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Aer y Glyn, meifir rhoddlyn rhydd,
Dyvrdwy vawr, dwvr diverydd.
Llavar ymannos nofwaith
Oeddwn wrth gyvedd Medd maith,
Vy nghrair i'th aml gellweiriaw
I'th lys, lle cawn win o'th law.
Medd vynny mwy oedd v' anvoes,
A gwaeth dros vy maeth vy moes.

2.

Ner mawlair naw rym milwr,
Nag, ar vynad, arnad wr.
Yr awr i'r aetboft ar wyth
I Brydain darpar adwyth,
Bu agos i biraetb gaeth gad
Am dwyn i varw am danad!
Nid aeth dy gov drofov draw,
Aur baladr, awr heb wylaw!

3.

Dagrau dros vy ngrudd dygrych,
Dyvry gwlaw val dwur a'i gwlych;
Pan oedd drymav vy nbravael
Am danad, mab y tad bael,
Clywais o ben rhyw gennad,
Cei râs Duw, cywir yflad!
Cael yn yr aer, calon rwydd,

O bonod, vawr glod v' Arglwydd!

4.

Daroganawdd drymlawdd dro,
Duw a dyn, o doid yno ;
Venaid, uwch Dyvrdwy Vaenawr,
Vy Nér vwrw llawer i'r llawr.
Dewin, os mi a'i dywawd,
Van yma gyvrwyddav gwawd.

18 The omen alluded to was a ftar and fiery dragon; which, according to the interpretation of Merddyn, predicted the reign of Uthur, afterwards furnamed Pendragon, from having caufed two golden Dragons to be made, one of which he presented to the 3

Lord of Dwrdwy's fertile vale,
Warlike, high-born Owain, hail!
Dwrdwy, whofe wide-spreading streams,
Reflecting Cynthia's midnight beams,
Whilom led me to thy bower;

Alas! in an unguarded hour!

For high in blood, with British beverage hot,
My awful distance I forgot;

But foon my generous chief forgave
The rude prefumption of his flave.

2.

But leave me not, illustrious lord!
The peaceful bow'r, and hofpitable board,
Are ill exchang'd for scenes of war,
Though Henry calls thee from afar.
My prayers, my tears were vain;
He flew like lightning to the hoftile plain.
While with remorse, regret, and woe,

I faw the god-like hero go;

I faw, with aching heart,
The golden beam depart.
His glorious image in my mind,
Was all that Owain left behind.

Wild with despair, and woe-begone,
Thy faithful Bard is left alone,
To figh, to weep, to groan!

3.

The sweet remembrance, ever dear,
Thy name, fill ufher'd by a tear,
My inward anguish speak;
How couldst thou, cruel Owain, go,
And leave the bitter ftreams to flow

Down Gruffudd's furrow'd cheek?

I heard, (who has not heard thy fame ?)
With extafy I heard thy name,

Loud echo'd by the trump of war,

Which spoke thee brave, and void of fear;

Yet of a gentle heart poffefs'd,

That bled within thy generous breast,

Wide o'er the fanguine plain to see
The havock of hostility.

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On fea, on land, thou still didst brave The dangerous cliff and rapid wave; Like Urien, who fubdu'd the knight, And the fell dragon put to flight,

Yon mofs-grown fount, befide;
The grim, black warrior of the flood,
The dragon, gorg'd with human blood,
The waters' fcaly pride,

Before his fword the mighty fled:
But now he's number'd with the dead.
Oh! may his great example fire
My noble patron to aspire
To deeds like his! impetuous fly,
And bid the Saxon squadrons die :
So fhall thy laurel'd bard rehearse
Thy praise in never-dying verfe;
Shall fing the prowess of thy fword,
Beloved and victorious Lord.

6.

In future times thy honour'd name
Shall emulate brave Urien's fame!
Surrounded by the numerous foe,
Well didst thou deal th' unequal blow.

How terrible thy afhen fpear,

Which shook the braveft heart with fear!
Yon hoftile towers beneath!

More horrid than the lightning's glance,
Flash'd the red meteors from thy lance,

The harbinger of death.

Dire, and more dire, the conflict grew;
Thousands before thy presence flew
While borne in thy triumphal car,
Majestic as the god of war,

Midft charging hofts unmov'd you stood,

Or waded thro' a sea of blood.

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Though heroic Poetry was afterwards no more attempted in Wales, a long feries of Bards fucceeded, who by their elegies and odes have made their names memorable to ages. Among these Davydd ab Gwilym', the Welsh Ovid, poffeffes a deferved pre-eminence. He often adds the fublime to the beautiful; of which his Cywydd y Daran2, or Ode of the Thunder, is a noble proof. It is the picture of a well-chosen scene, admirably varied: it opens with placid ideas, and rural images; a lovely maiden, and a delightful profpect: then fucceeds a fudden and tremendous change of the elements; the beauties of nature overshadowed and concealed; the terror of animals, and the fhricks of the fair-one. A thoufand inftances of fimilar excel. lence might be produced from the writings of this elegant Bard, and his contemporaries. Let thofe who complain that by the present scarcity of works of genius they are reduced to beftow on Horace, Pindar, and Gray, a tenth perufal, explore the buried treasures of Welsh Poetry, and their fearch will be rewarded with new fources of pleasure, and new beauties of language and fancy.

*The feal of Owain Glyndwr, as defcribed in a MS. was, the effigy of Owain fitting in a chair of ftate, holding a icepter in his right hand, and a globe in his left; and by his fide were three lions, two and one: on the other, he is reprefented on horfeback.

Darydd ab Gwilym, flourished about the year 1370. All this Bard's poems are publifhed in an octavo volume, with an account of his life, &c. in English. The title is, Barddoniaeth Davydd ab Gwilym; and fold by Williams, Bookfeller, in the Strand.

2 The Ode of the Thunder is in p. 20. of Davydd ab Gwi lym's Works. For the following remarks I am obiged to that excellent Welfh critic, the late Mr. Lewis Morris. Mr. Pope, in his Preface to the Iliad, enumerating Homer's excellencies, next to his boundless invention places his imitative founds,

and

makes them peculiar to him and Virgil, and fays that no other poet ever reached this point of art.

Davydd ab Gwilym, if I miftake not, has alfo a ftrong claim to this excellency. You muft either allow of the atomical philofophy; or thar, copying nature by its own light, he intended his Cywydd y Daran thould found what it really is a defcrip tion of thunder and lightning, though in his love poems, and other fott fubjects (of which I have now by me near a hundred), he is as fmooth, and glides as eafy, as an Italian fong.

"Let thofe who are not over partial to the fchool languages, and are proper judges of ours, compare this poem in its founds, and the loftinefs of its metaphors, with the beft paffages of this kind in the above authors; and I doubt not but they will deem this boldness of comparifon excufable, let Homer's character be ever fo facred." Tlyfau'r hen oefoedd.

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ODE TO THE SUN*, by Davydd ab Gwilym 3.

Tranflated into English, by Mr. David Samwell.

This Ode was written by the Bard, to tefiify his gratitude to the inhabitants of the county of Glamorgan, who had (it would feem) by a general fubfcription, raised a sum of money to liberate him from confinement, into which he had been thrown, on account of a fine laid upon him, for an illicit amour with the wife of a person of the name of Cynvrig Cynin; whom he had fatirized in feveral parts of his work, under the name of Bwa bách, or the little Hunchback.

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The fairest planet thou, that flies
By God's command along the fkies!
Immenfe and powerful is thy flame,
Thou to the Sabbath giv't thy name:
From thy first rifing in the Eaft,
How great thy journey to the Weft!
And though at night we fee thee lave
Thy fheeny locks in Ocean's cave,
Th'enfuing morn thy fteps we fpy
Advancing up the eastern sky.

O thou! with radiant glory crown'd,
Whose beams are fcatter'd wide around,
'Tis from thy ample orb fo bright
The moon receives her filver light:
Great ruler of the fky, thy force
Controuls the planets in their course;
Fair gem, in the empyrëan fet,
Fountain of light, and fource of heat.

Before all planets thee I prize,
Bright ornament of fummer fkies!
Oh! deign with influence divine
On fair Morganwg's plains to fhine;
Where thy all-feeing eye may trace
A manly and a generous race,
From Gwent, for valiant men renown'd,
To Neath, with royal forefts crown'd.
Oh! for my fake, my gift of fong,
Thy bletfings to this land prolong;
Guard all her hills and verdant plains
From whirlwinds and o'erflowing rains;
Nor froft, nor long-continued snow,
Let fweet Morganwg ever know;
No blights her autumn fruits annoy,
No April fhowers her bees destroy;

*Milton finely calls the Sun, "The eye and foul of this

world."

3 See the Life and Writings of Davydd ab Gwilym, p. 180. printed by Williams, in the Strand.

But o'er her green vales through the day,

Th' effulgence of thy light difplay;
And court her ftill, in modeft pride,
With gentler beams at even-tide.
Return, and in thy fplendor drest
Again illume the rofy East;
Again, my love a hundred times
Bear to Morganwg's pleasant climes :
Greet all her fons with happy days,
And gild their white-domes with thy rays.
Their high woods, waving to the gales,
Their orchards, and their fertile vales.

Great Sun! how wide thy glory ftreams!
Through æther dart thy genial beams;
Make industry with wealth be crown'd,
Let honey and the vine abound,
Through all Morganwg's happy vales,
Fann'd by the health infpiring gales;
Thofe vales, for ancient chieftains fam'd,
And commons, virtuous and untam'd;
Thofe vales fo eminently bleft,

Whofe fons are brave, whofe daughters chafte;
Where fimple, hofpitable fare

Difplays th' induftrious housewife's care,
Where oft, by love and friendship borne,

With wine and mead I fill my

horn.-

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ODE

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Dear Morvydh claims my first regard,
And I am Morvydh's faithful Bard;
Soft as the moon-light on the main
Is fhe, to whom I breathe my strain;
From youth's gay prime, the cruel fair
Hath been fole object of my care:
At length her pride and high difdain
Have turn'd her love-fick poet's brain.

Full oft, when Night her mantle spread,
To meet my fair-one have I sped,
To offer in the filent
grove

My ardent vows of endless love.
I know her by her footstep's found,
Among a thousand maidens round;
I know her fhadow on the heath,

I know her by her fragrant breath;

Her voice I know the groves among,
Sweeter than Philomela's fong.

Abfent from her 1 find no reft,
My Mufe is filent and depreft;
Against despair in vain I strive,
The most unpleasant Bard alive,
With every spark of reason flown,
My spirit and remembrance gone.

At her approach my forrows fly, My heart exults with ecstasy; The faithful Mufe renews her ftrain, Poetic visions fire my brain; Sound judgement leads my steps along, And flowing language crowns my fong; But not one happy hour have I

If lovely Morvydh be not nigh.

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Monody on Sion Eós, or John the Nightingale, fo called from his celebrity on the Harp, for which he had no equal. He was fentenced to die for man-flaughter: his weight in gold was offered for his ranfom; but the law required life for life!

This pathetic Elegy was fung by Davydd ab Edmwnt, a celebrated Bard, who obtained the badge of the British Olympics, about A. D. 1450.

Drug i neb a drig yn ôl,

Gwefł am un, gwas dymunol:
O'r drwg lleiav o'r drygwaith,
Ygorau, medd y gwyr maith.

O wyr! ban na bai orau,
O lleddid un, na lladd dau?
Dwyn un gelynwaed a wnaeth;
Dial un, dau elyniaeth!
Oedd oer ladd y ddeuwr lân
Heb achos, and un bychan;
Yr oedd mawr ddiffyg ar rai,
Am adladd mewn fawns medlai.

Ymryfon am yr oefau,
Yw'r ing a ddaeth rhwng y ddau.
Er briwo'r gwr, heb air gwâd,
A'i farw, ni bu ei fwriad,
O ddyn! a lladd y naillwr

A man punished for an action in his own defence! Let misfortune attend fuch that faileth. Of evils, the leffer the better.

O then! had it not been better, fince one fell, not to facrifice the other through mere revenge? Avenged for fhedding the crimfon gore of an inveterate foe; one flain, the other punished; two enmities! An enormous failing, that fentence of death fhould be the iffue of chance-medley.

Life for life they laid; the death of one was the dire effect; and that avenged; then both fell.

A'i ddial, lladd y ddeuwr !

2 corph, dros y corph os caid

Tr iawn, oedd well yr enaid?

See the original of this poem in Davydd ab Gwilym's Works, 8vo, p. 498. Davydd ab Gwilym informs us, in one of his poems, that he addreffed his beloved Morwydd with no less than a hundred and forty-feven Cywyddau, which is more extraordinary than that of Petrarch to Laura; because each of Davydd 3

Is the foul of the flain made happier, or his ghost appeased, by having life for life as an atonement? ab Gwilym's Odes are as long as five or fix of Petrarch's Sonnets. The works of this Eard, till extant, confifts of near 300 poems. Cardiganfhire. He died about the year 1400, and was buried at Arad Fflur, in

Oedd

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