CASWALLON'S TRIUMPH. [Caswallon (or Cassivelaunus) was elected to the supreme command of the Britons, (as recorded in the Triads,) for the purpose of opposing Cæsar, under the title of Elected Chief of Battle. Whatever impression the disciplined legions of Rome might have made on the Britons in the first instance, the subsequent departure of Cæsar they considered as a cause of triumph; and it is stated that Caswallon proclaimed an assembly of the various states of the island, for the purpose of celebrating that event by feasting and public re joicing. See the Cambrian Biography.] From the glowing southern regions, Where the sun-god makes his dwelling, O'er the deep, round Britain swelling; Of a conqueror's march were telling. Bowing earth beneath its glory, Our wild seas and mountains hoary! HOWEL'S SONG. [HOWELL ab Einios. Llygliw was a distinguished bard of the bur teenth century. A beautiful poem, addressed by him to Myfanwy Vychan, a celebrated beauty of those times, is still preserved amongst the remains of the Welsh bards. The ruins of Myfanwy's residence, Castle Dinas Brân, may yet be traced on a high hill near Llangollen.] PRESS on, my steed! I hear the swell* "I have rode hard, mounted on a fine high-bred steed, upon thy account, O thou with the countenance of cherry-flower bloom. The Sweet floating from the holy dell I feel her presence on the scene! O fair as Ocean's curling foam!* The hour that brings the wand'rer home, Haste! on each mountain's dark'ning crest, Gleams tremulously bright; Speed for Myfanwy's bower on high! Than live in rayless night! THE MOUNTAIN-FIRES. "The custom retained in Wales of lighting fires (Coelcerthi ɔn November eve, is said to be a traditional memorial of the massacre of the British chiefs by Hengist, on Salisbury plain. The practice is, however, of older date, and had reference originally to the Alban Elved, or new year,"-See the Cambro Briton. When these fires are kindled on the mountains, and seen through the darkness of a stormy night, casting a red and fitful glare over heath and rock, their effect is strikingly picturesque.] LIGHT the hills! till heaven is glowing speed was with eagerness, and the strong long-hamm'd steed of A ban reached the summit of the high land of Brân." "My loving heart sinks with grief without thy support, O thou that hast the whiteness of the curling waves! ***** I know that this pain will avail me nothing towards obtaining thy love, O thou whose countenance is bright as the flowers of the hawthorn!" -HOWELL'S Ode to Myfanwy. Yr Wyddfa, the Welsh name of Snowdon, said to mean the conspicuous place, or object. To the waves round Mona gleaming, Till each torrent-wave is brighten'd, Now each rock, the mist's high dwelling, Thus our sires, the fearless-hearted, O'er the noble dead they wept. In the winds we hear their voices, ERYRI WEN. ["SNOWDON Was held as sacred by the ancient Britons as Parnassus was by the Greeks, and Ida by the Cretans. It is still said, that whosoever slept upon Snowdon would wake inspired, as much as if he had taken a nap on the hill of Apollo. The Welsh had always the strongest attachment to the tract of Snowdon. Our princes had, in addition to their title, that of Lord of Snowdon."]— PENNANT. THEIRS was no dream, O Monarch-hill, They fabled not, thy sons, who told Deep thoughts of majesty and might Nor hath it fled the awful spell Dinas Emrys (the fortress of Ambrose,) a celebrated rock amongst the mountains of Snowdon, is said to be so called from having been Though from their stormy haunts of yore, As proud a flight the soul shall soa, Pierce then the heavens, thou hill of streams? And make the snows thy crest! The sunlight of immortal dreams Around thee still shall rest. Eryri! temple of the bard! And fortress of the free! 'Midst rocks, which heroes died to guard, CHANT OF THE BARDS BEFORE THIER MASSACRE BY EDWARD I.t RAISE ye the sword! let the death-stroke be given: So shall our spirits be free as our strains: The children of song may not languish in chains! Have ye not trampled our country's bright crest? Rest, ye brave dead! 'midst the hills of your sires, The children of song may not breathe in the chain! the residence of Merddin Emrys, called by the Latins Merlinus Ambrosius, the celebrated prophet and magician: and there, tradition says, he wrote his prophecies concerning the future state of the Britons. There is another curious tradition respecting a large stone, on the ascent of Snowdon, called Maen du yr Arddu, the black stone of Arddu. It is said, that if two persons were to sleep a night on this stone, in the morning one would find himself endowed with the gift of poetry, and the other would become insane.-See WILLIAMS's Observations on the Snowdon Mountains. * It is believed amongst the inhabitants of these mountains, that eagles have heretofore bred in the lofty clefts of their rocks. Some wandering ones are still seen at times, though very rarely, amongst the precipices.-See WILLIAMS's Observations on the Snowdon Mountains. †This sanguinary deed is not attested by any historian of credit And it deserves to be also noticed, that none of the bardic productions since the time of Edward make any allusion to such an event.-See the Cambro-Briton, vol. I., p. 195. THE DYING BARD'S PROPHECY.* "All is not lost-the unconquerable will THE Hall of Harps is lone to-night, And cold the chieftain's hearth: It hath no mead, it hath no light; No voice of melody, no sound of mirth. The bow lies broken on the floor Whence the free step is gone ; The pilgrim turns him from the door Milton. Where minstrel-blood hath stain'd the threshold stone. And I, too, go: my wound is deep, My brethren long have died; Yet, ere my soul grow dark with sleep Winds! bear the spoiler one more tone of pride! Bear it where, on his battle plain, Beneath the setting sun, He counts my country's noble slain Say to him-Saxon, think not all is won. Thou hast laid low the warrior's head, The burning spirit of the mountain land! Think'st thou, because the song hath ceased, Think'st thou it woke to crown the feast, No! by our wrongs, and by our blood, Though hush'd awhile, that sounding flood We leave it 'midst our country's woe- We leave it as we leave the snow We leave it with our fame to dwell Our voice in their's through time shall swell- *At the time of the supposed massacre of the Welsh bards by Edward the First. Eryri, Welsh name for the Snowdon mountains. |