Which appeared in the Month of March, A.D. 1402.
By
IOLO GOCH.
This piece appears to have been written at the period when Glendower had nearly attained the summit of his greatness; the insurrection which he commenced in September, 1400, by sacking and burning the town of Ruthin, having hitherto sustained no check whatever. In the present poem his bard hails the appearance of the Comet as a divine prognostic of the eventual success of the Welsh Hero, and of his elevation to the throne of Britain.
’Bout the stars’ nature and their hue
Much has been said, both false and true;
They’re wondrous through their countenance—
Signs to us in the blue expanse.
The first that came, to merit praise,
Was that great star of splendid rays,
From a fair country seen of old
High in the East, a mark of gold;
Conveying to the sons of Earth
News of the King of glory’s birth.
In the advantage I had share,
Though some to doubt the event will dare,
That Christ was born from Mary maid,
A merciful and timely aid,
With his veins’ blood to save on high
The righteous from the enemy.
The second, a right glorious lamp,
Of yore went over Uther’s camp.
There as it flam’d distinct in view
Merddin amongst the warrior crew
Standing, with tears of anguish, thought
Of the dire act on Emrys wrought, [34]
And he caus’d Uther back to turn,
The victory o’er the foe to earn;
From anger to revenge to spring
Is with the frank a common thing.
Arthur the generous, bold and good,
Was by that comet understood.
Man to be cherish’d well and long,
Foretold through ancient Bardic song:
With ashen shafted lance’s thrust
He shed his foe’s blood on the dust.
The third to Gwynedd’s hills was born
By time and tempest-fury worn,
Similar to the rest it came,
In origin and look the same,
Powerfully lustrous, yellow, red
Both, both as to its beam and head.
The wicked far about and near
Enquire of me, who feel no fear,
For where it comes there luck shall fall,
What means the hot and starry ball?
I know and can expound aright
The meaning of the thing of light:
To the son of the prophecy
Its ray doth steel or fire imply;
There has not been for long, long time
A fitting star to Gwynedd’s clime,
Except the star this year appearing,
Intelligence unto us bearing;
Gem to denote we’re reconcil’d
At length with God the undefil’d.
How beauteous is that present sheen,
Of the excessive heat the queen;
A fire upmounting ’fore our face,
Shining on us God’s bounteous grace;
For where they sank shall rise once more
The diadem and laws of yore.
’Tis high ’bove Mona in the skies,
In the angelic squadron’s eyes;
A golden pillar hangs it there,
A waxen column of the air.
We a fair gift shall gain ere long,
Either a pope or Sovereign strong;
A King, who wine and mead will give,
From Gwynedd’s land we shall receive;
The Lord shall cease incens’d to be,
And happy times cause Gwynedd see,
Fame to obtain by dint of sword,
Till be fulfill’d the olden word.
ODE TO GLENDOWER
After His Disappearance.
By
IOLO GOCH.
Fortune having turned against Glendower, he fought many unsuccessful battles, in which all his sons perished, bravely maintaining the cause of their father. His adherents being either slaughtered or dispirited, the Welsh Chieftain retired into concealment—but where, no mortal at the present day can assert with certainty, but it is believed that he died of grief and disappointment in the year 1415, at the house of his daughter, the wife of Sir John Scudamore, of Monington in Herefordshire. The fall of Glendower was a bitter mortification to the Bards, whom he had so long feasted in the watery valley [39] from which he derived his surname; many poetical compositions are still preserved, written with the view of reviving the hopes of his dispirited friends. Amongst these the following by Iolo Goch is perhaps the most remarkable. He hints that the Chieftain has repaired to Rome, from which he will return with a warrant under the seal of the Pope, to take possession of his right. Then he flings out a surmise that he has travelled to the Holy Sepulchre, and will re-appear, with a Danish and Irish fleet to back his cause. Notwithstanding the little regard paid to truth and probability in this piece, and notwithstanding its strange metaphors and obscure allusions, it displays marks of no ordinary poetic talent, and is a convincing proof that the fire and genius of the author had not deserted him at fourscore, to which advanced age he had attained when he wrote it.
Tall man, whom Harry loves but ill,
Thou’st had reverses, breath’st thou still?
If so, with fire-spear seek the fray,
Come, and thy target broad display.
From land of Rome, which glory’s light
Environs, come in armour dight,
With writ, which bears the blest impression
Of Peter’s seal, to take possession.
Big Bull! from eastern climates speed,
Bursting each gate would thee impede.
Flash from thy face shall fiery rays,
On thee shall all with reverence gaze.
Fair Eagle! earl of trenchant brand!
Betake thee to the Lochlin land,
Whose sovereign on his buckler square,
Sign of success, is wont to bear
Three lions blue, through fire to see
Like azure, and steel-fetters three.
We’ll trust, far casting black despair,
Hence in the peacock, hog and bear!
For O the three shall soon unite,
A dread host in the hour of fight.
Launch forth seven ships, do not delay,
Launch forth seven hundred, tall and gay;
From the far north, at Mona’s pray’r,
To verdant Eirin’s shore repair.
To seek O’Neil must be thy task,
And at his hand assistance ask;
Ere feast of John we shall not fail
To hear a rising of the Gael:
Through the wild waste to Dublin town
Shall come a leader of renown.
Prepare a fleet with stout hearts mann’d
From Irishmen’s dear native land.
Come thou who did’st by treachery fall,
Where’er thou art my soul is all.
Yellow and red, before a feast,
The colours are, the Erse love best,
Deck with the same, their hearts to win,
The banner old of Llywellin.
Call Britain’s host (may woe betide
England for treachery!) to thy side;
Come to our land, tough steel, and o’er
The islands rule, an Emperor;
A fire ignite on shore of Mon
Staunch Eagle! ere an hour be flown.
The castles break, retreats of care,
Conquer of Caer Ludd’s dogs the lair!
Mona’s gold horn! the Normans smite,
Kill the mole and his men outright:
A prophecy there stands from old,
That numerous battles thou shalt hold;
Where’er thou’st opportunity
Fight the tame Lion furiously;
Fierce shall thy hands’ work prove, I trow,
Dying and dead shall Merwyg strow;
War shall my Chief through summer wage,
That the wheel turn, my life I’ll gage;
Like to the burst of Derri’s stream
The onset of his war shall seem.
With Mona’s flag through Iaithon’s glen
Shall march a host of armed men:
Nine fights he’ll wage and then have done,
Successful in them every one.
Come heir of Cadwallader blest,
And thy sire’s land from robbers wrest:
Take thou the portion that’s thine own,
Us from the chains ’neath which we groan.
HERE’S THE LIFE I’VE SIGH’D FOR LONG.
By
IOLO GOCH.