"The warriors who set forth to Caltraez,

After deep draughts of mead,

Were stea fast, vigorous,

With blades broad, red, and dark.

Stoutly, without pause, they smote these dogs of war.

Ah! treacherous clans of Bernicia!
Had you but me for your judge,

The shade of a man I would not leave in life!

I lost by you a comrade who knew not fear :

He perished resisting the fell oppressor. He asked not his wife's dowry from her father

The brave knight, the son of Kian,

The hero of the Rock of the bright summit.

The limpid mead he drank, then he fought in the trench.

He drank the lucid wine; it was a warlike defiance

The fight was fought in the trench-a fight with cutspread wings

A brilliant, a flaming combatA combat in full panoply-a combat with wide wings"

The disastrous battle was coincident with the pagan festival Coelkers, when fires were lighted in honour of the sun. It was either at Bestine. first of May, or at Samain tend of summer, November 1. Allusion is made to the festival in next stanza We see here the Celtic persistence to

at the dawn,

Were estimable for their mischances,

their sufferings.

Deep they drank the mead, luscious,

yellow, incl riating,

They afforded joy to the bards;
They dyed in blood their broad glaives,

their plumes,

Their rich-sheathed blades, their fourridged helms."

Two parties of the Britons being nearly cut off to a man, owing to the smailness of their number and their love for the drink, they are reinforced by Tudvoulr h qu. Torloch, chief of Elin Edinburgh, who combats the enemy till the rising tide separates the combatants. This circumstance is a presumptive proof of the locality being on the bank of the Clyde. The tide would be rather out of place at Catterick in Yorkshire.

First, from the heights of the fort looked
I urloch;

First, as a bull let loose, he charged on
the foamy brink;

First, he had emptied into his cup the 1 mp4 meai;

First, in gold and purple be signalised himself;

First, he raised the war-cry which wins apo la.

And but for the rest ng tide his foot had not with-irawD.

“Under the portals of Edin was the warbull res, lendent:

Imperiously he den anded the inebriating

festival. Scarce a stanza occurring without mention of the sparking mead:

"Renowned were the warriors who pr›ceeded to Caltraez:

Wine and gold-coloured mead were their drink:

That point of the year was dear from

cu tom.

Of three warrior-chiefs, and thrice twenty and three hundred,

All bearing the torques of gold, —
Of all these who rushed to fight,
After deeply draining the me ad,
Escaped but three, by dint of blow-
Acron's two do„ of war, and Kenon the
Boil

And my self, covered with gore ;--
My safety due to my songs †

Owen is duly praised because he went not into the fight till the tumes of the liquor had left his brain. His bravest deed was the slaying of Dotal Breach the plaided, one of the Gaele or Pictish chrets assisting the Sasanach and the Loegrials.

** On his shoulders this chief of chiefs Bore a mhty buckler, huge, manycoloure 1

In fitness he was excelled alone by Pridwann;

In battle he was tumult its If

He was fire; en hantment was in his lance:

He was the sun; he is now the food t

ravens.

After more hard drinking and fighting, Aneurin stops to thank Kenon, son of Lywarch Hen, for having ransomed him from his prison, to which a fit of drunkenness had conducted him. Then is related the death of Bunn (qu. Bhan, fair), a recreant British princess, the widow of Ida; and after a glorious repulse given to the foe, they fall to the cups. They are now stormed in the very hall, and the cupbearer, striking the flat of his blade on hard wood and flag, arouses the drunken heroes. A new awakinga new repulse-a new slaughter-at the end of which the valiant Morien is found regaling himself in the cellar on a quarter of venison, much the worse for drink at the same time.

A new carousal-a new attackOwen, the noble, the brave, rushing alone to defend the breach, is slain. In vain a nephew of Aneurin overthrows the tables of chiefs and followers, and exhibits proofs of stu; pendous heroism; hall, cellars, and all are filled by the besiegers; and of the three hundred and sixty-three chiefs escape but three.

This fiery old poem, preserved in the libraries of Plas Gwyn, of Rev. Thomas Price of Crickhowel, of the Vaughan family, Castle Hengurt, and

others, has been published with an English translation and notes by Rev. John Williams, Merionethshire, at Llandovery, in 1852. Viscount Villemarqué has also given a French version in the "Bardes Bretonnes," accompanying the original. Taking into account the successive changes effected in the Welsh dialect, he has preferred a text nearly corresponding to the Armorican branch, as written by a proficient at this day, the difference between it and the Cymric of the sixth century being but slight. He furnishes numerous parallels as he proceeds from the Welsh MSS. The reader may compare the first verse above quoted with the annexed from the Crickhowel MSS. :

"Gredyf gwr oed, gwas:
Gwyrthyt am dias;

Meirch mwth, myngvras,
A dan vordwyt, megyrwas.”

In our version were required twentyseven words to give the literal meaning of these fourteen; the French Version employs thirty. The advanwhich the old Celtic enjoys over either tage in strength and compactness, of the two modern languages, may be inferred from the comparison.

THE POEMS OF LYWARCH HEN.

The poems of Lywarch Hen are the relics of Aneurin. They embrace numerous and varied, compared with the "Death of Gherent of Cornwall," the "Death of Urien," the "Death of Kendelann". -a poem on his own old age, and one on the loss of his sons. His gnomic or didactic poems consist of the "Calendar of Winter," the "Wind," the "Boughs," the "Song of the Cuckoo," &c.

In his "Death of Gherent" all the verses of one portion of the poem begin with "I've seen at Longport,' &c.; the remaining verses commence with "Light were the steeds of Gherent." A couple of examples are extracted from each :

THE DEATH OF GHERENT.

"At Longport was slain Gherent,

The valiant chief of the wooded land of Deuvnent (Damnonia),

Slaying those who slew him.

"At Longport were slain the stout soldiers

of Arthur

Arthur's soldiers who cut with steelThe commander, the overseer of the works of war.

"Light were the steeds under the thighs of Gherent.

High on their limbs, (fed with) winnowed grain,

Red, impetuous, (like) red eagles.†

"Light were the steeds under the thighs of Gherent,

High on their limbs, fed with barley, Impetuous as bushes on fire on the dry hill"

It was a popular custom among the Cets to convert their patriot heroes into saints. Gherent, without beng actually canonized, became a Lero of romance among the Britons of continent and isle. The following description of his appearance reminds us of passages in our own writers, one of which have figured in the UNIVERSITY

“He was a young man of noble bearing, with 1ng cur `ng hair, and naked limbs, He carried at his side a glive, with hilt of gold; his tan' and his mantle were of fine stin. Leithen shes were on his feet. He was girt with a blush purple belt, and from its ends dangled two golden apples. He was mounted on a young steed of great size, who walked with high, swift, and proud pace."

The next piece to be noticed is an address to Maenwyn, steward of that bad king of North Wales whom we have already met with. This faint hearted min submitted to much illtreatment from the strat gers to save lite and property, in consequence of which Lywarch addressed to him—

THE SONG OF MARNWINN

* Maenwinn, when I was thy age,
No one dared put foot on my cicak,

No one plon the 4 my field without shedding his blod.

"What I then loved was the bright blade in its sheath,

The blade sharp as the thorn point. It was light labour to me to raise a rock. "Blessed be the woman, aged, lonesome, Who cried to thee from the threshold of her but,

Maenwinn, resign not thy poinard!'"

THE DEATH OF URIEN OF REGHED. sions. In the first the poet addresses The lament includes several divian old companion in adversity in relation to the subject matter of the poem.

Then follow several verses, each commencing with "I hear the head of Urien (ante) by my side.-in my tunic,-on my thigh,—on my shoulder," referring to his carrying away that relic of his friend from the siege of Lindisfarne. A couple of verses will present the spirit of this

portion :

The

at-eds were fed.

1792.

The "Death of Kendelann," before noticed, has been mentioned by Mr. Morley, and some translations given of the finest portions of it. We refer the reader to his work. The bard, sitting in the silent, deserted hall of his friend, keeping vigil over his corpse, and listening to the distant howlings of the wolves, and the screams of the eagles, forms a most striking and sad picture.

Lywarch having lost his last supporting friend, the brave Kendelann, Chief of Pengwern (Shrewsbury), was reduced to extreme poverty and loneliness, his twenty-four sons having long before perished. He thus bewailed his wretched condition :

"Before I was obliged to the support of crutches,

My lance was chief among lances;
My back, now bowed, was first in vigour.
I am now oppressed; I am miserable.

No one is left to turn me on my couch; I cannot move-oh, misery!

O death, thou art unfavourable !"

No Christian resignation is found to temper the complaints of the old bard, his spirit is of the earth. Sunk in unmitigated wretchedness, he laments his loneliness, and the loss of his brave sons, all distinguished by the gold-torque, the peculiar badge of a Celtic chief. He names them individually in his lament, but chiefly dwells on the bravery of Gwenn and (Kenzilik), he would have preferred Peil. One only, unworthy of his race to have been a woman.

“() riches, you resemble the earthen vase, The vase that holds the mead; I desire

you not.

Happiness is repose; the key of knowledge, endurance.

"He was young, this son of sorrow, He was a chief in the prince's court: When he quits earth may he see God!"

There is no lack of mysticism in the poem of the "Boughs :" a few verses follow:

All that remains of the works of Lywarch Hen is to be found in the "Black Book of Hengurt," and the "Red Book of Hergherst," before mentioned. Of these and the other literary treasures of the ancient Cymry we shall take occasion to speak at large when opportunity

serves.

THE POEMS OF TALIESIN,

These comprise the "Battle of

green foliage,

Frees my feet from the snare :*

Confide not a secret to a young man.

Gwenn Estrad," the "Battle of Menao," "Song to Urien," "Urien's Recompence," and the "Song of the

woodt

Frees my feet from the chain:

Trust not a secret to a young girl.

"The vigorous branch of the briar covered with berries,

And the blackbird in its nest, and the story-teiler,

Are never silent.

"It ra'ns abroa1, the fern is damp;

The sea-sand white, the sea-foam scatter

ing.

The clearest light is man's intelligence."

The song of the "Wind" gives very little information. Here are

two of the most observant verses su ceeding others in which nothing more straingas told thin that "swipe dig up w.d roots; the wind blows from the ba's, trees have branchesard 1 aves, and te, gous men nive on m.k, butter, and chese :' —

**Commonly the oak's top is the nest of the cage;

In the ass i les men talk much;

The eye of the lover is on the loved one.

**C»mm»tly the fire burns through the day of winter.

Suppl y warriors of lo se speech;
Ihe felous tire is changed to solitude.”

We take leave of our bard with the comf rtable impression that his m.nd and heart were at last turned to better tu, ngs toan the smoke of warise of bazu gory, or the vain enjoyment of carting goods or pica

took place between Ida the firebrand, and King Urien, his sons and his bards. The following are extracts from the "Battle of Argoed Loueven (the Elm of Argoed," :

"Saturday morning a fierce fight took place:

From the rise to the set of the sun it lasted

The fire-brand bearer flew with four battalions

To crush Godeu and Reghed.

"They stretched along from the woods to the hills,

But their lives were only for a day.
The brand bearer cried with loud voice,
Shall hostages be delivered? Are they
prepared ?

"Owen made reply, drawing his blue blade,

They shall not be given; they are not ready;

They never shall be,'

“Then Urien, chief of tilled lands, cried out, Warriors of our clans, plant the stand

ari on the hill;

Pour on the ravagers of the plain, And turn your lan-es against the bearis of warriors.

**In the Moody) rivulets of the fight the Tavens grew revi;

The people hastened to tell the victory; And I will celebrate it while life endures.

"Yea, even till I become weak and aged, And till the dread anguish of death ar

rive,

Let me not smile if 1 extol not Urien !"