“Ruin seize thee, ruthless king,
Confusion on thy banners wait.”
Whether the bards were actually assassinated in this cold blooded manner, or only suppressed with circumstances of aggravated cruelty, the order appears to have been totally dissolved, and the muse of Cambria to have taken shelter in the mountain caves for ages subsequent. During the successful insurrection of Glandwr poetry once more descended from the hills and basked in the few sunny rays that for a short while beamed upon freedom. Amongst the minstrels who sang in the halls of Glandurdwy was Iolo Gôch, who celebrated in lofty strains the prudence and patriotism of his master. The storm that excited a martial spirit in the followers of the houses of York and Lancaster, laid the genius of Cambrian poetry. If at any time its voice was heard, it was either in sorrow at the miseries of the present, or in obscure prophecy of what was yet to come.
The reign of Henry the Seventh, as might naturally have been expected, was one of brighter hopes and more unrestricted freedom, than any Wales had witnessed since the extinction of her native princes. A new description of bard now arose, less venerated, less connected with that mysterious origin to which their predecessors were referred, and undistinguished, except by their effusions, from other classes of society. Of this new class of minstrels, the days of chivalry over, the chief duties were to celebrate the hospitality and private virtues of their patrons, in whose halls they were maintained, and upon whose decease it became their melancholy task to compose a funeral song, to be recited in the presence of the surviving relatives by a Datceiniad.
Regular bardic assemblies, convened by royal authority, were discontinued after the reign of Elizabeth. This illustrious queen issued a precept for holding a royal Eisteddfod on the 26th May, 1568. The document is still preserved in the family of Mostyn, whose ancestors are named therein, with other gentlemen of rank and property in the principality. The objects of such meetings, as well as the distinctive character attached to the bardic order, may be easily collected from the following passage extracted from the royal commission.
“Whereas it is come to the knowledge of the Lorde president and other our counsell in the Marches of Wales, that vagrant and idle persons naming themselves minstrels, rithmirs, and barthes, are lately grown to such an intolerable multitude within the Principality of North Wales, that not only gentlemen and others, by their shameless disorders, are oftentimes disquieted in their habitations, but also the expert minstrels and musicians in town and country thereby much discouraged to travail in the exercise and practise of their knowledge; and also not a little hindered in their living and preferments,” &c. At the assemblage called by direction of this precept seventeen poetical bards were present and thirty-eight of their musical brethren; William Llyn was admitted to the degree of Pencerdd or doctor, and three others to the rank of masters of the art of poetry. The prize was awarded to Sion ap William ap Sion. Caerwys, in Flintshire, was the place chosen for the celebration of Eisteddfodau in later years, having once been the royal residence of Llewellyn, but the more ancient bardic assemblies were convened at Aberffraw, in the palace of the princes of Gwynedd; Dinefawr, the noble castle of the lords of South Wales; and Mathrafel, the royal palace of the chiefs of Powisland.
There is reason to believe, that an Eisteddfod was also held between the years 1569 and 1580, but the place of assemblage and other circumstances respecting it are unknown. In South Wales, however, meetings of this description continued to be called under the auspices of the Earl of Pembroke and Sir Richard Neville, to which must be added the most memorable of all at Bewpyr Castle, A.D. 1681, under the patronage of Sir Richard Bassett.
From these last mentioned dates poetry, music, and every species of Cambrian literature hastened rapidly to decay, nor were any efforts made to arrest their decline, and re-string the lyre, until the year 1771. At this period societies were formed in London for the restoration of the Welsh language to its former purity, and the encouragement of Welsh literature generally. The Gwyneddigion society extend their patronage to the inhabitants of North Wales. The Cymrodorion to Powys, and those of Dyffed and Gwent to South Wales. Under this national patronage Eisteddfodau were again restored on the 18th of July, 1819, at Caermarthen, when the Bishop of St. David’s presided. In the following year a meeting was held at Wrexham under the presidency of Sir W. W. Wynne, and bardic festivals and literary contests were held at the respective places of assemblage of the other societies. These meetings, however, are inferior in splendour of attractions and public interest to the triennial assemblies now permanently established in the principality. The first of these was held at Brecon in 1826, Lord Rodney president; the second at Denbigh in the year 1828, where Sir B. Mostyn, Bart. presided, and the third at Beaumaris in 1832, under the auspices of Sir R. B. W. Bulkley, Bart.
The religion of North Wales is that of the established church, but the inhabitants manifest a remarkable independence in this respect as well as in many other, and pursue those views of religious subjects which each one’s conscience dictates. The parish church is not deserted, but a chapel, built by contributors of the humblest class, is found in every hamlet, and the quick succession of itinerant preachers appears to attract a more lively attention to the solemn warnings of the pulpit, than the instruction of any one pastor urged with ever so much ability and zeal. The dissenters are divided into many classes, Methodists and Calvinists are the most numerous; amongst the others the sect called “Jumpers,” whose peculiar tenets had once too strong a hold on the feelings of the people, have decreased in numbers, and abandoned those wild speculations which the rational portion of society are still incredulous as to their ever having practised. Laying aside the consideration of sects, all classes of the Welsh are deeply imbued with a religious feeling. Churches and meeting-houses are well attended; every adult can read his bible in the native tongue, and when a public place of worship is either wholly wanting, or too remote, prayer meetings are held with regularity in each other’s cottages, where, after the solemn reading of the liturgy, the little congregation conclude their act of adoration with a sacred hymn to God, in which all present, both old and young, unite their voices.
It is a matter of some surprise that a people of so much sincerity in religion should still be slaves to superstition. But probably the solitude and silence of the glens they dwell in contribute to increase a feeling which is uniformly found diffused through all remote and mountainous countries. Amongst the most interesting of these relics of ancient times, connected with religion is the remarkable care and attention paid to the grave-stones and funeral honours of their deceased connexions. The cemetery is the public walk of every hamlet, and the affection borne to a brother when living seems to render even a bright verdure on his grave a grateful prospect. In the custom of strewing the graves of departed friends with flowers and evergreens these is something which touches the feeling heart. It is a tribute of affection, a posthumous recollection of a most impressive character. To live in the remembrance of those we loved “when we go hence, and are no more seen,” is a natural wish; a wish implanted in our souls by that Being, who willed that we should be social creatures, and gave us all the kind affections of our nature. This custom boasts a high antiquity, it is found among the superstitions of pagan Rome, where, during the month of February; the feralia or honours paid to the manes of departed souls were performed. Scattering of flowers and odoriferous plants constituted a chief part of the ceremony. The custom is now confined to a few parts of Europe, Ireland, Wales, and the Catholic cantons of Switzerland. In the last of these an iron cross is placed upright, from which a bowl, containing holy water, is suspended, with which the passers-by sprinkle the graves of the deceased on their way to church.
A belief in the existence and mischievous propensities of the fairy tribe was formerly amongst the chief superstitions. These troublesome elves were supposed to milk the cows at night, to check them from yielding milk at morn, and prevent the butter from forming in the churn. They changed the infant left in the cradle, during the sleep or absence of its nurse, and performed many other acts peevish, envious, and wicked. But the exploits of this pigmy race are not peculiar to Wales, nor was their existence as confidently believed here at any period as it still is in other countries. One species peculiarly Welsh, are called knockers, from their continued knocking or hammering under ground. This noise is often heard by miners, and is invariably said to discover to the miner a rich load of ore. There is also a deep roaring of the sea, which is believed to be a forewarning of some dire calamity. The inhabitants of Llandudno heard this strange noise immediately previous to the melancholy wreck of the Hornby Castle, and many other instances of remoter dates could be adduced in support of this superstitious notion. Sometimes also a warning light is seen to shine out before a traveller, and conduct him in the precise direction of his journey, distinguished from jack-o’-the-lanthorn in this respect, that the latter cruelly “lures us to our doom.”