XIII. MON. From Huw Goch.
Brodir, gnawd ynddi prydydd;
Heb ganu ni bu ni bydd.
A hospitable country, in which a poet is a thing of course. It has never been and will never be without song.
XIV. LEWIS MORRIS OF MON. From Goronwy Owen.
“As long as Bardic lore shall last, science and learning be cherished, the language and blood of the Britons undefiled, song be heard on Parnassus, heaven and earth be in existence, foam be on the surge, and water in the river, the name of Lewis of Mon shall be held in grateful remembrance.”
XV. THE GRAVE OF BELI.
Who lies ’neath the cairn on the headland hoar,
His hand yet holding his broad claymore,
Is it Beli, the son of Benlli Gawr?
XVI. THE GARDEN. From Gwilym Du o Eifion.
In a garden the first of our race was deceived;
In a garden the promise of grace he received;
In a garden was Jesus betray’d to His doom;
In a garden His body was laid in the tomb.