CHAPTER V.

MEDIEVAL BARDISM.

Decline of Bardism as a Philosophical System-Bardism produced good Poets-Wales had a Literature when England had none - The Cambrian Muse religious-Specimen of Poems of Prince Hywell-Of Gwalchmai-Of Einion ap Gwalchmai- Of Elidir Sais-Of Gruffydd Goch-Of Gwilym Ddu-Prophecy of David Ddu accomplishedJealousies between the Bards and the Friars-Mutual ComplimentsPoem of Gruffydd Hiratheog-The Bard a salaried Officer in the great Monasteries-The Bard of Chichester-Poem of Rhys Goch-The Earl of Shaftesbury an early Patron of Welsh Literature.

BARDISM, as a visibly active, energising system, had long ceased to exist. Pressed on all sides by Christianity, which aimed at it the most deadly blows, this admirable institution had, to appearance, faded away. I say, to appearance; for, with a subtle audacity, it had glided unperceived into the territory of its successful antagonist, and thence continued for ages after to exert, as opinion went, a beneficial or baneful influence. Still, to all outward seeming, Bardism was a beautiful form, whence the animating spirit had fled; a majestic edifice, tenantless and void. The Bardic institutions no longer produced profound philosophers, but they still gave to the world a class, on whom the world, ungrateful for the lessons of wisdom, is inclined to set a higher value,—good poets. From the close of the twelfth to that of the sixteenth century, there are many illustrious names who courted the Cambrian muse. Of these, the works of some have perished through the calamity of the times; others are sealed to the Saxon inquirer in the rich casket of the native tongue; others, fortunately for us, have found kindred souls in modern times, who, imbued with the true awen of poetry, have, under all the disadvantages of a strange language and idiom, preserved

beauty of thought and vividness of expression. From these benefactors to literature, who have made the bards of Wales speak English, and speak it so well, the specimens presented to the reader in this department of my labours will be taken.

The Augustan age of Welsh poetry extended from 1100 A.D. to 1500 A.D. It is said, that from 1282, the era of the Conquest, to about 1350, the Cambrian minstrelsy suffered dim eclipse. But several eminent writers living within the period assigned, militate against this disparaging presumption. The oldest English poet of reputation was Chaucer-born 1328, died 1400. So, you see, two centuries before the father of English verse was born or thought of Wales had her poets; and refined, elegant writers they were. The muse of Cambria, with full, firm voice, poured forth her strains of enchanting melody, while the muse of England was silent altogether, or spoke only with stammering lips. The subjects in which the bards delighted were the absorbing themes of love and war. As the gifted minstrel swept with master hands the strings of his harp, the sounds they gave harmonised with the accents that burst from his lips-now glowing with the fires of patriotism; then melting into tenderness; anon breathing a sweet, plaintive melancholy; or, in swelling tones and solemn measure, lifted up to heaven in religious faith and the hope that "maketh not ashamed." There is extant a list of no less than sixty-eight bards who, before the Reformation, sang in praise of God Almighty, the Saviour, and the Virgin Mary. That was a cruel calumny in the report of the Education Commissioners, a few years ago, which represented the Welsh population as sunk in deplorable ignorance. So far as the little niceties of secular learning went, there might have been some truth in the statement; but in the best learning, religious knowledge, the Welsh nation are not, and never were, deficient. In the old Catholic days, Giraldus extols the fervour of their piety; in Protestant times, the love of this people has not waxed cold.* I could have wished that they had owed their confessedly

* Doctor Malkin paid the Welsh a fine and just compliment when he wrote (1807):- Though there are accounted to be about two thousand books in the Welsh language, there are none of immoral tendencies, none that propagate principles of infidelity."-Tour, vol. i. p. 102.

deep religious impressions to the teaching of the Reformed Church of England and Wales, of which I am a member; but far be it from me to undervalue the amount of saving knowledge, or think slightingly of the channels through which it has been conveyed.

To introduce to my English readers the poets of medieval Wales in the order of merit, would prove a difficult and invidious task, in the order of the subjects on which they have treated might be thought stiff and formal. I will follow, therefore, as nearly as I can, the chronological order. I shall give, as in duty bound, precedence to a royal poet. Hywel* was one of the sons of the celebrated Owen Gwynedd, prince of North Wales. At the death of that great warrior in 1169, Hywel aspired to the throne. He fought hard for and was near winning it. But the scales, long evenly suspended, inclined at last to his brother David. Nothing remained for Hywel but flight and exile. He did not long survive his crushed hopes. Within two years he died in Ireland, from the effects of wounds received in that unbrotherly conflict. Eight of Hywel's productions are preserved in the Welsh Archaiology. They are all in an amatory vein. Ambition and the ladies divided his thoughts. Equal ill-fortune would seem to have attended Prince Hywel in his warring and in his wooing.

I love the summer's sultry day,

What time the war-horse, gallant steed,
Exulting proves his mettled speed;
What time is seen the foaming spray,
And active limbs their power display;
What time yon orchard-trees appear
A greener, lovelier garb to wear:
Then with shining buckler vain,
Away I go to tumult dire ;

For I have loved with fond desire,
Long have loved, but ne'er could gain,
Ceridwen comely, shapely, fair,
Of splendid mien, and graceful air,
Of languid gait, and looks that vie
With evening's soft and melting sky!
So light her step, a slender reed
My tiny fair one might impede :

* Cambro-Briton, vol. i. p. 312.

So weak, so mild, she scarce appears
To count in life ten fleeting years.
Thus young, thus charming to the view,
It were a virtue fair and meet,
That she should be as bounteous too,
As free to give as she is sweet.

Yet, ah! her looks but check my love,
Not all her words so potent prove.
A suppliant pilgrim I repair

Again to idolise my fair;

Yet say, how long, unkind one, say

Thou doomest me at thy shrine to pray?

Think what thou art-and may in heaven
My doting fondness be forgiven.*

Gwalchmai was a native of Anglesea. He followed Richard, the lion-hearted king of England, to the holy wars. He was a cunning player on the harp. A martial ardour pervades his compositions, as if he had written them with the point of a lance instead of a pen. Gwalchmai flourished from 1150 to 1190. Twelve of his poems are printed in the Welsh Archaiology. The following is in honour of a series of victories over Henry II., by Owen Gwynedd, the father of Hywel.

ODE TO OWAIN GWYNEDD.

The generous chief I sing of Rhodri's line,
With princely gifts endowed, whose hand
Hath often curbed the border-land,
Owain, great heir of Britain's throne,
Whom fair Ambition marks her own,

Who ne'er to yield to man was known;
Nor heaps he stores at Avarice's shrine.

Three mighty legions o'er the sea-flood came,
Three fleets intent on sudden 'fray;

One from Erin's verdant coast,

One with Lochlin's armèd host,

Long burthens of the billowy way:

The third, from far, bore them of Norman name,

To fruitless labour doomed and barren fame.

'Gainst Mona's† gallant lord, where, lo! he stands,

His warlike sons ranged at his side,

Rushes the dark tumultuous tide,

Th' insulting tempest of the hostile bands.

* Cambro-Briton, vol. ii. p. 136.

The chief palace of the princes of North Wales was at Aberfraw, in

the Isle of Anglesea.

Boldly he turns the furious storm,

Before him wild Confusion flies,
While Havoc rears her hideous form,

And prostrate Rank expiring lies :
Conflict upon conflict growing,

Gore on gore in torrents flowing,

Shrieks answering shrieks, and Slaughter raving,

And high o'er Moelvre's front a thousand banners waving.
Now thickens still the frantic war,

The flashing death-strokes gleam afar,
Spear rings on spear, flight urges flight,
And drowning victims plunge to night.
Till Menai's overburthened tide,
Wide-blushing with the streaming gore,
And choked with carnage, ebbs no more;

While mail-clad warriors, on her side,

In anguish drag their deep-gashed wounds along,

And fore the King's Red Chiefs are heaped the mangled throng.
Thus Loegria's onset, Loegria's flight,

The struggle, doomed her power to tame,

Shall, with her routed sons, unite

To raise great Owain's sword to fame :

While seven score tongues of his exploits shall tell,
And all their high renown through future ages swell.*

Poetical talent is a peculiar gift, and rarely descends at all; still rarer in equal lustre from son to son. Einion ap Gwalchmai, son of the bold crusader, composed beautifully. He wrote many other poems of high merit, besides this elegy to the memory of Nest, daughter of the ill-starred poet, Prince Hywel

The spring returns; the trees are in their bloom;
The blackbird carols all the live-long day;

But Nest lies withering in her wintry tomb,
Nor heeds th' invigorating smiles of May.

Though smooth the sea, and soft the zephyrs blow,
The charms of nature bring me no relief;
Alas! my tears will never cease to flow !
Fruitless my prayer, immoderate my grief!
Have I not seen, on Beli's rocky shore,
The foaming billows of the angry deep?
Have I not heard the raging tempests roar,
When in despair I laid me down to weep?
Teivit I passed with musing steps, and slow;
Teivi re-echoed to my plaintive strains.
O Nest, thou source of never-dying woe,
Whilom the glory of Dysynni's plains!

* Stephens's Literature of the Kymry, p. 26.
+Teivi, a river of Cardiganshire.