THE FAMILY RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THE PRINCES OF MORGANWG AND GWYNEDD.

Meuric, contended with Llywelyn ab Seisyllt, and was killed by him.

Morgan Hên =

Elen.

Anarawd.

Cadell. Mervyn.

Hywel dda.

Idwal voel. Elis,

Owain.

Iestyn, head of one of the royal tribes.

Rhydderch, succeeded to the principality of South Wales, some years after the death of Aeddan ab Blegored.

THE LEGEND OF TRWST LLYWELYN.

ONCE upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battle, against the Saxons, and his three sisters came down here to meet him; and, when they heard him coming, they said, "It is Trŵst Llywelyn," (the sound of Llywelyn :) and the place has been called so ever since.- Old Story.

It is a scene of other days,

That dimly meets my fancy's gaze;

The moon's fair beams are glist'ning bright,
On the Severn's loveliest vale,

And yonder watchtower's gloomy height
Looks stern, in her lustre pale.

Within that turret fastness rude,
Three lovely forms I see,
And marvel why, in that solitude,
So fair a group should be.

I know them now, that beauteous band;
By the broidered vest, so rich and rare,
By the sparkling gem, on the tiny hand,
And the golden circlet in their hair,
I know Llywelyn's sisters fair,
The pride of Powys land:

But the proof of lineage pure and high,
Is better far supplied

By the calm, fair brow, and fearless eye,
And the step of graceful pride.

Why are the royal maidens here,
Heedless of Saxon foemen near?
Their only court, the minstrel sage,
Who wakes such thrilling sound;
Their train, yon pretty childish page;
Their guard, that gallant hound.

They have left their brother's princely hall,
To greet him from fight returning ;
And hope looks out from the eyes of all,
Though fear in their heart lies burning.

"Now, hark!" the eldest maiden cried,
"Kind minstrel, lay thy harp aside,
And listen here with me;
Did not Llywelyn's bugle sound
From off that dark and wooded mound
You named the Goryn ddû?*”

"No, lady, no; my master, kind,
I strive in vain to hear;

"Tis but the moaning of the wind,
That cheats thine anxious ear."

The second lady rous'd her page,
From the peaceful sleep of his careless age;
"Awake, fair child, from thy happy dreams,
Look ont o'er the turret's height,
Is it a lance that yonder gleams

In the moonbeams blue and bright?"

"No, lady mine; not on a lance
Does that fair radiance quiver;

I only see its lustre dance'

On the blue and trembling river."

The youngest and fairest maiden sits
On the turret's highest stone,

Like the gentle flower that flings its sweets
O'er the ruin drear and lone :

At her feet the hound is crouching still;
And they look so calm and fair,
You might almost deem, by a sculptor's skill,
They were carved in the gray stone there.

A distant sound the spell bath broken,
The lady and her hound

Together caught the joyful token,

And down the stair they bound.

""Tis Trwst Llywelyn! dear sisters speed,

Our own Llywelyn's near;

I know the tramp of his gallant steed,
"Tis music to mine ear!"

Yes, 'twas his lance gleamed blue and bright,
His horn made the echoes ring;

He is safe from a glorious field of fight,
And his sisters round him cling:

The Goryn ddû (black crown,) is surmounted by a circular ancient British station, in a very perfect state, about a mile from Trwst Llywelyn, on the other side the river, up the vale: like the ancient Mathraval, it is situated in a wood.

NO. IV.

ვი

And Gelert lies at his master's feet,
The page returns to his slumbers sweet,
The minstrel quaffs his mead,
And sings Llywelyn's fame and power,
And, Trwst Llywelyn, names the tower,
Where they heard his coming steed.

That tower, no more, o'erlooks the vale,
But its name is unforgot,

And the peasant tells the simple tale,
And points to the well-known spot.

Oh, lady moon! thy radiance fills
Án altered scene, tonight,

All here is chang'd, save the changeless hills,
And the Severn, rippling bright.

We dwell in peace, beneath the yoke
That roused our fathers' spears,
The very tongue our fathers spoke,
Sounds strangely in our ears.*

But the human heart knows little change;
'Tis woman's to watch, 'tis man's to range
For pleasure, wealth, or fame;

And thou mayst look, from thy realms above,
On many a sister's yearning love,
The same-still, still the same,

Ye students grave, of ancient lore,
Grudge not my skilless rhyme
One tale (from tradition's ample store)
Of Cambria's olden time;

Seck, 'mid the hills and glens around,
For names and deeds of war;
And leave this little spot of ground,

A record holier far.

ELLYLLES.

Trwst Llywelyn is only four or five miles from the nearest point of Shropshire, and the inhabitants, except the very old people, do not understand the Welsh language.

THE PASSENGERS.

NO. III.

[Continued from p. 352.]

Τίς δὲ νύ τοι νήσων ποῖον δ ̓ ὄρος ἔκαδε πλείςον;
Τίς δὲ λιμὴν; ποίη δὲ πόλις.

CALLIMACHUS.

Which now of all islands, what mountain chiefly delighted?
What city, what harbour?

THE coach had surmounted the small hill opposite the bridge of Rhyd Llanvair, about four miles from Cernioge, when our three friends had before them a nearer and more complete view of Snowdonia, clothed here and there with large woods of oak, and, from this point, appearing certainly to very great advantage.

Allansley gazed on this fine scene, for some time, with silent admiration: Larndon broke the pause, by asking "Now then, what mountains are these?"

Clanvoy. Moel Siabod is the chief object, as before: to the right, are the Glydars. Trevaen, and the Carneddau Trevaen, of which you only see the summit, is that very steep and upright heap of rock, like the fingers of one hand held up together, and the palm of the other hand laid across them.

Allansley. O! I see. But where is the majestic Eryri?* who has carried off Snowdon ?

Clanvoy. At present he is hid behind Moel Siabod, or else behind that high ground on the left.

Allansley. O! I recognise that fine aromatic flavor in the air that you spoke of! How elegant, as well as wild, this landscape is! I do not call it sublime; but it is grand, romantic, poetical, magnificent! What a fine effect that central moorland has, over which, as from a broad pedestal, the first-rate mountains appear to rise!

Clanvoy.

Lead me away to some alpine arbour,

To the vaulted grove, or solitary vale!

Bid my footsteps wander farther,

To the high peak fann'd by the summer gale!

* Pronounced Erùrri.