RYCE OF TWYN.
[“I’ll bet a guinea that however clever a fellow you may be, you never sang anything in praise of your landlord’s housekeeping equal to what Dafydd Nanmor sang in praise of that of Ryce of Twyn four hundred years ago.”]
For Ryce if hundred thousands plough’d,
The lands around his fair abode;
Did vines of thousand vineyards bleed,
Still corn and wine great Ryce would need;
If all the earth had bread’s sweet savour,
And water all had cyder’s flavour,
Three roaring feasts in Ryce’s hall
Would swallow earth and ocean all.
LLYWELYN.
By Dafydd Benfras.
Llywelyn of the potent hand oft wrought
Trouble upon the kings and consternation;
When he with the Lloegrian monarch fought,
Whose cry was “Devastation!”
Forward impetuously his squadrons ran;
Great was the tumult ere the shout began;
Proud was the hero of his reeking glaive,
Proud of their numbers were his followers brave.
O then were heard resounding o’er the fields
The clash of faulchions and the crash of shields!
Many the wounds in yonder fight receiv’d!
Many the warriors of their lives bereaved!
The battle rages till our foes recoil
Behind the Dike which Offa built with toil,
Bloody their foreheads, gash’d with many a blow,
Blood streaming down their quaking knees below.
Llywelyn, we as our high chief obey,
To fair Porth Ysgewin extends his sway;
For regal virtues and for princely line
He towers above imperial Constantine.
PLYNLIMMON.
By Lewis Glyn Cothi.
From high Plynlimmon’s shaggy side
Three streams in three directions glide,
To thousands at their mouth who tarry
Honey, gold and mead they carry.
Flow also from Plynlimmon high
Three streams of generosity; [137]
The first, a noble stream indeed,
Like rills of Mona runs with mead;