.
The Shepherd of Havern (Severn) it elates the soul to hear them
Sounding the Horns of mead that greatly rouse desire.
Pour out thou the Horn covered with a yellow top,
honorably drunk with overfrothing mead;
and, if thou seekest life to one year’s close,
diminish not its respect, since it is not meet;
And bear to Grufydd, the crimson-lanced foe,
wine with pellucid glass around it;
the dragon of Arwstli, safeguard of the borders,
the dragon of Owen, the generous, of the race of Cynvyn,
a dragon from his beginning, and never scared by a conflict
of triumphant slaughter or afflicting chase.
Men of combat departed for the acquirement of fame,
armed sons of the banquet with gleaming weapons;
* The ninth wave is an expression much used by the Welsh poets. It occurs in the “Hoienau” of Myrddin: “I will prophesy before the ninth wave.” — Arch. p. 135. So in the eulogy on Eva: “Eva, of the hue of the spraying foam before the ninth wave.” — Ach. p. 217. they requited well their mead, like Belyn’s men of yore;
fairly did they toil while a single man was left.
Pour out thou the Horn, for it is my purpose
That its potent sway may incite a sprightly conversation,
in the right hand of our leader of devastation,
gleaming beneath the broad, light shield;
in the hand of Ednyved, the lion of his land irreproachable;
all-dexterous in the push of spears, shivered away his shield.
The tumult hurries on the two fearless of nature;
they would break as a whirlwind over a fair retreat,
with opposing fronts in the combat of battle,
where the face of the’gold-bespangled shield they would quickly break.
Thoroughly stained, their shafts, after head-cleaving blows;
Thoroughly active in defending the glory-bounded Garthran;
and there was heard in Maelor a great and sudden outcry,
with horrid scream of men in agony of wounds;
and, thronging round the carnage, they interwove their paths.
as it was in Bangor round the fire of spears,
when two sovereigns over horns made discord,
when there was the banquet of Morac Morvran.
Pour thou out the Horn! for I am contemplating
where they defend both their mead and their country.
Selyc the undaunted, of the station of Gwygyr,
look to it, who insults him of eagle heart!
and Madoc’s only son, the generous Tudyr of high renown,
and the claim of the wolf, a slayer with gleaming shafts.
Two heroic ones, two lions in their onset, two of cruel energy, the two sons of Ynyr;
two, unrestrained in the day of battle their onward course,
of irresistible progress and of matchless feat.
The stroke of the fierce lions fiercely cut through warriors
of battle leading forms, red their ashen thrusters
of violence, bending in pursuit with ruthless glory.
The shivering of their two shields may be likened
to the loud-voiced wind, over the green sea-brink
checking the incessant waves; so seemed the scene of Talgarth.
Pour out, thou Cup-bearer! seek not death,
the Horn with honour in festivals
the long blue bugle of high privilege, with ancient silver
that covers it, with opposite lips,
and bear to Tudyr, eagle of conflicts,
a prime beverage of the blushing wine.
If there come not in of mead the best of all
the liquor from the bowl, thy head is forfeit
to the hand of Moreiddig, the encourager of songs:
may they become old in fame before their cold depositure!
Brothers blameless! of highly soaring minds,
of dauntless vigour earning your deserts,
warriors who for me have achieved services,
not old with unsightliness, but old in dexterity,
toilers, impellers, leaders that are wolves
of the cruel foremost rank, with gory limbs.
Brave captains of the men of Mocnant, a Powysian land,
both possess the prowess of the brave;
the deliverers in every need, ruddy are their weapons,
securely they would keep their bounds from tumult, praise is their meed, they who are so blest. —
Cry of death, was it? be the two to me then changed!
O my Christ! how sad am I from these wounds!
By the loss of Moreiddig, greatly is his absence felt.
Pour thou out the Horn, for they do not sigh for me!
the Hirlas, cheeringly in the hand of Morgan,
a man who deserves the homage of peculiar praise.
Like poison to the happy is the track of his spear;
a matter accursed is the abiding his blade,
smooth its two sides, keen its edges.
Pour out, thou Cup-bearer! from a silver vessel
the solemn festive boon with due respect.
On the Plain of Great Gwestun I saw the raw throbbing.
To baffle Goronwy were a task for a hundred men;
the warriors a mutual purpose did accomplish there,
supporters of the battle, heedless of life.
The exalted chief did meet the dispersed ones of slaughter,
a governor was slain, burnt was a fort on the flood mark of the sea;
a magnanimous prisoner they fetched away,
Mairyc, son of Grufydd, the theme of prophetic song.
Were they not all bathed in sweat when they returned,
for full of sunshine were the extended hill and dale?
Pour thou out the Horn to the mutually toiling ones,
the whelps of Owen with connected spears in united leap;
they would pour abroad in a noted spot
a store where the glittering irons go rebounding;
Madoc and Meiler, men nurtured in depredation, for iniquity the stemming opponents,
the instructors for tumult of a shield-bearing host,
and froward conductors of subjects trained for conflicts.
It is heard how from the feast of mead went the Chief of Catraeth;
upright their purpose with keen-edged weapons;
the train of Mynyddoc, for their being consigned to sleep,
obtained their recording, leaders of a wretched fray!
None achieved what my warriors did in the hard toil of Maelor, —
the release of a prisoner belongs to the harmonious eulogy.
Pour out, thou Cupbearer sweet mead distilled
of spear impelling spirit in the sweating toil,
from bugle horns proudly overlaid with gold
to requite the pledge of their lives.
Of the various distresses that chieftains endure
no one knows but God and he who speaks.
A man who will not pay, will not pledge. will abide no law,
Cup-bearer, great the deed, that claims to be honoured,
of men refraining not from death if they find not hospitality.
Cup-bearer, a choicest treat of mead must be served us together,
an ardent fire bright, a light of ardently bright tapers.
Cup-bearer, thou mightest have seen a house of wrath in Lledwn land,
a sullenly subjected prey that shall be highly praised.
Cup-bearer, I cannot be continued here: nor avoid a separation;
Be it in Paradise that we be received; With the Supreme of Kings long be our abode,
Where there is to be seen the secure course of truth.
The passage in the poem would have stood very differently; had I seen this literal version before it was printed. I had written from the faithless paraphrase of Evans, in which every thing characteristic or beautiful is lost.
Few persons who read this song can possibly doubt its authenticity. They who chose to consider the Welsh poems as spurious had never examined them. Their groundless and impudent incredulity, however, has been of service to literature, as it occasioned Mr. Turner to write his “Vindication,” which has settled the question for ever.
St. Monacel.- X. p. 100.
“In Pennant-Melangle church was the tomb of St. Monacella, who protecting a hare from the pursuit of Brocwell Yscythbrog, Prince of Powis, he gave her land to found a religious house, of which she became first abbess. Her hard bed is shown in the cleft of a neighboring rock; her tomb was in a little chapel, now the vestry; and her image is still to be seen in the churchyard, where is also that of Edward, eldest son of Owen Gwynedh, who was set aside from the succession on account of a broken nose, and, flying here for safety, was slain not far off, at a place called Bwlch Croes Iorwerth. On his shield is inscribed, “Hic jacet Etward.” — Gough’s Camden.
I had procured drawings of these monuments, designing to have had them engraved in this place; but on examination it appears that Mr. Gough has certainly been mistaken concerning one, if not both. What he supposed to be the Image of St. Monacel is the evidently only the monumental stone of some female of distinction, the figure being recumbent, with the hands joined, and the feet resting upon some animal.
The place of meeting was a high hill-top. — XI. p. 102.
The Bardic imeetings, or Gorseddau, were held in the open air, on a conspicuous place, while the sun was above the horizon; for they were to perform every thing in the eye of light, and in the face of the sun. The place was set apart by forming a circle of stones, with a large stone in the middle, beside which the presiding Bard stood. This was termed Cylc Cyngrair, or the Circle of Federation; and the middle stone Maen Llog, the Stone of Covenant.
Mr. Owen’s very curious introduction to his translation of Llywarc Hen has supplied me with materials for the account of the Gorsedd, introduced in the poem. That it might be as accurate as possible, he himself and Edward Williams the Bard did me the favor of examining it. To their knowledge, and to that of Mr. Turner, the historian of the Anglo-Saxons, and to the liberality and friendliness with which they have ever been willing to assist me therewith, I. am greatly and variously indebted.
The Bard at these meetings wore the distinguishing dress of his order, a robe of sky blue, as an emblem of truth, being unicolored, and also as a type, that, amid the storms of the moral world, he must assume the serenity of the unclouded sky. The dress of the Ovydd, the third order, or first into which.the candidate could be admitted, was green. The Awenyddion, the Disciples, wore a variegated dress of blue, green, and white, the three Bardic colors; white being the dress of the Druids, who were the second order. The Bards stood within the circle, bareheaded and barefooted; and the ceremony opened by sheathing a sword, and laying it on the Stone of Covenant. The Bardic traditions were then recited.
Himself, albeit his hands were stain’d with blood,
Initiate; for the Order, in the lapse
Of years and is their nation’s long decline,
From the first rigor of their purity
Something had fallen. — XI. p. 102.
“By the principles of the Order, a Bard was never to bear arms, nor in any other manner to become a party in any dispute, either political or religious: nor was a naked weapon ever to be held in his presence; for under the title of Bardd Ynys Prycdain, Bard of the Isle of Britain, he was recognized as the sacred Herald of Peace. He could pass unmolested from one country to another, where his character was known; and, whenever he appeared in’ his unicolored robe, attention was given to him on all occasions: if it was even between armies in the heat of action, both parties would instantly desist.” — Owen’s Llywarc Hen.
Six of the elder Bards are enumerated in the Triads as having borne arms in violation of their Order; but in these latter days the perversion had become more frequent. Maeiler, the Bard of Grufydd ab Cynan, distinguished himself in war; Cynddelw, Brycdydd Mawr, the Great Bard, was eminent for his valor; and Gwalchmai boasts in one of his poems that he had defended the Marches against the Saxons.” — Warrington. The Bard’s most honorable name. - XI. p. 105.
No people seem to have understood the poetical character so well as the Welsh; witness their Triads.
“The three primary requisites of poetical Genius; an eye that can see Nature, a heart that can feel Nature, and a resolution that dares follow Nature.
“The three foundations of Genius; the gift of God, man’s exertion, and the events of life.
“The three indispensables of Genius; understanding, feeling, and perseverance.
“The three things which constitute a poet; genius, knowledge, and impulse.
‘The three things that enrich Genius; contentment of mind, the cherishing of good thoughts, and exercising the memory.” — E. Williams’s Poems. Owen’s Llywarc Hen.
Cimbric lore. — XI. p. 105.
The Welsh have always called themselves Cymry, of which the strictly literal meaning is Aborigines. There can be no doubt that it is the same word as the Cimbri of the ancients; they call their language Cymraeg, the Primitive Tongue.” — E. Williams’s Poems.
Where are the sons of Gavran, where his tribe
The faithful? — XI. p. 106.
“Gavran, the son of Aeddan Vradog ab Dyvnwal Hen, a chieftain of distinguished celebrity in the latter part of the fifth century. Gavraln, Cadwallon, and Gwenddolau were the heads of the three faithful tribes of Britain. The family of Gavran obtained that title by accompanying him to sea to discover some islands, which, by a traditionary meimorial, were known by the name of Gwerdonnau Llion, or the Green Islands of the Ocean. This expedition was not heard of afterwards, and the situation of those islands became lost to the Britons. This event, the voyage of Merddin Emrys with the twelve Bards, and the expedition of Madoc, were called the three losses by disappearance.” — Cambrian Biogqraphy.
Of these Islands, or Green Spots of the Floods, there are some singular superstitions. They are the abode of the Tylmwyth Teg, or the Fair Family, the souls of the virtuous Druids, who, not having been Christians, cannot enter the Christian heaven, but enjoy this heaven of their own. They, however, discover a love of mischief, neither becoming happy spirits, nor consistent with their original character; for they love to visit the earth, and, seizing a man, inquire whether he will travel above wind, mid wind, or below wind: above wind is a giddy and terrible passage; below wind is through bush and brake: the middle is a safe course. But the spell of security is to catch hold of the grass; for these beings have not power to destroy a blade of grass. In their better moods, they come over and carry the Welsh in their boats. He who visits these islands imagines on his return that he has been absent only a few hours, when, in truth, whole centuries have passed away.
If you take a turf from St. David’s Churchyard, and stand upon it on the sea shore, you behold these islands. A man once, who had thus obtained sight of them, immediately put to sea to find them; but they disappeared,
and his search was in vain. He returned, looked at them again from the enchanted turf, again set sail, and failed again. The third time he took the turf into his vessel, and stood upon it till he reached them.
The inhabitants of Arran More, the largest of the south isles of Arran, on the coast of Galway, are persuaded that in a clear day they can see Hy Brasail, the Enchanted Island, from the coast, the Paradise of the Pagan Irish.” — Collectanea de Rebus Hibernicis: Bealsford’s Ancient Topography of Ireland.
General Vallancey relates a different history of this superstition. “The old Irish,” he says, “say that great part of Ireland was swallowed up by the sea, and that the sunken part often rises, and is frequently to be seen on the horizon from the northern coast. On the North-west of the island, they call this enchanted country Tir Hudi, or the City of Hud, believing that the City stands there which once possessed all the riches of the world, and that its key lies buried under some druidical monument. When Mr. Burton, in 1765, went in search of the Ogham monument, called Conane’s Tomb, on Callan mountain, the people could not be convinced that the search was made after an inscription, but insisted that he was seeking after an enchanted key that lay buried with the hero, and which, when found, would restore the enchanted city to its former splendor, and convert the moory heights of Callan mountain into rich and fruitful plains. They expect great riches whenever this city is discovered.”
This enchanted country is called O Breasil, or O Brazil, which, according to General Vallancey’s interpretation, signifies the Royal Island. He says it is evidently the lost city of Arabian story, visited by their fabulous prophet Houd,.. the City and Paradise of Irem! He compares this tradition with the remarks of Whitehurst on the Giant’s Causeway, and suspects that it refers to the lost Atlantis, which Whitehurst thinks perhaps existed there.
Is that very remarkable phenomenon, known in Sicily by the name of Morgaine le Fay’s works, ever witnessed on the coast of Ireland? If so, the sulperstition is explained by an actual apparition. — I had not, when this note was written, seen Mr. Latham’s account of a similar phenomenon at Hastings (Phil. Trans. 1798), which completely establishes what I had here conjectured. Mr. Nicholson, in his remarks on it, says the same thing has been seen from Broadstairs, and that these appearances are much more frequent and general than has usually been supposed.
Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 72