THE HALL OF CYNDDYLAN. THE Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night;' The Hall of Cynddylan is voiceless and still, Nor let e'en an echo recall what hath been! The Hall of Cynddylan is lonely and bare, "The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, Without fire, without bed I must weep awhile, and then be silent. The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, Be thou encircled with spreading silence! * * * * * The Hall of Cynddylan is without love this night, Since he that own'd it is no more Ah Death! it will be but a short time he will leave me. The Hall of Cynddylan it is not easy this night, On the top of the rock of Hydwyth, Without its lord, without company, without the circling feasts!" See OWEN'S "Heroic Elegies of Llywarch Hen." Oh! where are the warriors who circled its board? The grass will soon wave where the mead-cup was pour'd! The Hall of Cynddylan is loveless to-night, Since he is departed whose smiles made it bright! I mourn; but the sigh of my soul shall be brief, The pathway is short to the grave of my chief! THE LAMENT OF LLYWARCH HEN. Llywarch Hen, or Llywarch the Aged, a celebrated bard and chief of the times of Arthur, was prince of Argoed, supposed to be a part of the present Cumberland. Having sustained the loss of his patrimony, and witnessed the fall of most of his sons, in the unequal contest maintained by the North Britons against the growing power of the Saxons, Llywarch was compelled to fly from his country, and seek refuge in Wales. He there found an asylum for some time in the residence of Cynddylan, Prince of Powys, whose fall he pathetically laments in one of his poems. These are still extant, and his elegy on old age and the loss of his sons, is remarkable for its simplicity and beauty.-See Cambrian Biography, and OWEN's Heroic Elegies and other poems of Llywarch Hen. THE bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing With song, and the hills are all mantled with bloom; But fairer than aught which the summer is bringing, The beauty and youth gone to people the tomb! Oh! why should I live to hear music resounding, Which cannot awake ye, my lovely, my brave? Why smile the waste flowers, my sad footsteps sur rounding? -My sons! they but clothe the green turf of your grave! Alone on the rocks of the stranger I linger, When valour's high heart on thy bosom is sleeping, When youth's glorious flower is gone down to the dead! Fair were ye, my sons! and all-kingly your bearing, Each eye glancing fire, shrouded now by the sod!2 1 What I loved when I was a youth is hateful to me now." 2 "Four and twenty sons to me have been, Wearing the golden chain, and leading princes." Elegies of Llywarch Hen. The golden chain, as a badge of honour, worn by heroes, is frequently alluded to in the works of the ancient British bards. VOL. IV. 21 When warriors and chiefs to their proud steeds are bounding, I turn from heaven's light, for it smiles on your grave!1 66 GRUFYDD'S FEAST. Grufydd ab Rhys ab Tewdwr, having resisted the English successfully in the time of Stephen, and at last obtained from them an honourable peace, made a great feast at his palace in Ystrad Tywi to celebrate this event. To this feast, which was continued for forty days, he invited all who would come in peace from Gwynedd, Powys, the Deheubarth, Glamorgan, and the marches. Against the appointed time he prepared all kinds of delicious viands and liquors; with every entertainment of vocal and instrumental song; thus patronising the poets and musicians. He encouraged, too, all sorts of representations and manly games, and afterwards sent away all those who had excelled in them with honourable gifts.". Vide Cambrian Biography. LET the yellow mead shine for the sons of the brave, There is peace in the land we have battled to save: Then spread ye the feast, bid the wine-cup foam high,2 That those may rejoice who have fear'd not to die! "Hardly has the snow covered the vale, When the warriors are hastening to the battle; I do not go, I am hinder'd by infirmity." OWEN's Elegies of Llywarch Hen. 2 Wine, as well as mead, is frequently mentioned in the poems of the ancient British bards. Let the horn, whose loud blast gave the signal for fight, With the bee's sunny nectar now sparkle in light,' Let the rich draught it offers with gladness be crown'd, For the strong hearts, in combat that leap'd at its sound! Like the billow's dark swell, was the path of their might, Red, red as their blood, fill the wine-cup on high, That those may rejoice who have fear'd not to die! And wake ye the children of song from their dreams, On Maelor's wild hills, and by Dyfed's fair streams!2 Bid them haste with those strains of the lofty and free, Which shall float down the waves of long ages to be. Sheath the sword which hath given them unperish ing themes, And pour the bright mead: let the wine-cup foam high, That those may rejoice who have fear'd not to die! 1 The horn was used for two purposes, to sound the alarm in war, and to drink the mead at feasts. 2 * Maelor, part of the counties of Denbigh and Flint. Dyfed, (said to signify a land abounding with streams of water,) the modern Pembrokeshire. |