ERYRI WEN.
[“Snowdon was held as sacred by the ancient Britons, as Parnassus was by the Greeks, and Ida by the Cretans. It is still said, that whosoever slept upon Snowdon would wake inspired, as much as if he had taken a nap on the hill of Apollo. The Welsh had always the strongest attachment to the tract of Snowdon. Our princes had, in addition to their title, that of Lord of Snowdon.”—Pennant.]
Theirs was no dream, O monarch hill,
With heaven’s own azure crown’d!
Who call’d thee—what thou shalt be still,
White Snowdon!—holy ground.
They fabled not, thy sons who told
Of the dread power enshrined
Within thy cloudy mantle’s fold,
And on thy rushing wind!
It shadow’d o’er thy silent height,
It fill’d thy chainless air,
Deep thoughts of majesty and might
For ever breathing there.
Nor hath it fled! the awful spell
Yet holds unbroken sway,
As when on that wild rock it fell
Where Merddin Emrys lay![185]
Though from their stormy haunts of yore
Thine eagles long have flown,[186]
As proud a flight the soul shall soar
Yet from thy mountain-throne!
Pierce then the heavens, thou hill of streams!
And make the snows thy crest!
The sunlight of immortal dreams
Around thee still shall rest.
Eryri! temple of the bard!
And fortress of the free!
Midst rocks which heroes died to guard,
Their spirit dwells with thee!
[184] Yr Wyddfa, the Welsh name of Snowdon, said to mean the conspicuous place, or object.
[185] Dinas Emrys, (the fortress of Ambrose,) a celebrated rock amongst the mountains of Snowdon, is said to be so called from having been the residence of Merddin Emrys, called by the Latins Merlinus Ambrosius, the celebrated prophet and magician: and there, tradition says, he wrote his prophecies concerning the future state of the Britons.
There is another curious tradition respecting a large stone, on the ascent of Snowdon, called Maen du yr Arddu, the black stone of Arddu. It is said, that if two persons were to sleep a night on this stone, in the morning one would find himself endowed with the gift of poetry, and the other would become insane.—Williams’s Observations on the Snowdon Mountains.
[186] It is believed amongst the inhabitants of these mountains, that eagles have heretofore bred in the lofty clefts of their rocks. Some wandering ones are still seen at times, though very rarely, amongst the precipices.—Williams’s Observations on the Snowdon Mountains.
CHANT OF THE BARDS BEFORE THEIR MASSACRE BY EDWARD I.[187]
Raise ye the sword! let the death-stroke be given;
Oh! swift may it fall as the lightning of heaven!
So shall our spirits be free as our strains—
The children of song may not languish in chains!
Have ye not trampled our country’s bright crest?
Are heroes reposing in death on her breast?
Red with their blood do her mountain-streams flow,
And think ye that still we would linger below?
Rest, ye brave dead! midst the hills of your sires,
Oh! who would not slumber when freedom expires?
Lonely and voiceless your halls must remain—
The children of song may not breathe in the chain!
[187] This sanguinary deed is not attested by any historian of credit. And it deserves to be also noticed, that none of the bardic productions since the time of Edward make any allusion to such an event.—Cambro-Briton, vol. i., p. 195.
THE DYING BARD’S PROPHECY.[188]
The hall of harps is lone to-night,
And cold the chieftain’s hearth:
It hath no mead, it hath no light;
No voice of melody, no sound of mirth.
The bow lies broken on the floor
Whence the free step is gone;
The pilgrim turns him from the door
Where minstrel-blood hath stain’d the threshold stone.
“And I, too, go: my wound is deep,
My brethren long have died;
Yet, ere my soul grow dark with sleep,
Winds! bear the spoiler one more tone of pride!
“Bear it where, on his battle-plain,
Beneath the setting sun,
He counts my country’s noble slain—
Say to him—Saxon, think not all is won.
“Thou hast laid low the warrior’s head,
The minstrel’s chainless hand:
Dreamer! that numberest with the dead
The burning spirit of the mountain-land!
“Think’st thou, because the song hath ceased,
The soul of song is flown?
Think’st thou it woke to crown the feast,
It lived beside the ruddy hearth alone?
“No! by our wrongs, and by our blood!
We leave it pure and free;
Though hush’d awhile, that sounding flood
Shall roll in joy through ages yet to be.
“We leave it midst our country’s woe—
The birthright of her breast;
We leave it as we leave the snow
Bright and eternal on Eryri’s crest.
We leave it with our fame to dwell
Upon our children’s breath;
Our voice in theirs through time shall swell—
The bard hath gifts of prophecy from death.
He dies; but yet the mountains stand,
Yet sweeps the torrent’s tide;
And this is yet Aneurin’s[189] land—
Winds! bear the spoiler one more tone of pride!
[188] At the time of the supposed massacre of the Welsh bards by Edward the First.
[189] Aneurin, one of the noblest of the Welsh bards.
THE FAIR ISLE.[190]
FOR THE MELODY CALLED THE “WELSH GROUND.”
[The Bard of the Palace, under the ancient Welsh princes, always accompanied the army when it marched into an enemy’s country; and, while it was preparing for battle or dividing the spoils, he performed an ancient song, called Unbennaeth Prydain, the Monarchy of Britain. It has been conjectured that this poem referred to the tradition of the Welsh, that the whole island had once been possessed by their ancestors, who were driven into a corner of it by their Saxon invaders. When the prince had received his share of the spoils, the bard, for the performance of this song, was rewarded with the most valuable beast that remained.—Jones’s Historical Account of the Welsh Bards.]
[190] Ynys Prydain was the ancient Welsh name of Britain, and signifies fair or beautiful isle.