Alluding to the captivity and treatment of
the Welsh Bards by King Edward I.
Sad near the willowy Thames we stood,
And curs’d the inhospitable flood;
Tears such as patients weep, ’gan flow,
The silent eloquence of woe,
When Cambria rushed into our mind,
And pity with just vengeance joined;
Vengeance to injured Cambria due,
And pity, O ye Bards, to you.
Silent, neglected, and unstrung,
Our harps upon the willows hung,
That, softly sweet in Cambrian measures,
Used to sooth our souls to pleasures,
When, lo, the insulting foe appears,
And bid us dry our useless tears.
“Resume your
harps,” the Saxons cry,
“And change your grief to songs of joy;
Such strains as old Taliesin sang,
What time your native mountains rang
With his wild notes, and all around
Seas, rivers, woods return’d the sound.”
What!—shall the Saxons
hear us sing,
Or their dull vales with Cambrian music ring?
No—let old Conway cease to flow,
Back to her source Sabrina go:
Let huge Plinlimmon hide his head,
Or let the tyrant strike me dead,
If I attempt to raise a song
Unmindful of my country’s wrong.
What!—shall a haughty king command
Cambrians’ free strain on Saxon land?
May this right arm first wither’d be,
Ere I may touch one string to thee,
Proud monarch; nay, may instant death
Arrest my tongue and stop my breath,
If I attempt to weave a song,
Regardless of my country’s wrong!
Thou God of vengeance, dost
thou sleep,
When thy insulted Druids weep,
The Victor’s jest the Saxon’s scorn,
Unheard, unpitied, and forlorn?
Bare thy right arm, thou God of ire,
And set their vaunted towers on fire.
Remember our inhuman foes,
When the first Edward furious rose,
And, like a whirlwind’s rapid sway,
Swept armies, cities, Bards away.
“High on a rock
o’er Conway’s flood”
The last surviving poet stood,
And curs’d the tyrant, as he pass’d
With cruel pomp and murderous haste.
What now avail our tuneful strains,
Midst savage taunts and galling chains?
Say, will the lark imprison’d sing
So sweet, as when, on towering wing,
He wakes the songsters of the sky,
And tunes his notes to liberty?
Ah no, the Cambrian lyre no more
Shall sweetly sound on Arvon’s shore,
No more the silver harp be won,
Ye Muses, by your favourite son;
Or I, even I, by glory fir’d,
Had to the honour’d prize aspir’d.
No more shall Mona’s oaks be spar’d
Or Druid circle be rever’d.
On Conway’s banks, and Menai’s streams
The solitary bittern screams;
And, where was erst Llewelyn’s court,
Ill-omened birds and wolves resort.
There oft at midnight’s silent hour,
Near yon ivy-mantled tower,
By the glow-worm’s twinkling fire,
Tuning his romantic lyre,
Gray’s pale spectre seems to sing,
“Ruin seize thee, ruthless King.”
A pensive Shepherd, on a summer’s day,
Unto a neighb’ring mountain bent his way,
And solitary mus’d, with thoughts profound,
Whilst ev’ry thing was silent all around;
The firmament was clear, the sky serene,
And not a cloud eclips’d the rural scene.
Not so the Shepherd, all was storm within,
He mourn’d his frailty, and bewail’d his sin;
His soul alone engross’d his utmost care,
Decoy’d by cursed Satan to his snare;
(Alas! with what success he tempts mankind,
And leads them to their ruin with the blind!)
Awhile he stood, as one in woeful pain;
At last, he broke in melancholy strain,
And cried,—
“O great Creator, ever
good and wise,
I dare not lift to thee mine eyes—
Thy violated laws for vengeance call,
And on offenders heavy judgment fall;
Which hurl them flaming to eternal pains,
To suffer ever on infernal plains.
The terrors of thy justice make me fear,
For who can everlasting torment bear?
My soul with grief is rent, Oh! stop thy hand,
Shivering before thy Majesty I stand;
Long have I trod the ’luring path of vice,
And tire thy patience, and thy grace despise.
Before thy throne I bow with suppliant knee,
Grant gracious God, thy pardon unto me:
In solitude my follies I repent,
The life so long, so viciously, I spent,
O God! I wish undone my wicked deeds,
My contrite heart with inward sorrows bleeds.
Thou, O my God! art witness of my grief,
And thou alone canst grant me a relief.
I promise faithfully to sin no more,
(I sue for mercy, and thy grace implore,)
And spend my life, for ever, in thy fear,
Thy laws to keep, thy holy name revere.”
Thus plain’d the pensive Shepherd, and his moan,
Christ, his Mediator, brought before the throne!
Him graciously answer’d God to Sire,
His face resplendent with a globe of fire:—
“My Son hath paid thy ransom, go in peace,
Eternal justice bids thee be at ease!”
He said, and all the choir of angels sung,
Harmonious melody, their harps they strung,
And heaven’s Empyreum to their music rung,
Such is the joy when a poor sinner turns,
That with uncommon glow each seraph burns.
Thus I may compare small things with great,
The Prodigal his tender father met;
Such as the Gospel paints in tatter’d weed,
Willing with husks to satisfy his need:
And none would give them, though the hungry roam,
Till he returned unto his Father’s home;
Who kill’d the fatted calf, and spread the feast,
Where wine and minstrelsy his joy exprest.
The Shepherd thus refresh’d with heavenly grace,
Return’d with joy eternal in his face;
The Saviour’s wond’rous love to man he
prais’d,
And thus his voice with gratitude he rais’d:—
“All glory to the
gracious Son of God,
Who hast alone the grevious wine-press trod,
To satisfy his justice, and for me
Hast wrought endless salvation on the tree;
Who hast redeem’d us, and destroyed our foes,
That neither death nor grave can work our woes:
Hast overthrown the dragon, and no more
Hell, nor its gates have terrors left in store!”
Thus did the Shepherd testify
his joy,
A theme that might an angel’s tongue employ;
He praised Christ, who for mankind did die;
His praise let all resound, to all eternity.
On seeing the Ruins of Ivor Hael’s
Palace.
Amidst its alders Ivor’s palace lies,
In heaps of ruins to my wondering eyes;
Where greatness dwelt in pomp, now thistles reign,
And prickly thorns assert their wide domain.
No longer Bards inspired, thy tables grace.
Nor hospitable deeds adorn the place;
No more the generous owner gives his gold
To modest merit, as to Bards of old.
In plaintive verse his Ivor—Gwilym
moans,
His Patron lost the pensive Poet groans;
What mighty loss, that Ivor’s
lofty hall,
Should now with schreeching owls rehearse its fall!
Attend, ye great, and hear the solemn sound,
How short your greatness this proclaims around,
Strange that such pride should fill the human breast,
Yon mouldering walls the vanity attest.
Dear Sir,
I cannot sufficiently acknowledge Sir Thomas Mostyn’s
kindness, in the trouble he has taken, of sending up the
catalogue of his historical MSS. and in his obliging offer of
communicating them to me. Those which I am desirous to see
more than the rest, are these, viz.—
“The Annals of the Abbey of Chester, to a.d. 1297.
“Beda de Gestis Anglorum, if it be a different work from
his Chronicon and Ecclesiastical History. It is the
same.
“History of England, from William the Conqueror to the
6th of Edward the 6th.
“Annales Cambriæ ignoti autoris, et Chronica
Cambriæ; both which seem to be in the same volume, which
begins with a Welsh history of the Kings of the Britons and
Saxons, and Princes of Wales, to the time of Edward 4th.
“A chronology from Vortigern downwards, supposed to be
collected by Robert Vaughan, of Hengwrt, Esquire, which seems to
be in the volume beginning with Sir John Wynne’s pedigree
of the family of Gwydir.
“Treatises concerning the courts of wards and
chancery.”
As Sir Thomas proposes to come to town soon, I hope he will be
so good as to bring those MSS. with him (as Sir W. W. Wynne will
several others, that he has found at Llanvorda) because they will
be very useful to me as I conceive, for my first volume.
There are some others I should be glad to look over, but shall
have more time for it. Were I on the spot, I should be very
curious to consult the MS. of Froissart, though that
author’s history, so favourable to the English, is
printed. My edition of it is that of Paris, 1520, which I
take to be the last of any: but there is a MS. finely wrote and
illuminated of this author, in the monastery called Elizabeth, at
Breslaw, in Silesia, which contains a third part more than any
printed edition. Count Bicklar, a Silesian nobleman, who
was at Paris, a.d. 1727, promised me
to get a printed edition of Froissart collated with that MS. but
he could find no monk in the monastery, or any about the place,
capable of doing it. I desired him to buy a MS. that
seemeth useless to the convent, at the price of 200 ducats, but
my offer made them fancy it the more valuable, and they would not
sell it. I have seen a MS. in the king’s library at
Paris, and that of the capuchins at Rouen, but they contained no
more than my edition: I should be glad to know if Sir
Thomas’s does. I gave the Benedictine, who has the
care of the new collections of French historians, notice of the
MS. at Breslaw, that he might make use of it in his new edition
of Froissart; but I have not heard whether he has got the MS.
collated, and the supplement copied.
Adredus Rievallensis, Robert of Gloucester, Caradoc of
Llancarvan, and Geoffry of Monmouth, are printed; and I have
examined several MSS. of the case in the Cotton, Oxford and
Cambridge libraries; so are the MSS. of Giraldus Cambrensis; but
if Sir Thomas’s MSS. contain more than the printed
editions, I shall be extremely glad to see them, as also
Trussel’s original of cities, and antiquities of
Westminster, as also the digression left out of Milton’s
history. The tracts of state in the times of Elizabeth,
James I., and Charles I. I shall be very glad to see: but
they, as well as some others, I can the better stay for, because
they relate to more modern times.
Pray make my humble service and acknowledgments acceptable to
Sir Thomas; which will oblige me to be more, if possible, than I
am,
Dear Sir,
Your affectionate, and obedient
servant,
Thos. Carte.
Gray’s Inn, Nov. 14, 1744.
Dear Bard,
I received your’s last post, without date, with a
Cowydd Merch, for which I am very much obliged to
you. I cannot see why you should be afraid of that subject
being the favourite of your Awen. It is the most
copious subject under heaven, and takes in all others; and, for a
fruitful fancy, is certainly the best field to play in, during
the poet’s tender years. Descriptions of wars,
strife, and the blustering part of man’s life, require the
greatest ripeness of understanding, and knowledge of the world;
and is not to be undertaken but by strong and solid heads, after
all the experience they can come at.
Is it not odd, that you will find no mention made of
Venus and Cupid amongst our Britons, though they
were very well acquainted with the Roman and Greek writers?
That god and his mother are implements that modern poets can
hardly write a love-poem without them: but the Britons scorned
such poor machines. They have their Essyllt,
Nyf, Enid, Bronwen, Dwynwen, of their
own nation, which excelled all the Roman and Greek
goddesses.—I am now, at my leisure hours, collecting the
names of these famous men and women, mentioned by our poets, (as
Mr. Edward Llwyd once intended,) with a short history of them; as
we have in our common Latin dictionaries, of those of the Romans
and Grecians. And I find great pleasure in comparing the
Triades, Beddau, Milwyr Ynys Prydain, and
other old records, with the poets of the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries; which is the time when our Britons wrote most and
best.
Let me have a short Cowydd from you now and then; and I
will send you my observations upon them, which may be of no
disservice to you. That sent in your last letter, I here
return to you; with a few corrections. It doth not want
many: use them, or throw them in the fire, which you
please. Do not swallow them without examination. The
authority of good poets must determine all.
Y forwyn gynt, fawr iawn gais,
Deg aruthr erioed a gerais.
The word Aruthr, though much used, in the sense you
take it, seems not proper here; yet Dr. Davies translates it
Mirus. I cannot think but the original import of the
word is terrible; and they cannot say in English of a
woman, she is terribly fair. Rhuthr, from
whence Aruthr is compounded, I dare say had that sense, at
least:—
“Y cythraul accw ruthrwas.”
W.
Lleyn.
Deg wawr erioed a gerais,
may do as well, and sounds better.
A roist ofal i’m calon,
A brâth o hiraeth i’m bron:
Ni wyr un ar a anwyd
A roist o gur, os teg wyd;
Enwa anhunedd yn henaint
A yr wyn fyth yr un faint.
The first line of the last couplet is too long, and I should
write both thus:
Enwa’n hunedd yn henaint
E yr wyn fyth yr un faint.
Again:
Cyrchaf, ac ni fynnaf au,
I dir angov drwy angau.
The last couplet is a beautiful expression; but it hath too
much sweet in it; what our poets call Eisiau Cyfnewid
Bogail. Ang, ang, is a fault, which our
musicians term too many concords; and therefore they mix discords in
music, to make it more agreeable to the ear. So the
rhetoricians call the same fault in their science, Caniad y
gôg. Therefore, suppose you would turn it
thus:
Again:
Lle bo dyfnaf yr afon,
Ar fy hynt yr af i hon,
Oni roi, Gwen eurog wedd,
Drwy gariad ryw drugaredd.
Eurog wedd is no great compliment to a fair woman; for
Gwen, a Flavia, loves to be called white; and the last
line hath gar—gar, therefore I would write
thus, or the like:
Oni roi, Gwen îr ei gwedd,
Yn gywrain, ryw drugaredd.
But I do not like îr ei gwedd.
Af i graig fwyaf o grêd
Y môr, i gael ymwared,
Ag o’r graig fawr i’r eigion
Dygaf gyrch i dyrch y dòn—
An excellent expression—
Ag o’r dòn egr hyd annwfn
Af ar y dafl i fôr dwfn.
Here is a charming opening for you, to describe the country
you go to, and the wonders of the deep; and something like the
following lines might be inserted:
Lle mae’r morfil friwfil fron,
A’r enwog fôrforwynian,
To proceed:
A fynno Gwen ysplennydd
Yn ddiau o’m rhwymau ’n rhydd,
Ni chaf gur, ni chaf garu
Na phoen gwn, na hoffi ’n gu;
Ni roddaf gam i dramwy,
I gred i’th ymweled mwy:
Dyna’r modd dan wir i mi,
A dyr unwaith drueni.
The expression Dan wir, is too local, and is not
understood all over Wales. Local expressions must be
avoided as much as possible. Suppose you said then,
Oni chaf heb warafun
Dy fodd fyth difeiwedd fun.
After all these corrections, which are not very material, you
have this comfort, (and I mention it that you may not be
discouraged,) that I do not know a man in our country who can
write a poem which shall want as few corrections. So make
poetry and antiquity (when you can come at materials) branches of
your study; and, depend upon it, you will make a figure in the
world. There are flights and turns in this poem, which even
David ab Gwilym would not have been ashamed of.
I would have you write to my brother, and let him know the
reason of your not going to London, and that you are alive.
If you send him this poem, he will be pleased with it.
Is there any hopes of your seeing the Llyfr Coch o
Hergest? Who is keeper, or under-keeper, of Jesus-College
Library? And who is principal; and who are the fellows?
perhaps I may know some of them; or can make interest some way or
other for you to get the use of those MSS.
But it ought to be considered, that you are to mind the main
chance of reading the classics, in order to come to a tolerable
being, before you launch too far into any other studies; and you
must only take a snatch by the bye, which will serve to whet your
genius; oblegid mae newid gwaith cystal a gorphwyso.
When you can come at Llyfr Coch o Hergest, or any other
ancient MSS., I will send you directions to read it, and
understand it: the chief difficulty being in the orthography: the
language of all Britain (even Scotland) was the same as it is now
in Wales, 1200 years ago.
I wrote to you lately, which I suppose you had not received
when you sent your dateless letter. I desire your answer
when convenient.
Yours sincerely,
Lewis Morris.
Galltvadog, July 14, 1751.
Dear Evan,
Your letter of the second instant, I received this day; and I
was very glad to hear that you had procured leave to go to the
private library in Jesus College. It is charming to get
into conversation with Llywarch Hen, Aneurin,
Merddin, &c. They are most pleasing old
companions.
I understand that my copy of Brut y Brenhinoedd is not
the same with that in Llyfr Coch o Hergest. Mine was
copied out of five MSS. three of them upon vellum, very ancient;
but the transcriber, not understanding the occasion of the
difference between the copies, stuffed all into this, that he
could find in all the MSS. Had he known that some of those
MSS. were from Walter the Archdeacon’s original translation
of the history, out of the Armoric; and some again from his
second translation from Galfrid’s Latin, he would have kept
the copies separate. The transcriber of my copy mentions
sometimes—“thus in such a MS. and thus in such a
MS.,” but it is impossible to find which is which.
Brut y Tywysogion is only the history of Caradoc of
Llancarvan, which was Englished by Humphrey Lloyd, and published
by Dr. Powell; and afterwards a very bad edition by Mr. W.
Wynne. I would not have you take the trouble upon you to
transcribe that; for there are many copies of it. What is
most worth your care is the works of the poets; especially that
part of them that is historical, as some of Taliesin, Merddin,
Llywarch Hen’s are. Merddin mentions the war in
Scotland, between Rhydderch Hael, Aeddan ab Gafran, Gwenddolau ab
Ceidio, &c., and Taliesin mentions several battles, that none
of our historians ever so much as heard of. These are
matters of great curiosity—Llywarch Hen in one of his
Elegies, mentions Eglwysau Bassa, that was destroyed by
the Saxons. Nennius says, that one of the twelve battles
fought by Arthur against the Saxons, was upon the river
Bassas. Who is that great Apollo among our
historians who knows anything of these affairs?—Is there
ever a MS. of Nennius, which you can come at? I wish that
book was translated into English: it is but small. However,
since you are now about the Llyfr Coch, I would have you first to
write an index of the contents of it, and send it me, sheet by
sheet, and I will give you my opinion what is best to transcribe,
and is most uncommon or curious. I do not remember whether
the book is paged; let it be as it will, you cannot be long in
making such an index, with the first line of each piece.
There are some other curious MSS. there; some Bucheddau
(Lives) as far as I recollect. But the silly copy of
Brut y Brenhinoedd, in a modern hand there, is not worth
talking of.—How do you know it is the same with the
Bodleian? I presume, that the Brut y Brenhinoedd, in
Llyfr Coch, is not the original translation from the
Bretonic copy; for I think it mentions Galfrid’s
translation in the conclusion of it.—But it is many years
since I saw it. I shall ask some questions about certain
passages in it, when I have leisure to look into my own
copy. I have written abundance of notes, in defence of
mine, since you saw it; and the more I examine into it, the
better I like it. I had at first but a poor opinion of it;
being prepossessed with the character given if by English
writers; but when I find the poets, and our genealogies, and
ancient inscriptions and coins agree with it; and some
foreign writers, I do not wonder that the inveteracy of the old
Saxons should still remain against it, as long as Bede is in
being. I shall only ask you now,—whether the son of
Ascanius is called Silius or Silvius, in Llyfr
Coch? It is in the beginning of my copy, which
begins—Eneas gwedi ymladd Troya, &c. Mine is not
divided into chapters or books. I have time to write no
more, but that
I am,
Yours sincerely,
Lewis Morris.
Galltvadog, Oct. 13, 1751.
Sir,
I happened to come upon business to this place; and being so
near you, and having an hour’s leisure, I could not help
sending this to remind you that there is such a one alive, who
wishes you well, and who is really glad you have got into such a
worthy family. I hope that you will make the best use of
your time; you will not be able to see how precious it is till
most part of it is gone. This world (or this age) is so
full of people that take no time to think at all, that a young
fellow is in the greatest danger as can be to launch out among
them. The terrestrial part of men being predominant, is as
apt as a monkey to imitate everything that is bad. So that
the little good which is to be done, must be done in spite of
nature.
I expected a line from you upon your being settled, and that
you had time to look about you; and when you have leisure, I
shall be glad to hear of your doing well. I make no doubt
but you will follow your British studies, as well as other
languages: for I suppose it will hardly leave you, whether you
will or no. Therefore to whet your parts, and in order to
improve yourself that way, I propose to you a correspondent, a
friend of mine, an Anglesea man; who will be glad of your
acquaintance, and I daresay you of his; especially
when you have seen some of his performances. His name is
Gronw Owen; and you may direct to him at Donnington, near Salop;
he keeps a school there, and is curate of a place hard by.
He is but lately commenced a Welsh poet; and the first ode he
ever wrote, was an imitation of your ode on melancholy. His
Cowydd y Farn is the best thing I ever read in
Welsh. You will be more surprised with his language and
poetry than with anything you ever saw. His ode is styled
The Wish, or Gofuned Gronw Ddu o Fon; and is certainly
equal, if not superior, to anything I ever read of the
ancients.
I have shared the dominion of poetry in Wales among you.
He shall have the north, and you the south. But he has more
subjects, a hundred to one, than you have, unless Glamorgan
affords some.
Mr. Gronw Owen has been for some years laying a foundation for
a Welsh rational Grammar, not upon the Latin and Greek plan, but
upon the plan that the language will bear. It would be
unreasonable to expect an old archbishop to dance a jig and
rigadoon with boys and girls; it is certain that the Greek and
Latin are such when compared with the Celtic. He has
desired of me to bring you acquainted together; and here I do it,
unless it is your own faults. He does not know how to write
to you, nor I neither; but direct this at a venture.
I am,
Your assured friend,
And servant,
Lewis Morris.
Llandeilo Vawr, April 23, 1752.
Dear Sir,
My brother gave me yours of the third, with an excellent ode
to the King of Prussia. The faults in it I take to be owing
to your careless writing of it; for they are such as cannot be
from want of knowledge, as the ode itself shows. However,
as you desire my corrections (which seems to be a sort of menial
office, like a plaisterer, who daubs mortar on a grand piece of
building, designed by a great architect) I give you my labour for
nothing, and choose whether you follow my opinion or no; for I am
no oracle. In my last alterations, in Cowydd Teifi, your
line—
is certainly best. I only wrote something that came
uppermost, to egg you on to do better. Your notion of
Maelienydd is wrong. You have been imposed upon by
Camden, Selden, or perhaps, by Girald. Cambrensis; or by some of
those strangers that knew nothing of the matter.
Maelienydd was the country to the south and east of those
mountains. But this is besides my purpose. Well, as
you think the unity of design, scene, and action of your poem was
about Llyn Teifi, I shall not urge the description of
Teifi as low as the sea (for there it goes.) And I
could have wished you had done it; for nobody else in
Cardiganshire is able to do poor Teifi that
kindness. As for your sheltering under Horace’s
adage, I mind it as nothing. He was a stranger to our
methods, handed down to us by his masters, the druidical bards;
who knew how to sing before Rome had a name. So never,
hereafter, mention such moderns as Horace and Virgil, when you
talk of British poetry. Llywarch Hen, Aneurin, and
followers of the Druids, are our men; and nature our rule.
With respect to your borrowing Gronw’s manuscript, you
may make yourself easy about it. I dare say he would sooner
part with his wife, and, for aught I know, children too; but his
wife I am sure. Your sentiments of Gronw’s capacity
as a poet, are I believe just; for he has had greater
opportunities than any poet since the Norman Conquest. But,
if you take my word, you will not be behind him, if you stick to
it. And, that you may not complain for want of the
necessary requisites, as soon as ever I have any leisure, I will
send you an ode or two of the ancients, which are not in
Gronw’s book, to whet your Awen with. I have a fine
collection of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, which I value
more than their weight in fine gold.
Your most humble Servant,
Lewis Morris.
London, Nov. 13, 1756.
Dear Sir,
It is now almost an age since I heard from you. From an
annual animal it would be a proper expression; and I am but
little better, as I change for the worse every year, till I shall
be no more.
I was glad to hear you had got to Llanrhychwyn; a place
scarcely ever heard of by the inhabitants of the level countries;
where you roll I suppose, in ancient MSS. and curiosities; and
where the arms of the invaders hardly ever reached.
Mr. W. Wynne was with me one night lately; and it seems he
hath as many ancient MSS. as other people have printed books:
Gwyn ei fyd! I was very much out of order when he
was here, which deprived me of the pleasure I should otherwise
have had.
I had a visit paid me lately by John Bradford, of
Glamorganshire (darn o brydydd &c.) It seems that
country is entirely drained of it, valuable antiquities or else,
their MSS. are buried among the rubbish of old libraries
unheeded.
The more I look into Nennius the difficulties encrease: for he
has been so mangled by ignorant or unskilful readers and
transcribers, and by Gale the editor, that, without a body had a
sight of all the manuscript copies of it in the public libraries,
or elsewhere, there is no attempting to interpret it. Mr.
R. Vaughan’s MS. at Hengwrt would be a vast help; but I see
no likelihood to come at a sight of that. Any ancient copy
of it on vellum, which has not been dabbled with, or compared
with the Cambridge, the Oxford MSS. &c.; that is, one which
we might call a virgin manuscript, which hath not been ravished
by Camden, Markham, Sir S. D’Ewes, or Usher, would give
great satisfaction; but where is that to be found? That
which Sir J. Pryse had may possibly exist somewhere; and that
which Humphrey Lloyd had, may likely be in the neighbourhood of
Denbigh still.
I have not had a week’s health since I saw you, and
therefore have been in no good humour to read or write.
Have you, among Taliesin’s works, Ymddyddan rhwng Ugnach
ab Mydno o Gaerleon a Thaliesin o Gaerdyganwy? If you have
it not, I will send it you. It is from the Llyfr Du o
Gaerfyrddin.
My chief business of late has been to put the names of men and
places in an alphabetical order, and to prepare them for my
Celtic remains, from Taliesin’s works, Sir J. Pryse’s
Cambria, the Triades, the Gododin, Beddau Milwyr, Aera Cambr.
Brit. L. G. Cothi, and extent of Anglesea.
Remember that you promised me the remainder of the Gododin,
and never performed it. The last lines of the fragment
which I have, are
Tymor tymhestyl
Tymhestyl dymor
Y beri rhestr rhac rhiallu.
I am now out of the way of all curious antiquities; and you
who have an opportunity of seeing every body’s treasures,
keep them all to yourself. I long to see the Legends of our
Welsh Saints (Buchedd y seintiau). I forgot to tell you,
that I am at this very time putting the names of all the parishes
in Wales into alphabetical order, for the above purpose.
But I find my catalogue of the parishes is not very correct;
therefore I must desire the assistance of some that live near the
places that are doubtful, and have their correction, or opinion
of them. One of them is Llangynsarn. I never heard
but of three Plwy’r Creuddyn. Is there a Llangedol
near Bangor? Are there parishes called Llangedyrn,
Bodfrenin, Llandydwen, Betwnog in Lleyn, or how otherwise
called? Is there a parish called Llansilien, near Corwen in
Edeyrnion? Or is it Llansilian, or Tyssilio? Are
there parishes called Llanelidan, and Y Fynechdid, in Cantref
Dyffryn Clwyd: and what is the etymology of them; and also of
Llanhychen; and whence is Llanferrys yn Ial derived; and who is
Trillo, and Trillo Caenog; and what is the common opinion of the
derivation of the name of Gyffylliog?
I shall stop here at present; and leave Flintshire,
Montgomeryshire, &c. to another time; and shall hint only
what is come just now into my head.
I think you have a vote for a knight of the shire, in this
county; if you have not made a positive promise to Mr. Vaughan,
or that party, I would advise you to do yourself greater service
than you expect at their hands; and I believe you know, that I
would not advise to any thing but what would be of advantage to
you. Let me hear from you about this point.
I am surprised Dewi Fardd does not come with his books, to
deliver to the subscribers. I do not hear that they are
come to Aberystwith. He has murdered a good book, by
inserting in it the works of the greatest blockheads of the
creation, and the most illiterate creatures that bear human
shapes; such as Robert Humphrey, &c., &c.—Ffei ffei
o honynt! Or were they put as beauty spots, to set you and
others off? If it is otherwise, you are alive, and may defend yourself, for standing in such company;
but I am heartily sorry for poor Hugh Morris. If he knows
of this, that he must stand in spite of his teeth, in company
with people that were not worthy to carry the feathers of his
quill; and the room which his poem should have filled up, taken
by persons as far below him as a Crythor Crwth Trithiant
is below Corelli or Vivaldi.
Let me have your opinion upon the names of the parishes as
soon as you can.
I am,
Yours sincerely,
Lewis Morris.
Penbryn, Dec. 20, 1759.
Dear Sir,
I received your kind favour by Dewi, with the remainder of the
Gododin, and some of the Gorchanau. Be so good as to let me
know from whence these have been copied, and whether I can depend
upon their being correct. I suppose it is your mistake in
writing Breint mab Bleidgi, for Bleidig. It
seems the Gododin was not one entire piece, but was written in
distinct odes; or else what means the preface to the
Gorchanau? But where are the distinctions in the
copy? I wish we had a correct one: I can make little or
nothing of this.
David Jones tells me of a Llanerch copy of Brut y
Brenhinoedd, in folio on paper, written by Edward Kyffin, for
John Trefor, of Trevalun. I wish I had the beginning and
ending of it, as I took off the vellum book, that you brought
here; and if you would do the same by the other copies there, I
should be glad to see it. By this management we shall be
able to distinguish between Galfrid’s, Walter’s
translation, and Tyssilio’s original.
I thank you for the inscription at Llanfor, and that at
Foel-las. I dare determine nothing about them as yet; only
that Mr. Edward Llwyd’s reading is only the froth of a
fertile brain. When you copy inscriptions, cut a bit of
chalk into a pencil, and trace the letters. In old
inscriptions there are often natural lines in the stone; and
sometimes lines worn out, which must be supplied with
chalk. I suspect you had no chalk at Llanfor; and that your
ENIARCH may be Llywarch, or LYVARCH. I wish I could see it.
Are you sure, there is not part of it covered still with
lime?
I thank you also for John Owen’s Elegy—a good
one—I had got it from the navy office; and also Mr. W.
Wynne’s.
Mr. Pegge, in a letter lately to Dr. Phillips, says that he
has borrowed a MS. of Mr. Davies of Llanerch, which Mr. Pegge has
now in his study; and which he says will be of good use to
him. Pray what can it be? I have converted Mr. Pegge
from the Camdenian faction; and we shall by and by see whether he
is an ally of consequence. He is perfectly satisfied with
my defence of Tyssilio; and wishes to see a translation of his
book. Mr. Davies knows something of him I suppose.
I am glad your spitting of blood is over; take care, your life
is precious, whether you have a fat living or no. Dont
despair; some men of sense may take notice of you; though, even
among the ancient Britons, canonization went seldom out of great
families, as appears by Bonedd y Saint, which I have at
last completed, as far as my materials reached. I now
plainly see that the Llanerch MS. of Bonedd is but a fragment;
for there is not a syllable of the Brychan family in it; and but
very little of the Caw family. I have reduced the whole into genealogical order; and they take but a very
narrow compass. I shall have some difficulty in fixing the
times of these saints; for there is some confusion among them,
occasioned by the blunders of transcribers.
They have been all hunting after the Llanerch MS. of
Bonedd, even Dr. Thomas Williams, and the Anglesea Man, as
well as Thomas Wynne, and Thomas ab Llewelyn, &c., and have
stumbled in the reading of it, as now plainly appears to me; and
what, if I tell you, that you and I also have slipped in one
place: I am sure we have.
I am tired now, and have no more to say, but I cough a little
less than I did a week ago; and am likely to live till winter at
least, unless some unforeseen accident happens. It will be
a hard battle if I hold out all the winter. You are now in
your bloom of body and spirit; do not lose a moment; you will be
sorry if you do. God be with you, and keep you.
I am yours sincerely,
Lewis Morris.
Penbryn, July 4, 1760.
Dear Sir,
It is a long while since I heard from you, and really I
don’t know when; for my long and dangerous illness has
eradicated all former transactions out of my memory, so that I
have but a very faint idea of my former letters sent or
received. From the beginning of November to this time, I
have been struggling with death at his door; and in the very
height of my fever, an accident by fire had likely to have
destroyed me and mine. Such shocks are terrible, and enough
to deface all correspondence. I am now beginning to be able
to sit down to write a little, and but very little; for I am
severely troubled with an asthma, which I suppose will finish me
one day or other. Chwilio, chwilio a ffaelio cael
eich llythyr diwaethaf mewn modd yn y byd. At the time
when a pleuretic fever knocked me down, I was fitting up a new
closet for my books and papers, and ever since everything has
been in confusion, so that I am as long finding out a book or
paper, as if I was in Mostyn Library.
Now I think on it, my brother of the navy office tells me,
that you have lately met with two or three copies of Brut y
Brenhinoedd at Mostyn. I shall be very much obliged to you
for an extract of the beginning of each, and of the conclusion,
to see if we can come at a genuine copy, which hath not been
mixed with Galfrid or Walter; and should be glad to know if you
have met with any British books written in the old letter (called
now the Saxon), besides a line or two, in the beginning of the
Welsh Charter, in Liber Landavensis, which you sent me; and
whether all that charter be not written in the same character, or
any thing else in that book. This seems to me to be the
case with respect to that character, that it was the one which
the Druids used, and all Britain and its islands, before the
Roman conquest. That the provincial Britains, immediately
under the Roman power took the Roman letters; therefore we are
not to look for the old character among the Loegrian Britains,
nor the Armoricans, nor the Cornish. That the Druids taking
their shelter in Wales, Ireland, and the highlands of the North,
the British party there retained the old character; but
the Roman party took to their new letter; and in process of time,
both the Roman and British characters were mixed; as we find them
upon some tombstones in Wales, (but not in England) soon after
the Saxon conquest. The Irish still retain their old
letter; but it seems the Britains laid it quite aside, about the
time of the Norman conquest, or before. The North Britains
retained it for some time, as appears by those ancient verses,
which Mr. Edward Llwyd mentions, and which he takes to be the
Pictish. The inscriptions on Pabo’s and
Iestin’s tombs, are proofs of what I say; and that of
Catamanus, in Llangadwaladyr, of the mixed letter. Mr. Thomas Carte, who had the loan of the
Liber Landav. sent me word, that it was written in the Saxon
character. It seems he only dipt into the beginning of it,
and took all the rest to be the same, or perhaps there may be
passages in it here and there, which are in that character.
You told me that all the old grants were written in a good strong
hand, like my Cnute’s grant, but better rather; and
yet in the donation of Iudhail, which you sent me, I find some of
the old characters. I also observe that if all the book is
written in the same strong good hand, it is not an original; for
it is impossible to find persons to write the same hand for
hundreds of years successively; and if I remember well, Sir John
Pryse, in his defence of British History, mentions some grants,
which were scarcely legible in the Liber Landav. in his time; and
yet you say, that there are donations therein down to bishop
Herwaldus, about 1104. Doth not that shew that the book is
only a copy, taken after the Norman conquest, with some notes of
later date?
Set me right in these things; for I am at an entire loss about
them. This is all I have leisure to write at present, and
should be glad to hear from you—who am,
Yours sincerely,
Lewis Morris.
Penbryn, February 4, 1761.
Dear Sir,
A person told me lately, that he had seen you at Hengwrt, in
your way home from me; and that you were permitted to look over
what MSS. you pleased; and that you translated them offhand into
English, as if they had been the common text of the Welsh
Bible.
I was very glad of this, and I hope you have met there with
the so much desired copy of Nennius, which has had the benefit of
Mr. Robert Vaughan’s hand, and which must be the test to
all others; and then we shall see a genuine Nennius come out in
English, as far as the nature of the thing will bear.
If I can be of any service to you in this arduous task,
nothing of my endeavours shall be wanting; and for God’s
sake begin to translate into English, as fast as you can, and let
me see it as you go on, perhaps I may help you to some notes, or
some illustrations or other. I have Nennius and Tyssilio
much at heart, and I cannot be long on this side the grave.
Inclosed I send you the old papers, you talked of when
here. I never looked into them till now; and cannot guess
at the authors quoted therein, except G. for Galfrid; T. W.
Thomas Williams, and H. Lh. Humphry Llwyd. What is Scr.
Sc., and H. C.?
Be sure to keep up your correspondence with that very curious
and valuable man, Mr. Percy. I am afraid that there are not
many such learned critics in the kingdom.
I was heartily sorry to see you in those foolish difficulties,
when you were here last. For heaven’s sake, for your
own sake, and for the sake of us all, do not run yourself into
those excesses; but shew the world that you have not only
learning and knowledge, far above the common herd; but that you
have also discretion and prudence, without which no man will ever
arrive at greatness. Nennius will set you up out of the
reach of little folks, if you stick to him.
I am yours sincerely,
Lewis Morris.
Penbryn, June 26, 1763.
Iolo Goch, o Goed Pantwn, yn Mhlwy Llan Nefydd yn Sir
Ddinbych; y mae yno glwt o dir a elwir, y dydd heddyw, Gardd
Iolo.—The tradition is fresh in the neighbourhood. I
have read in the little book many good C. of D. ap Gwilym since I
saw you, tho’ there are some very poor ones amongst
them. What I had then read were looked over in haste, and
it is impossible to form a right judgment of such things, without
a careful perusal, especially when there are uncommon words or
various readings to disturb the attention, as there are many in
this book. I desire you’ll dash out of my Cywydd y
Farn—Tawdd y mellt greigiau gelltydd, and insert
these two in their stead—Rhed filfil rhawd
ufelfellt, Rhua drwy’r main rheieider
mellt—See Edm. Pr. and Wm. Cynwal, Cyw.
29. I have had access to Llannerch library for three days
successively, where there are a great many MSS., though few to
your taste or mine.—English history, exploded philosophy,
monkish theology, and such trash in abundance, written on fine
vellum, in a most curious manner. Three good pedigree
books, six or seven volumes of Welsh poetry, but for the most
part very incorrect. Some of them are most shamefully
mangled by the transcribers. I have borrowed one large
quarto, transcribed about the conclusion of Queen
Elizabeth’s reign, by an ignorant, slovenly fellow, who has
murdered the orthography in a most barbarous manner. Yet I
think it valuable, because, upon collating some parts of it with
other copies, I found it in the general more genuine than the
common run, notwithstanding the barbarity of the
orthography. Where tarw garw occur, this scribbler
always robs the line of a syllable, which is the greatest injury
he commits. I have transcribed Duchan Gwyddelyn, o
waith Iolo. Marwnad Mad. ap Gr. Mailor, 1236, by Ein. Wan,
Mar. Tywysog Llew. ap Gr. by Gwgon, Mar. Ow. Goch; a gânt
Bleddyn Fardd; Cyw. merch da, o waith G. O.; Cyw. da i ofyn
Cledd, o waith G. O.; Mar. Lleucu Llwyd, o waith I. Ll. G. M.
H. Mar. Ll. G. M. H., o waith Iolo.
There is at Llannerch a little old rag, consisting of about 20
pages accurately written, out of which I have transcribed a
curious ode if not two. It begins thus: Nid wyf
ddihynwyf hoen. Kreirwy hoywdec am hudawdd mal
Garwy. After eight Englyns, there is a blank, without
the author’s name, and below that begins either another ode
of the same person’s, or a remainder of the foregoing,
beginning thus: Mireinwawr drefawr dra vo brad ymddwyn,
and subscribed Howel ap Eignion ai cant i Vevanwy vechan o
Gastell Dinas Bran. After the last stanza is written
Mireinwawr drefawr, with a dash, which makes me suppose
they are two poems, though on the same subject; because it is
common to conclude an ode with a repetition of the first
stanza.—Quere, Whether the first of these is not the same
with your Awdl Myfanwy? I cannot recollect, but I think it
is longer than yours; it ends thus:
Lliw eiry cynnar pen Aran—
Lloer bryd lwys fryd o lys Vran.
I lately borrowed a quarto, fairly written by a man of
learning and great knowledge in antiquities, but ignorant of the
Welsh prosody, for which reason it is not very correct.
There are many of D. G. in it, Owdl Fair, by I. R. I. Ll. of
Gogerddan; one quarter of which is Latin. I have seen the
same in another book given to D. N---, Mawl Edw. 3 ryw bryd gwedi
Aerfa Cressi, o waith Iolo.—That battle was fought in the
year 1346.—Edw IIId. died 1377.—This is demonstration
that Iolo ought to have been placed much higher in chronology
than the year 1400; and by his own testimony we find he was a
mere Cleirirach before the commencement of the 15th
century, though he lived about ten years after. This,
though in Iolo’s usual style, I think the most ancient
Cywydd I ever saw, excepting one of D. Ddu, Digam gwnaeth Duw
oi gymwyd; and even this is, by some, fathered upon
Iolo. Mar. Tywysog Llewelyn—Gwaith
Bleddyn Fardd—Iolo Goch was of the family of the Pantons,
of Coed Panton, and Plas Panton, in the parish of Llan Nefydd,
Denbighshire. The Latin version in Saphics of
Taliesin’s ode Ef a wnaeth Panton, and some good
Cywydds of Iolo’s, that I never saw before, M.D. ap
Gr. ap Llew—a lâs yn y Mwythig, a gant Bleddyn Fardd, Dadolwch Rhys, ap Gr. ap Rhys ap Tewdwr,
Gwelygorddiau Powys, Breiniau Powys: those three by Cynddelw Br.
Mawr.
A small volume was lately given me collected by Mr. Ellis
Wynne, of Lasynys, it contains a great many fragments of British
prophecies; by Rys Fardd eight; by Ithel Bardd y Bendro one; by
Merddin (wyllt I presume) nineteen; by Robin Ddu two; by Ieu.
Drwch y Daran one; by Bercam one; by Adda Fras; by Gronwy Ddu; by
Jonas Mynyw one; Proffwydoliaeth Dewi St. Bardd Cwsc nine; by
Taliesin, on various subjects, fifteen. The matter of those
that bear the name of Merddin, may be his, but I judge they are
not his compositions by the style, though it is not modern.
Some called Taliesin’s, I believe were forged by the Monks,
others I think genuine. The prophecies are worth reading,
on account of the style and names of places.
I have the constitutions of the Cymmrodorion, and am highly
pleased with their scheme. I will contribute something in
money, tho I have children, towards promoting it, and with
pleasure do all in my power as a corresponding member.
Gronwy’s ode is an excellent thing; but what he calls
Cadwyn fyr is erroneous, because it is in reality
Cadwyn gyflawn. I do not blame him for this, because
Dr. IDR’s imperfect rule and false examples led him into
this error. Some, perhaps, may be offended because the ode
part is not unirythm, which it is supposed to be by the
very name; but I do not like the poem the worse for that. I
shewed you the true Cadwyn fyr in W. Ll’s grammar,
and likewise in S. F’s.—I have since had the same in
a book of Gr. Hirs, who was the chief professor of the age, and a
perfect master of the faculty, though, in my opinion he had no
extraordinary genius. His tutor was Tudur Aled, who was
nephew and pupil to D. Edm., yr hwn a ddychymygawdd y mesur
Cadwyn fyr.
It were false concord to call it Cadwyn fyr. D.
ap Edmund’s tutor was Mered. ap Rhys, of Rhiwabon, witness
G. Gl.—Y mae genyf bedwar pedwar ar hugain cerdd Dant
Crwth.—Ar 24 cerdd dant telyn, a hanes yr eisteddfod gyntaf
yn Nghaerwys.—To-day I saw an account of Merddin a’
Mhorfryn’s being buried in Ynys Enlli. Here patience
and paper end together. Remember me to my old
neighbours.
Yours affectionately,
Wm. Wynn.
Ll. Gynhafal, Dec. 13, 1755.
Sir,
By my friend Mr. Williams, rector of Weston, Staffordshire, I
have been informed of the great attention you have bestowed on
British Literature, and the pains you have taken to rescue the
productions of your ancient Bards from oblivion. Though I
have not the happiness to understand, yet I have a great
veneration for, the ancient language of this Island, and have
always had a great desire to see some of the most early and most
original productions in it. I could never yet obtain a
proper gratification of this desire; for, to their shame be it
spoken, most of your countrymen, instead of vindicating their
ancient and truly venerable mother tongue from that contempt,
which is only the result of ignorance, rather encourage it by
endeavouring to forget it themselves. Besides my friend Mr.
Williams, whose constant residence in England has deprived him of
the means of cultivating his native
language so much as he would have done, I never met with one
native of Wales, who could give me any satisfactory account of
the literary productions of his own country, or seemed to have
bestowed any attention on its language and antiquities. Not
so the Scots:—they are everywhere recommending the
antiquity of their own country to public notice, vindicating its
history, and setting off its poetry, and, by dint of constant
attention to their grand national concern, have prevailed so far,
as to have the broken jargon they speak to be considered as the
most proper language for our pastoral poetry. Our most
polite ladies affect to lisp out Scottish airs; and in the Senate
itself whatever relates to the Scottish Nation is always
mentioned with peculiar respect. Far from blaming this
attention in the Scotch I think it much to their credit, and am
sorry, that a large class of our fellow-subjects with whom we
were united in the most intimate union for many ages, before
Scotland ceased to be our most inveterate enemy, have not
shewn the same respect to the peculiarities of their own
country. But, by their supineness and neglect, have
suffered a foolish and inveterate prejudice to root itself in the
minds of their compatriots, the English,—a prejudice which
might have been in a good measure prevented, had the Welsh
gentlemen occasionally given them specimens of the treasures
contained in their native language, which may even yet be in part
removed by the same means.
You have translated, I am informed, some of the Odes of your
ancient Bards. I wish you would proceed and make a select
collection of the best of them, and so give them to the
world. You have probably heard what a favourable reception
the public has given to an English version of some Erse Fragments
imported from the Highlands of Scotland, and, if you have never
seen them, I will send them to you. I am verily persuaded,
an elegant translation of some curious pieces of ancient British
Poetry would be as well received, if executed in the same
manner. I may modestly pretend to have some credit with the
booksellers, and with Mr. Dodsley in particular, who is my
intimate friend. I shall be very happy to do you any good
office with him, and shall be glad to make such an attempt as
profitable to you as, I am persuaded, it will be reputable both
to you and your country.
I have prevailed on a friend to attempt a Translation of some
ancient Runic Odes, composed among the snows of Norway, which
will make their appearance at Mr. Dodsley’s shop next
winter. My very learned friend and neighbour, the Rev. Mr.
Lye, editor of Junius’s Etymologicon, and of
Ulphila’s Gothic Gospels, (whose skill in the northern
languages has rendered him famous all over Europe,) is now
rescuing some valuable remains of Saxon Poetry from oblivion, and
I can perhaps obtain leave of him to let you see one of these
odes by way of specimen, accompanied with his version. I
have not been altogether idle myself; but my attention has been
chiefly bestowed on the languages spoken in the southern parts of
Europe. I have collected some curious pieces of ancient
Spanish Poetry, and when I have translated a select collection of
them, may perhaps give them to the public. Amidst the
general attention of ancient and foreign poetry it would be a
pity to leave that of the Ancient Britons forgotten and
neglected, and therefore, when I heard that a person so capable
was employed in collecting and translating those valuable
remains, it gave me a very sensible pleasure, and I could not
help expressing in a volunteer letter to you, the sense I
entertain of the obligation, which you will undoubtedly confer on
all real lovers of literature and the productions of
antiquity.
If you will favour me with a line containing a more particular
account of what has been the object of your labours, I shall be
able to form a more exact idea of the success, that may be
expected from them than I can at present. I will also
communicate them to several eminent Literati of my acquaintance,
and to mention one in particular, Mr Johnson, the author of the
Dictionary, Rambler, &c., who will, I am sure, be glad to
recommend your work, and to give you any advice for the most
advantageous disposal of it. If you take these voluntary
offers of service in good part, you will please to favour me with
a line, and I would wish also a specimen of your labours,
together with a full direction where to write to you. I am
a Clergyman, and shall receive any favour of this kind, that is
enclosed under a cover to the Right Honourable
Henry Earl of Sussex, at Easton Maudit Castle, by the Ashby Bag,
Northamptonshire.
I am Sir, though unknown,
Your very faithful obedient servant,
Thomas Percy.
Easton Maudit, July 21, 1761.
P.S. I am told you are acquainted with Mr. Gray, the
poet. Pray has he any foundation for what he has asserted
in his Ode on the British Bards, viz. that there is a tradition
among the inhabitants of Wales, that our Edward the First
destroyed all the British Bards that fell into his hands?
The existence of such a tradition has been doubted.
Dear Sir,
That I have so long defer’d answering your very obliging
letter has been altogether owing to the following cause. I
proposed sending you a Saxon ode, accompanied with a Latin
literal and an English free version; the former done by my very
learned friend Mr. Lye, from out of whose curious collections I
transcribed both it and the original. But, having left it
with him to give it a revise, he has unfortunately mislaid both
the original and copy, so that, although he has for this month
past occasionally endeavour’d to recover them, he has not
been able to succeed. As soon as they emerge from the
immense ocean of his papers, you may depend upon receiving this
curious specimen of Saxon poetry. In the mean time I would
not defer any longer returning you thanks for the curious and
valuable contents of your letter. I admire your Welsh ode
very much; it contains a large portion of the sublime. The
images are very bold and animated, and poured forth with such
rapidity, as argues an uncommon warmth of imagination in the
bard, whose mind seems to have been so filled with his subject,
and the several scenes of the war appear to have so crowded in
upon him, that he has not leisure to mark the transitions with
that cool accuracy, which a feebler genius would have been
careful to have done. It is one continued fiery torrent of
poetic flame, which, like the eruptions of Etna, bears down all
opposition.
You must pardon me if I think your critical friend quite
mistaken in his remarks on this ode. He confounds two
species of poetry as distinct and different as black and
white. Epic poetry delights in circumstance, and it is only
in proportion as it is circumstantial that it has merit; the very
essence of it (as its name implies) is narration. So a
narrative, devoid of all circumstances, must be very jejune,
confused, and unsatisfactory. But here lies the great art
of the epic poet,—that he can be minute and circumstantial
without descending from the sublime, or exciting other than grand
and noble ideas. Thus, when Homer describes the stone,
which Diomede threw at Æneas, had be only told us in
general terms, that it was a large one,
— Ο δε
χερμαδιον
λαθε
χειρι
Τυδειδης,
μεyα ερyον,—
had he stopped here, as many an inferior poet would have done,
should we have had so great an idea of the hero’s strength
or vigour, as when he adds the following particular and striking
circumstances?
— Ο ου
δυω y' ανδρε
φεροιεν,
Οιοι νυν
Βροτοι εισ,
ο δε μιν ρεα
παλλε και
οιος.
Iliad E. 1.304.
On the other hand, it is the essence of ode to neglect
circumstance, being more confin’d in its plan, and having
the sublime equally for its object. In order to attain
this, it is obliged to deal in general terms, to give only such
hints as will forcibly strike the imagination, from which we may
infer the particulars ourselves. It is no demerit or
disparagement in your bard to have neglected the minute
circumstances of the battle, because it would have been
impossible for him to have described them within the narrow
limits of his ode. Here lies his great merit, that he
hints, he drops, and the images he throws out, supply the absence
of a more minute detail, and excite as grand ideas as the best
description could have done. And so far I agree with your
critical friend, that no poet ever hit upon a grander image than
that of “A Menai heb drai o drallanw,”
&c., nor could take a nobler method to excite our admiration
at the prodigious cause of so amazing an effect. So much
for criticism.
Soon after I received your letter I was down at Cambridge,
where I had the good fortune to meet with Mr. Gray, the poet, and
spent an afternoon with him at his chambers. Our discourse
turned on you and the Welsh poetry: I shewed him your letter, and
he desired leave to transcribe the passage relating to King
Edward’s massacre of the Welsh bards. All the
authority he had before, it seems, was only a short hint in
Carte’s history: he seemed very glad of this authentic
extract. We both join’d in wishing a speedy
conclusion to your historical labours, that you might be at
leisure to enter upon this far more noble field of ancient
British poetry. Excuse me if I think the recovery of
particular facts from oblivion, any further than as they
contribute to throw light upon compositions, not half of so much
consequence to the world, as to recover the compositions
themselves.
Your nation and ours are now happily consolidated in one firm
indissoluble mass, and it is of very little importance, whether
Llewelyn or Edward had the advantage in such a particular
encounter. At least very few (even learned and inquisitive
readers) will interest themselves in such an
enquiry,—whereas the productions of genius, let them come
from what quarter they will, are sure to attract the attention of
all. Every reader of taste, of whatever country or faction,
listens with pleasure, and forms a higher or meaner opinion of
any people, in proportion as they are affected by this exertion
of their intellectual powers. To give an instance, that is
parallel to your own case, the Danes and Swedes have, for this
century past, been rescuing their ancient writings from oblivion;
they have printed off their Icelandic Histories, and collected
what they could of their ancient Runic Poems. The latter
have attracted the attention of all Europe; while the former are
no otherwise regarded, than as they contribute to throw light on
the latter. A very celebrated Frenchman has lately
translated some curious specimens of them into his own language;
and Mr. Dodsley will soon print a curious Spicilegium of the same
kind in English, of which I will procure a copy and send you when
printed off. But who will be at the pains (except a few
northern antiquaries) to give a careful perusal to the
other? I have this moment a voluminous corpus of
them (lately borrowed) before me. Even curious and
inquisitive, as you are yourself, into historical facts, let me
ask you if you would be willing to read 800 pages folio, in a
barbarous literal Latin version, concerning the exploits of King
Haquin Sarli; the mighty achievements of Ghorfinne Harlecefni,
and of twenty other valiant barbarians? Yet, when you come
to read the native undenied poetic descriptions of the ancient
Runic Bards, their forcible images, their strong paintings, their
curious display of ancient manners, I defy the most torpid reader
not to be animated and affected; and then we are content to make
some enquiry after the history of these savage heroes, that we
may understand the songs of which they are the subjects. In
like manner, with regard to your own Owain Gwynedd, without
intending the least disrespect to so valiant a prince, I believe
few readers will desire to know any further of his history, than
as it will serve for a comment to Gwalchmai’s very sublime
and animated Ode. After all, I would not have any
historical monuments perish, or be totally neglected. They
may come into use upon a thousand occasions, that we cannot at
present foresee, and therefore I am glad, that the northern
nations have been careful to secure even the above (to us
uninteresting) narratives from destruction. And I should be
very glad to have the same care taken of those of the ancient
Britons. But I think the first care is due
to these noble remains of ancient genius, which are in so much
greater danger or perishing, because so much harder to be
understood.
How strongly is our curiosity excited by the mention you make
(in your letter to Mr. Williams), of the Epic Poem, written in
a.d. 578, and the other works of
Aneurin Gwawdrydd. What a noble field for literary
application to rescue such a fine monument of antiquity from
oblivion: to which every revolving year of delay will most
certainly consign it, till it is lost for ever! Hic
Labor, hoc opus. I hope, dear Sir, you will take
in good part the freedom, with which I have ventured to advise
you on a subject, of which you are so much a better judge than
myself; but my zeal, though it may be blind, is well meant.
I would fain excite you to direct that application, which you so
laudably bestow on your ancient language, in such a manner as may
be most profitable to yourself, and most reputable to your
country.
Macpherson goes on furiously in picking up subscriptions for
his proposed Translation of the ancient Epic Poem in the Erse
Language; though hardly one reader in ten believes the specimens
produced to be genuine. Much greater attention would be due
to an editor, who rescues the original itself from oblivion, and
fixes its meaning by an accurate version. I entirely agree
with you, that a Latin version, as literal as possible, should
accompany such ancient pieces, but then I would also have you
subjoin at the same time a liberal English translation. By
this means your book will take in all readers, both the learned
and the superficial. This method of publication has been
attended with great success among the northern nations, where all
their Runic Pieces have been confronted both with a literal
version in Latin, and a more spirited one in the modern languages
either of Sweden or Denmark. Were you to endeavour to
collect into a corpus all the remains of your ancient poetry, and
print it by subscription begun among your own countrymen, and
warmly recommended by them to us, it would certainly pay well,
and be a very valuable present to the public; but then you ought
to send forth a few select pieces into the world, previous to
such an undertaking, to bespeak the good opinion of mankind, and
this, whenever you please to execute it, shall be attended with
my warmest services. In the mean time I hope you will
continue to favour me with specimens of your ancient poetry as
often as your leisure will permit; and, if any thing else that is
curious should occur in the course of your studies, you will
confer a great pleasure by imparting it to,
Dear Sir, your very faithful and
obedient servant,
Thomas Percy.
Easton Maudit, Oct. 15, 1761.
N.B. I shall defer sending a specimen of Runic Poetry
till I send you the whole collection printed, which you may
depend on. May I hope to see your Latin Essay on British
Poetry?
Dear Sir,
I know not whether the favour you have done me, in having
wrote to me once or twice, entitles me to address you with the
familiarity of a near acquaintance; but I have ventured to
trouble you with a voluntary letter. I presume you have
received a very long one from me through the medium of Mr.
Williams. In that I requested to know if you had any good
old popular ballads in the Welsh language on historical and
romantic subjects. This was not a random question. I
have in my possession a very ancient MS. collection of such
pieces in our own language, some of which will throw great light
on our old poets. I have selected two for your inspection,
which, when perused, do me the favour to return, and inform me
whether you can remember any on the same subjects in the Cambrian tongue. I have reason to believe both
the inclosed pieces are of great antiquity. The fragment is
certainly more ancient than the time of Chaucer, who took his Old
Wife Bath’s tale from it, as any one upon perusal will be
convinced, and consequently that the song was not taken from
Chaucer. I cannot help thinking many of these pieces, about
King Arthur, translations from the ancient British tongue; and it
is in order to receive information on this subject, that I now
apply to you. I am going to print a select collection of
these old pieces, not only on account of the merit of the poetry
which they contain, (and even these display proofs of great
invention,) but also as conducing to illustrate our best old
poets who frequently allude to these compositions. As the
press waits, I would intreat the favour of a speedy answer.
I shall soon be able to send you a specimen of some Runic poetry;
which, you will find, bears a surprising similitude to your own
Welsh songs, more specimens of which, at your leisure, will
oblige,
Dear Sir, your most faithful
servant,
Thomas Percy.
Easton Maudit, Nov. 22, 1761.
Dear Sir,
I received the favour of your obliging letter and the valuable
present of the two British Odes translated into English.
They have afforded me great pleasure, and they display a rich
vein of poetry. I think a select collection of such pieces,
thrown into a shilling pamphlet, would not fail to prove as
acceptable to the public as the Erse Fragments, and would be far
more satisfactory, because you could remove all suspicions of
their genuineness, which, I am afraid, Mr. Macpherson is not able
to do. I observe with you a remarkable similarity between
our Runic and your British pieces. As our Runic Poetry will
be fit for publication towards Michaelmas, I wish you could get
ready such another Collection of British Poetry to follow it in
due time, while the curiosity of the public is fixed on these
subjects. And, when all these pamphlets have had their day,
then throw them into a volume under some such title as this,
“Specimens of the Ancient Poetry of different
Nations.” I have for some time had a project of this
kind, and, with a view to it, I am exciting several of my friends
to contribute their share. Such a work might fill up two
neat pocket volumes. Besides the Erse Poetry, the Rune
Poetry, and some Chinese Poetry, that was published last winter,
at the end of a book called “Han Kirn Choaan,” or the
Pleasing History, 4 vols.,—besides these, I have procured a
MS. translation of the “Tagrai Carmen,” from the
Arabic; and have set a friend to translate Solomon’s Song
afresh from the Hebrew, with a view to the Poetry. This
also is printing off, and will soon be published in a shilling
pamphlet. Then I have myself gleaned up specimens of East
Indian Poetry, Peruvian Poetry, Lapland Poetry, Greenland Poetry;
and inclosed I send you a specimen of Saxon Poetry. The
subject is a victory gained by the Anglo-Saxon, Athelstan, over
the Dane Anlafe and his confederate Constantius King of
Scotland. If you compare it with the Runic Ode of Regner
Lodbrog, you will see a remarkable affinity between them, some of
the phrases and imagery being common to both, as the play of
arms, &c., &c. The Latin version falls from the pen
of my very learned friend Mr. Lye, who has made many important
emendations in the original. The English was a slight
attempt of my own, to see if one could not throw a little spirit
into a literal interlineary version, but I have no reason to
boast of my success. I believe the best way would be to
publish the English by itself, like the Runic Odes, and throw the
two columns of Latin and Saxon to the end. Give me your
opinion of my proposal, with regard to the various specimens
mentioned above, and the share I would recommend to yourself in
particular. Be pleased also to return my Saxon Ode, when
perused, for I have kept no copy.
I suppose you have no British Poetry extant, that was
written before the conversion to Christianity, as we have of the
Runic, and as they affect to have of the Erse; if not, then the
most ancient you have is to be chosen. Could not you give
some of the Poetry of Taliesin and Merddin? I must observe
one thing, that your Odes will require a few explanatory Notes,
chiefly with regard to the proper names; and, if you would not
think it too great an innovation, I could wish you would
accommodate some of your ancient British names somewhat more to
our English pronunciation. This is what the Erse translator
has done, and, I think, with great judgment. The word might
be a little smoothed and liquidated in the text, and the original
spelling retained in the margin. Thus Macpherson has
converted Lambhdearg into Lamderg, Geolchopack (a woman’s
name) into the soft word Gealcossa, &c. This is a
liberty assumed in all languages; and indeed, without it, it
would not be possible for the inhabitants of one nation to
pronounce the proper names of another.
You tell me you have read Bartholinus’s book of Danish
Antiquities; it is a most excellent performance. There is a
celebrated Frenchman, the Chevalier Mallet, historiographer to
the present King of Denmark, who has lately published a work in
French on the same subject, at the end of which he has given a
French translation of the famous Edda or Alcoran (if you suffer
me to use the word) of the ancient Teutonic nations. If I
have health and leisure, I intend to translate this book into
English, though it is a formidable undertaking, being a quarto of
no small size. I have got the book, which is a capital
performance.
I should have one advantage over most others for such an
attempt, which is, that my learned neighbour, Mr. Lye, has got
the Islandic original of the Edda, and would compare my version
with it. I have one thing still to mention, and then I have
done. I have lately been employed in a small literary
controversy with a learned friend, about the original and
antiquity of the popular notion concerning Fairies and
Goblins. My friend is for fetching that whimsical opinion
from the East, so late as the time of the Crusades, and derives
the words Elf and Goblin from the Guelfe and Gibbeline factions
in Italy. But I think it would be impossible for notions so
arbitrary to have obtained so universally, so uniformly, and so
early (see Chaucer’s Wife of Bath’s Tale), if they
had not got possession of the minds of men many ages
before. Nay, I make no doubt but Fairies are derived from
the Daergar or Dwarfs, whose existence was so generally
believed among all the northern nations. Can you, from any
of your ancient British writers, enable me to ascertain any of
these disputed points, or any resemblance to the name of Fairy,
Elf, Goblin, in your language? I should think, that these
popular superstitions are aboriginal in the island, and are
remains of the ancient Pagan creed. Favour me with your
opinion on this subject when you write next, which, as your
letters are so extremely curious and fraught with entertainment,
I beg may be soon.
I remain, Sir, your very faithful
servant,
Thomas Percy.
Dear Sir,
I received your obliging letter, which is so curious, that I
cannot but request the repetition of such valuable favours.
I am going to draw up a short Essay on the origin and progress of
our English poetry, in which I shall have occasion to be very
particular in my account of our metrical Romances; and, as I
believe many of these are drawn from old British fables, if not
downright translations from the ancient British language, I
should be extremely obliged to you, if you would give the titles,
and, if possible, a short account of the subjects,
of all such Romances, as are contained in the vellum manuscript,
which you mention, or any other, which you may remember to have
seen. I have a notion, that we have many of them translated
into English and thence into French and other southern
languages.
Inclosed I send you a little Essay on the origin &c. of
the English drama. Bishop Warburton has handled the subject
before me in the 5th vol. of his Shakespeare; but, as he derives
all his information from the French critics, and his instances
from the French stage, you will conclude, that he is often wide
of the mark and generally superficial. Yet he has one
extract from Carew’s Survey of Cornwall, relating to the
old Cornish plays, which I recommend to your notice; because I
could wish to know, (not now, but at any future leisure,) whether
you have any thing similar in Wales. The passage from Carew
is this. “The Guary Miracle, in English,
Miracle-Play, is a kind of interlude compiled, in Cornish, out of
some scripture history. For representing this they raise an
earthen amphitheatre, in some open field, having the diameter of
this inclosed plain some 40 or 50 feet. The country people
flock from all sides to see and hear it: for they have therein
devils and devices to delight as well the eye as the ear.
The players conne not their parts without books, but are more
prompted by one called the Ordinary, who followeth at their
heels, with the book in his hand.” In an act of
Parliament, 4th Hen. IV., mention is made of certain
Wastours, Master Rimours (Rimers) and Minstrels, who
infested the land of Wales, to make commorths or gatherings upon
the people there. Query the meaning of this? I am
afraid, lest I should be too troublesome with my queries, and,
therefore, reserve what you please to answer at any future hour;
only send me an account of your romances now, which will oblige,
dear Sir, your affectionate and faithful servant,
Thomas
Percy.
Easton Maudit, March, 20, 1763.
Dear Sir,
I have been many months indebted to you for a very obliging
letter. I delayed to answer it, in expectation of seeing
your curious Specimens of the Ancient British Poetry, advertised,
from the press before this time. Permit me to enquire, what
forwardness that intended publication (which you gave me hopes in
your last of seeing speedily printed) is in? From the
translations, you have already favoured me with a sight of, I
conceive a very favourable idea of the merits of your ancient
bards, and should be sorry to have their precious relics
swallowed up and lost, in the gulph of time; a danger which they
will incur, if you, that are so well acquainted with their
beauties, and so capable of making them understood by others,
neglect this opportunity of preserving them. I can readily
conceive that many of their most beautiful peculiarities cannot
possibly be translated into another language, but even through
the medium of a prose translation one can discern a rich vein of
poetry, and even classical correctness, infinitely superior to
any other compositions of that age, that we are acquainted
with. Certain I am, that our own nation, at that time,
produced nothing that wears the most distant resemblance to their
merit.
I have lately been collecting specimens of English poetry,
through every age, from the time of the Saxons, down to that of
Elizabeth, and am ashamed to show you what wretched stuff our
rhimers produced at the same time that your bards were
celebrating the praise of Llewelyn with a spirit scarce inferior
to Pindar. Inclosed I send you a specimen of an Elegy on
the death of Edward I.—that cruel Edward, who made such
havoc among the Cambrian poets. I know not whether you will
be able to decipher these foul scrawls or distinguish them from
the marginal explications, with which I have accompanied
them. But you will see enough to be
convinced of the infinite superiority of your own bards; nor do I
know, that any of the nations of the continent (unless perchance
Italy, which now about began to be honoured by Dante) were able
at that time to write better than the English. The French,
I am well assured, were not. One thing is observable in the
Elegy on Edward the First, which is, that the poet, in order to
do the more honour to his hero, puts his eulogium in the mouth of
the Pope, with the same kind of fiction as a modern bard would
have raised up Britannia or the genius of Europe, sounding forth
his praises. Considering the destruction which our
merciless monarch made among the last sons of ancient genius, it
may be looked upon as a just judgment upon him, that he had no
better than these miserable rhimes to disgrace his memory.
With regard to your Specimens, should they not yet be put to
the press, I should take it for a great favour if you would
indulge me with a sight of them in MS., or at least the
Dissertation to be prefixed to them; an indulgence that would not
be abused, and which, under whatever restrictions you please,
would oblige, dear Sir,
Your very affectionate and faithful
servant,
Thomas Percy.
Eastern Maudit, Dec. 31, 1763.
Dear Sir,
It is with pleasure I perform all your requests: inclosed you
have the transcript from Wormius which you desired. As his
book relates only to the Runic letters and ancient manner of
writing, it did not fall within his subject professedly to treat
of the Islandic prosody; he has, therefore, only described one
species of verse out of innumerable others, and this, as it were,
by the bye and by way of specimen. He refers to the
Edda, or old Islandic book of prosody, for the rest; this
book I have not seen.—There is another Edda, which I
have, that explains the Islandic mythology, and of this I shall
publish, ere long, a translation, with some curious notes and
dissertations of M. Mallet, the present historiographer to
the King of Denmark, as you may remember I have hinted in the
preface to my specimens of Runic Poetry.
When may one hope to see your Dissertatio de
Bardis? I am fond of the subject, and have great
expectations of your manner of handling it. I thank you for
your friend’s preface; though he is not much master of
English style, the particulars he produces are curious. I
have turned to my learned friend Mr. Lye’s edition of
Junii Etymologicon Anglicanum for the etymology of such
words as your friend mentions, and I find nothing, that does not
confirm his derivations; I have not time now to descend to
particulars, but shall be glad to hear from you as soon as
agreeable. One so much master, as you are, of British
antiquities, whether historic or poetical, can never want means
of entertaining,
Dear Sir, your very affectionate
servant,
Thomas Percy.
Easton Maudit, April 10, 1764.
P.S. Pray, are the Welsh romances, you have described,
in prose or verse? If they are in prose, then let me ask if
you have ever seen any in verse? I take it, these subjects
were treated in verse before they came to plain prose in most
nations. This, at least, I find to be the case in the old
Erse and Islandic languages, as well as in the more modern
Italian, French, Spanish, and English tongues. I have got
curious specimens in the last I mentioned. Pray is the word
St. Great, or St. Greal, in the first
article of your curious letter?
It appears that the Rev. E. Evans (Ieuan
Prydydd Hir), had prepared for publication a Collection of
our Ancient Welsh Proverbs; for a writer in the second volume of
the “Cambro Briton,” gives
the following translation of the Latin Preface preffixed to the
MSS., which we here reprint.
Having discovered Dr. Davies of Mallwyd’s Latin
Translation of our Welsh Proverbs among many other ancient MSS.
in the library at Llanvorda, and soon after having found, also
the original, from which his was transcribed, among the same
valuable collection, I thought I could not undertake a more
useful work to my country, than to publish the same, and dedicate
it, as the first fruits of my labours, to my munificent patron,
Sir W. W. Wynn. The exact time when that ancient bard and
philosopher, called by the Welsh Hen Gyrys o Iâl,
flourished, cannot be accurately ascertained. Two
collections of Proverbs, made by him, and written on parchment,
are now extant in the above library, and, at the end of the said
book, a fair copy of Hywel Dda’s laws; and from the best
judgment, which can be formed from the appearance of the said
MSS. and the mode of writing, or form of the hand, it may with
safety be pronounced to be about five hundred years old. To
the former of these two collections is annexed the following note
respecting the author: “Mabieith Hen Gyrys o Iâl, yr
hwn a elwit Bach Buddugre a Gado Gyfarwydd, a Gwynfarch
Gyfarwydd, a’r hen wyrda a ddyvawt y Diarhebion o
Ddoethineb, hyd pan veint gadwedig, gwedy hwynt, i roddi dysg
i’r neb a synio arnynt; canys crynodeb parablan llawer a
synwyreu y cynghoreu doethbrud a ddangosir ar vyrder, i’r
neb a’u dyallo yn y diarhebion.” Iâl,
where this celebrated old Cyrys resided, is a mountainous
district, containing five parishes, situated towards the
north-east corner of the county of Denbigh; and Buddigre, where
he lived, is near, if not within, the limits of the parish of
Bryn Eglwys. It is evident, that this collection of
Proverbs was made from various works of a great number of old
bards, living in different ages; for many of them are taken from
the compositions of Llywarch Hen (Llywarch the Aged), and from
the poems of Aneurin and Taliesin, and several from those of
other bards much more ancient, whose effusions have unfortunately
perished.
It is more than probable, that many of these pithy sentences
and proverbial sayings, these aphorisms of wisdom and axioms of
prudence, were the productions of the venerable Druids; and they
exhibit, in the present imperfect form, in which they have been
delivered to us, no despicable specimens of those verses
mentioned by Cæsar, in the seemingly enigmatical mysteries
of which their pupils were initiated, and spent many years in
acquiring and committing them to memory. And he farther
informs us, that, notwithstanding these learned sages made use of
Greek characters in transacting both their public and private
affairs, yet their disciples were not permitted to write
these verses, principally, (as it appeared to him,) for two
reasons; in the first place, because, if they were allowed to do
so, the mysteries of their profession would soon be divulged:
and, secondly, if these aphorisms were committed to writing, the
noviciates, confiding in such artificial aids, would no longer be
at the pains of sufficiently exercising their memories.
Many of these poetical proverbs are composed in that peculiar
kind of metre, which is distinguished by the name of Englyn
Milwr, and these verses are possessed of such strong internal
marks of antiquity, that I may with safety pronounce them to be
the genuine productions of the Druids. And, as they are by
no means unworthy of being considered as the real effusions of
those learned sages and philosophers, it will not, I hope, be
deemed a digression, or by any means irrelevant to the object of
this introduction, to gratify the reader with a specimen of one
of these oracular compositions, together with a close literal
Latin version. The first two lines of these poetical triplets seem to contain some of the privileges of the
Druids, and the third generally exhibits some maxim of wisdom or
axiom of prudence. The following were transcribed from the
Red Book of Hergest, in the library of Jesus College,
Oxford:—
1.
|
1.
|
Marchwiail bedw briglas,
A dyn fy nhroed o wanas;
Nac addef dy rin i wàs.
|
Virgulta betulæ viridis
Meum pedem e compede solvent;
Secretum tuum juveni ne reveles.
|
2.
|
2.
|
Marchwiail derw mewn llwyn,
A dyn fy nhroed o gadwyn:
Nac addef dy rin i forwyn.
|
Virgulta quercûs de luco
Solvent pedem meum e catenâ:
Ne reveles secretum tuum virgini.
|
3.
|
3.
|
Marchwiail derw deiliar,
A dyn fy nhroed o garchar:
Nac addef dy rin i lafar.
|
Virgulta quercûs frondosæ
Pedem meum e carcere liberabunt:
Ne reveles secretum tuum homini loquaci.
|
The foregoing stanzas, as well as many others of the same
description, are still extant is the above mentioned book, called
Llyfr Coch o Hergest, and likewise in several MSS. in the
libraries of Llanvorda near Oswestry, and Hengwrt near Dolgellau;
and, on account of their having accidentally been discovered
among the compositions of that ancient bard Llywarch Hen, Dr.
Davies and Edw. Llwyd have hastily and inconsiderately pronounced
them to be some of his productions; but the frequent recurrence
of the oak, their favourite tree, and the dark allusions to the
druidical rites and privileges, most evidently and convincingly,
(in my opinion,) denote their origin to be from that
source. But here it may be objected, that the Druids could
not, (as Cæsar declares it was not their usual practice,)
have committed these verses to writing. Granted it was so
in his time; yet it is manifest from the poems of our celebrated
bard Taliesin, that, in subsequent times, they did not strictly
adhere to this resolution; for many of their pretended mysteries
are divulged in his compositions. It is also evident, that,
in these early ages, the Druids were not the only persons, who
were thus cautious of revealing their secrets to the vulgar; but
the Bards also endeavoured to conceal their poetical rules and
metres, from the public; for their book of prosody, containing
the intricacies of the art, is distinguished by the name of
Cyfrinach y Beirdd, (i.e. The Secret of the Bards,) and
they were strictly prohibited from explaining these, except to
their own noviciate disciples, which continued to be their
practice nearly to our own times. But, notwithstanding
these strict prohibitions, it is well known, that the poetical
compositions of the bards were publicly recited; and it is
evident that, after the commencement of the Christian æra,
the Druids were not so scrupulously cautious with respect to
these rules of secrecy, which may be proved from some stanzas,
which I have seen in an ancient MS., denominated Englynion
Duad, probably from a bard or druid of that name. Some
few of the lines I shall here subjoin, for the inspection of the
reader.
Bid gogor gan iâr,
Bid gan lew drydar,
Bid oval ar a’i câr;
Bid tòn calon gan alar.
These lines have been introduced into our Welsh proverbs; and
the following remark is made on them at the end of Dr.
Davies’s MS. copy.
“Gwyl y rhagor y sydd rhwng y rhai hyn ar rhai
sydd yn Llyfr Coch, a hen gopiau eraill; a gwybydd fod y gerdd
hon yn hen iawn; gan fod cymmaint o ymrafael rhwng yr hen
gopiau.” i.e. Advertat lector quàm variant
inter se exemplar Hergestianum et alia exemplaria in hoc cantico,
et sciat, hoc carmen ob differentias prædictas esse
vetustissimum.
Those learned men are, therefore, mistaken, who suppose, that
the Druids never committed any of their compositions to writing;
when it is evident, that these and others of their productions
have been conveyed down to us. Taliesin, as I have before
hinted, informs us, that he was instructed by them in
many of their mysteries, particularly in that of the
μετεμψυχωσις,
and in many other rudiments of their philosophy. And hence
it is, that his works are more obscure than those of any other of
the ancient bards.
There is also a certain degree of obscurity in the very words
and language of Taliesin; and the same may be observed of the
compositions of Aneurin Gwawdrydd and other bards of the same
age, a catalogue of whose works may be found in the learned
Edward Llwyd’s Archæology, collected from the notes
of William Maurice, Esq., of Cefn y Braich. But Mr. E.
Llwyd never saw any of the poetical compositions of Taliesin,
Aneurin, and other early bards, except those of Llywarch Hen,
which he found in Llyfr Coch o Hergest: and the works of
these ancient authors will afford us very material assistance,
not only in the investigation of our ancient British language,
but also in examining historical facts, and in tracing the origin
of the various tribes, who inhabited this island during that
early period. Taliesin, in a poem, of which the following
is the title, “Cerdd am Feibion Llyr ap Brychwel
Powys,” mentions three separate nations, who had taken
possession of different parts of Britain, previous to his time,
viz., Gwyddyl (Celts or Gauls,) Brython, and
Romani, (Romans.)
Gwyddyl, a Brython, a Romani,
A wna hon dyhedd, a dyfysci;
Ac am derfyn Prydein, cain ei threfi.
And they are represented as exciting war and tumult on the
borders of this fair isle, and its beautiful towns and cities;
and it appears evidently from this poem, that the first
inhabitants were Gwyddyl or Celts, which circumstance Mr.
Llwyd and others have proved most satisfactorily, from the names
of mountains, rivers, &c. But by the word
Gwyddyl Taliesin must, by no means, be understood to mean
the modern Irish; for their language at present contains a very
considerable mixture of Cantabrian and Spanish, and differs very
materially from the ancient genuine Celtic and British, which
clearly appears from the writings of the old bards, and the
ancient British Proverbs. For, if any person were vain
enough to suppose, that he could discover the meaning of some of
our obsolete British words, by consulting an Irish Dictionary, he
would soon find himself woefully disappointed, and I am clearly
of opinion, that the ancient genuine Celtic dialect had a very
near affinity to the old Welsh or British. I believe, that
the persons, denominated Gwyddyl by Taliesin, were genuine
Celtæ, and inhabited this island previous to the arrival of
the Britons, and probably soon after the general deluge, and that
these Celtæ were the progeny of the Titans; for the Curetes
and Corybantes, who were their princes and nobles, are clearly
identified with the Cowri of the British history, written
by Tyssilio (the bishop), which Geoffrey of Monmouth has very
improperly translated Giants. And this blunder of
his has been the source of endless mistakes; for the word
Cowri evidently means princes, generals, nobles, or
persons of great eminence. The Curetes are therefore our
Cowri; and the Corybantes (i.e. Cowri-Bann) were
princes or persons of great eminence, as the expression denotes;
and, what is still more to our purpose, the word gwyddyl also
implies any thing conspicuous, and is nearly synonymous with
Cowri, which is the usual term, even to the present day,
to designate persons of uncommon stature or great bodily
strength. The Curetes, therefore, were evidently our Cowri,
and the Corybantes (i.e. Cowri-Bann) imply princes or
leaders, or persons of the most eminent rank and consequence:
and, in order to corroborate this assertion, it may be observed
here, that there is a very high mountain near Towyn, in the
county of Merioneth, which, to this day, bears the name of
Gwyddyl Fynydd; and the highest peak or summit of Snowdon,
is denominated Yr Wyddfa, (i.e. the highest eminence or
the most conspicuous,) and by the common people, even at this
time, is known by no other name. And Gwydd Grug
means a high hill, or eminence; Gwydd Fryniau, high banks;
and Trum Gwydd, the ridge of a mountain; and many others,
which it would be tedious and useless to enumerate. And it
may also be observed here, that the
Κελται and
Γαλαται of the Greeks,
and the Celtæ and Galli, of the Latins,
appear to me to bear no other import. For Gallt and
Allt are clearly synonymous with Gwyddel, and
denote any thing high or eminent, though the word Gallt
is, at present, restricted to designate the steep ascent of a
hill, or a declivity; but, that the word Gallt
was anciently used to denominate high mountains may be justly
inferred from the word Alps, which is evidently composed
of two Celtic words, Gallt-ban, or pen, i.e. Allt-ban, Al-pen, or
Alpine, which commutation or change of initial letters will
appear easy to any person acquainted with the British language,
and perfectly justified by the rules of grammar, as the mutations
of radical letters in Welsh are well known to be nearly
endless. It would not be difficult to prove, that the
ancient Britons are descendants of the Celtæ, and a close
connection and affinity may be traced between their language not
with the ancient Celtic only but also with the Greek; and, it is
at the same time very evident, that their dialect differed
materially from that of the aboriginal inhabitants of this
island, and whom on that account they denominated Gaillt
and Gwyddyl. The British language retains to this
day many words purely Greek, such as Haul,
Ηλιος, the sun, Dwfr,
Υδωρ, water, and many others, which have
been pointed out some time by the learned Pezron.
But, that the Britons had other words of the same import purely
Celtic may be proved from the works of the ancient bards; for
huan is made use of by Iorwerth Vychan, and many other
bards, to signify the sun,—
Llewyrch ebyr myr, morfeydd dylan;
Pan lewych huan ar fann fynydd.
Iorwerth Vychan.
Coruscatio portuum aquarum, et paludum marinarum;
Cum sol splendet ab excelso monte.
And the old bard, Avan Verddig, in his elegy on the
death of Cadwallon, the son of Cadvan, makes use of
bêr for water, instead of dwr or
dwfr.
“Goluchav glew, hael, hilig Nâv
Nêr,
Aded gynt, ettiynt, hyd yn irfer hallt.”
Avan Verddig.
Exorabo potentem et liberalem Dominum Creatorem,
Iverunt ad madidam aquam salsam.
And from hence it is manifest, that huan and
bêr are two ancient Celtic words; but, if any one
were to consult an Irish lexicon in hopes of finding the
expressions, he would be disappointed; yet he may discover
bir among the obsolete words in that language. The
names of moors, meadows, and rivers, in different parts of Wales,
may also be produced as an additional evidence that ber
and mer originally signified water,—for instance,
Bereu Derwenydd, near Snowdon, Castell y Berau, in
Llanfihangel y Pennant, in Merionethshire, where many mountain
torrents meet. Aber, a confluence, seems also to
justify this opinion, and inver, in the Erse dialect.