GORWYNION Y GAUAV.

[THE BRILLIANCIES OF WINTER.

Last of flowers, in tufts around
Shines the gorse's golden bloom :
Milkwhite lichens clothe the ground
'Mid the flowerless heath and broom:
Bright are holly-berries, seen

Red, through leaves of glossy green.

Brightly, as on rocks they leap,

Shine the sea-waves, white with spray;
Brightly, in the dingles deep,
Gleams the river's foaming way;
Brightly through the distance show
Mountain-summits clothed in snow.

Brightly, where the torrents bound,
Shines the frozen colonnade,
Which the black rocks, dripping round,
And the flying spray have made :
Bright the ice-drops on the ash
Leaning o'er the cataract's dash.

Bright the hearth, where feast and song
Crown the warrior's hour of peace,
While the snow-storm drives along,
Bidding war's worse tempest cease;
Bright the hearth-flame flashing clear
On the up-hung shield and spear.
Bright the torch-light of the hall
When the wintry night-winds blow;
Brightest when its splendours fall
On the mead-cup's sparkling flow:
While the maiden's smile of light
Makes the brightness trebly bright.

Close the portals; pile the hearth;
Strike the harp; the feast pursue;
Brim the horns: fire, music, mirth,
Mead and love are winter's due.
Spring to purple conflict calls

Swords that shine on Winter's walls.

Llywarch's song was applauded, as presenting a series of images with which all present were familiar, and which were all of them agreeable.

Merlin sang some verses of the poem which is called

AVALLENAU MYRDDIN.

MERLIN'S APPLE-TREES.

Fair the gift to Merlin given,
Apple-trees seven score and seven ;
Equal all in age and size;

On a green hill-slope that lies
Basking in the southern sun,
Where bright waters murmuring run.

Just beneath, the pure stream flows;
High above, the forest grows;
Not again on earth is found

Such a slope of orchard-ground:
Song of birds, and hum of bees,
Ever haunt the apple-trees.

Lovely green their leaves in spring;
Lovely bright their blossoming:
Sweet the shelter and the shade
By their summer foliage made :
Sweet the fruit their ripe boughs hold,
Fruit delicious, tinged with gold.

Gloyad, nymph with tresses bright,
Teeth of pearl, and eyes of light,
Guards these gifts of Ceidio's son,
Gwendol, the lamented one,

Him, whose keen-edged sword no more
Flashes 'mid the battle's roar.

War has raged on vale and hill :

That fair grove was peaceful still.

There have chiefs and princes sought

Solitude and tranquil thought:

There have kings, from courts and throngs,

Turned to Merlin's wild-wood songs.

Now from echoing woods I hear
Hostile axes sounding near:
On the sunny slope reclined,
Feverish grief disturbs my mind,
Lest the wasting edge consume
My fair spot of fruit and bloom.

Lovely trees, that long alone
In the sylvan vale have grown,
Bare, your sacred plot around,
Grows the once wood-waving ground:
Fervent valour guards ye still;
Yet my soul presages ill.

Well I know, when years have flown,
Briars shall grow where ye have grown :
Them in turn shall power uproot;

Then again shall flowers and fruit
Flourish in the sunny breeze,

On my new-born apple-trees.

This song was heard with much pleasure, especially by those of the audience who could see, in the imagery of the apple-trees, a mystical type of the doctrines and fortunes of Druidism, to which Merlin was suspected of being secretly attached, even under the very nose of St. David.

Aneurin sung a portion of his poem on the battle of Cattraeth; in which he shadowed out the glory of Vortimer the weakness of Vortigern, the fascinations of Rowena, the treachery of Hengist, and the vengeance of Emrys.

THE MASSACRE OF THE BRITONS.

Sad was the day for Britain's land,

A day of ruin to the free,

When Gorthyn* stretched a friendly hand
To the dark dwellers of the sea.†

But not in pride the Saxon trod,

Nor force nor fraud oppressed the brave,
Ere the gray stone and flowery sod
Closed o'er the blessed hero's grave.‡

The twice-raised monarch § drank the charm,
The love-draught of the ocean-maid :||
Vain then the Briton's heart and arm,

Keen spear, strong shield, and burnished blade.

"Come to the feast of wine and mead,"
Spake the dark dweller of the sea :T
"There shall the hours in mirth proceed;
There neither sword nor shield shall be."

Hard by the sacred temple's site,
Soon as the shades of evening fall,
Resounds with song and glows with light
The ocean-dweller's rude-built hall.

* Gwrtheyrn: Vortigern.

+ Hengist and Horsa.

Gwrthevyr: Vortimer: who drove the Saxons out of Britain.

§ Vortigern: who was, on the death of his son Vortimer, restored to the throne from which he had been deposed.

Ronwen: Rowena.

¶ Hengist.

The sacred ground, where chiefs of yore
The everlasting fire adored,

The solemn pledge of safety bore,

And breathed not of the treacherous sword.

The amber wreath his temples bound;

His vest concealed the murderous blade;
As man to man, the board around,
The guileful chief his host arrayed.

None but the noblest of the land,

The flower of Britain's chiefs, were there :
Unarmed, amid the Saxon band,

They sate, the fatal feast to share.

Three hundred chiefs, three score and three,
Went, where the festal torches burned

Before the dweller of the sea:

They went; and three alone returned.

Till dawn the pale sweet mead they quaffed :
The ocean-chief unclosed his vest;

His hand was on his dagger's haft,
And daggers glared at every breast.
But him, at Eidiol's* breast who aimed,
The mighty Briton's arm laid low :
His eyes with righteous anger flamed;
He wrenched the dagger from the foe;

And through the throng he cleft his way,
And raised without his battle cry;

And hundreds hurried to the fray,

From towns, and vales, and mountains high.

But Britain's best blood dyed the floor

Within the treacherous Saxon's hall;

Of all, the golden chain who wore,
Two only answered Eidiol's call.

Then clashed the sword; then pierced the lance;
Then by the axe the shield was riven;

Then did the steed on Cattraeth prance,
And deep in blood his hoofs were driven.

Even as the flame consumes the wood,
So Eidiol rushed along the field;
As sinks the snow-bank in the flood,
So did the ocean-rovers yield.

The spoilers from the fane he drove ;

He hurried to the rock-built tower,

Where the base king,† in mirth and love,

Sate with his Saxon paramour.+

*Fidiol or Emrys: Emrys Wledig: Ambrosius. † Vortigern and Rowena.

The storm of arms was on the gate,
The blaze of torches in the hall,

So swift, that ere they feared their fate,
The flames had scaled their chamber wall.

They died for them no Briton grieves;
No planted flower above them waves ;
No hand removes the withered leaves
That strew their solitary graves.

And time the avenging day brought round
That saw the sea-chief vainly sue:
To make his false host bite the ground
Was all the hope our warrior knew.
And evermore the strife he led,
Disdaining peace, with princely might,
Till, on a spear, the spoiler's* head

Was reared on Caer-y-Cynan's height.

The song of Aneurin touched deeply on the sympathies of the audience, and was followed by a grand martial symphony, in the midst of which Taliesin appeared in the Circle of Bards. King Arthur welcomed him with great joy, and sweet smiles were showered upon him from all the beauties of the court.

Taliesin answered the metrical and mystical questions to the astonishment of the most proficient; and, advancing, in his turn, to the front of the circle, he sang a portion of a poem which is now called HANES TALIESIN, The History of Taliesin; but which shall be here entitled

THE CAULDRON OF CERIDWEN.
The sage Ceridwen was the wife
Of Tegid Voël, of Pemble Mere :
Two children blest their wedded life,
Morvran and Creirwy, fair and dear:
Morvran, a son of peerless worth,
And Creirwy, loveliest nymph of earth:
But one more son Ceridwen bare,
As foul as they before were fair.
She strove to make Avagddu wise ;
She knew he never could be fair :
And, studying magic mysteries,
She gathered plants of virtue rare :
She placed the gifted plants to steep
Within the magic cauldron deep,
Where they a year and day must boil,
Till three drops crown the matron's toil.