# Translations into English Verse from the Poems of Davyth ap Gwilym/Sketch

This “Sketch” is derived, in principle part, from the work of William Owen Pughe, Esq; though the composition, notes, and the final portion are the work of the translator, “Maelog.” For the position of the “Sketch,” see the note on the main page.
A SKETCH
OF THE
LIFE OF DAVYTH AP GWILYM.
One of the most remarkable consequences of the conquest of Wales by Edward I. was the depression of that lofty poetical spirit which had previously distinguished the Welsh nation. Before that event the Cambro-British bards appear to have devoted their genius to the grand theme of national independence. ​Habituated to regard the martial spirit of their countrymen as the only bulwark against foreign oppression, they naturally selected the single virtue of military prowess as the great subject of their eulogy and their songs. Hence it was, that with the destruction of their country’s freedom, they appear to have lost the only object of their art and the sole source of their inspiration; and nearly a century elapsed before we find any symptoms of its reviving influence. To this result other causes must have powerfully contributed: the jealous policy of the English authorities, by whom the bards were justly viewed as the great promoters of a spirit of independence among the people; the fanaticism of the mendicant friars, who appear to have denounced many of the refinements and amusements of life as at variance with Christianity; and, above all, that general feeling of fear and despondency, which always pervades a recently subjugated nation, and destroys all sympathy with the joyous songs of the minstrel.
About the middle of the fourteenth century the poetical genius of the Welsh began to break forth anew, but with its characteristics essentially changed; both in sentiment and style, the ‘Awen’ of the bards had undergone a complete revolution. We no longer meet in their works with those warlike scenes, and those songs in praise of the heroes of their country, which occur so often in the poems of their predecessors. The Welsh minstrel was now ​content to tune his harp to themes of love and social festivity; and sportive allusions to objects of nature, and to the picturesque manners of that interesting period, were made to supply the place of lays in celebration of martial achievements. Whatever may have been lost in fire and sublimity by this transition was perhaps more than compensated by the superior polish, vivacity, and imaginativeness, which distinguish the bards of the new school. The dawn of the epoch here noticed was signalized by the birth of Davyth ap Gwilym, on whom the appellation of the Petrarch of Wales has, with some degree of propriety, been bestowed.
A full and authentic history of the life of Davyth ap Gwilym would be a great literary treasure; not only would it throw much light upon the poetry and manners of his age, it would no doubt add to our historical knowledge. Unhappily, however, the only materials extant for such a work, consist of a few traditionary anecdotes preserved in manuscript, and the allusions to his personal history contained in the bard’s own poems. The exact year of his birth is involved in obscurity, but we possess data from which it may be conclusively established that he began and ended his days within the fourteenth century. Even the spot of his nativity has furnished food for controversy; and our bard may be numbered among the men of genius whose birth-place has been a subject of patriotic rivalry; accordingly, on one hand we find the island of Anglesea ​strenuously laying claim to this honour, while on the other it appears to be satisfactorily proved that the poet first saw the light (about the year 1340), at a place called Bro Gynin, in the parish of Llanbadarn Vawr, in the county of Cardigan. It is recorded in an old poem which has been handed down to us that Taliesin, the most celebrated of the ancient Welsh bards, foretold the honour that awaited this spot, in being the birth-place of a minstrel whose song would be ‘as the sweetness of wine.’
Davyth ap Gwilym was of noble origin. On the paternal side he was allied to some of the most illustrious families of North Wales; his father, Gwilym Gam, being a descendant of Llywarch ab Bran, head of one of ‘the fifteen tribes’ who composed the aristocracy of that division of Wales, ​and related by marriage to Owain Gwynedd, a monarch no less distinguished as a patron of genius than by the valour and sagacity with which he protected the liberties of his country against the ambitious projects of Henry II. On his mother’s side the poet was connected with the Magnates of the southern division of the principality; his mother, Ardudvul, being the sister of Llywelyn ab Gwilym Vychan, of Emlyn, a person of considerable importance in that part of the country, and styled in some accounts ‘the lord of Cardigan.’
Yet, whatever may have been Davyth ap Gwilym’s pretensions to an illustrious descent, there is reason to believe that his birth was illegitimate, or, at least, that the union of his parents, if it had been previously sanctioned by legal rites, had not received the countenance of their friends. At no distant period, however, a reconciliation must have been effected, as the embryo bard was taken in his infancy under the protection of his uncle, Llywelyn ab Gwilym, who is related to have been a man of some parts. He accordingly became his nephew’s tutor, and seems to have discovered in him the early indications of that particular talent, for which he was afterwards so conspicuous, and in the cultivation of which Llywelyn afforded his young pupil all the encouragement and assistance in his power.
About the age of fifteen Davyth ap Gwilym returned to his paternal home, where, however, he resided but a short time, owing, as it would appear, to the unpleasant bickerings that took place between him and his parents, in consequence of his satirical ​propensities, which, even at that early age, he could not restrain. Some of his effusions, written during this period, have been preserved; and, whatever ingenuity they may evince, considering the years of the writer, they are by no means indicative of his filial affection. These domestic altercations caused the young bard once more to be separated from his natural guardians; and we accordingly find him, at an early age, enjoying, at Maesaleg in Monmouthshire, the friendship and patronage of Ivor Hael, a near relative of his father.
Ivor, deservedly surnamed Hael, or ‘the Generous,’ received his young kinsman with an affectionate kindness, which he even carried so far as to appoint him his steward, and the instructor of his only daughter, although Davyth ap Gwilym’s qualifications for these duties were not, it is probable, at that time, of the most obvious character. At ​least, the inconvenient effects of one of these appointments was too soon apparent in the reciprocal attachment that grew up between the poet and his fair charge. The precise nature of Ivor’s conduct towards the former on the discovery of this circumstance is not known; but he appears to have treated him with an indulgence which his own regard for the enamoured tutor could alone explain. He is recorded, however, to have been somewhat severe in the treatment of his daughter, whom he forthwith conveyed to a convent in the island of Anglesea. Thither she was followed by her devoted swain, who, in the humble capacity of a servant at a neighbouring monastery, consoled himself during his hours of disappointed love by offering to his mistress the tributes of his muse, all he had then to bestow; and several poems of considerable beauty are still extant, which he may be supposed to have written during this period.
THE BARD SENDS A LOVE MESSENGER TO LURE THE NUN TO THE GROVE.
True messenger of love—away! And from the Marches bring in May. Thou truant! thou wert not at hand When most the bard in need did stand Of thy tame wings! Oh seek, once more, The place thou visitedst of yore. Thou of fair form and flight sublime, Visit the damsels white as lime!
If, in the churchyard, thou shouldst meet The ‘Gaoler’ of the maiden, greet (Thou poet’s treasure, fair and fleet!) Her ears with ‘psalms’ of all the ills With which that maid my bosom fills! Blessed nuns, fair saints from every land, In their bright cells my suit withstand: Those sacred snow-hued virgins, white As gossamer, on mountain height; Those maids, like swallows to behold Those holy damsels of the choir, Sisters to Morvyth, bright as gold! Oh, visit her, at my desire, And if thy efforts vain should be, To lure her from the priory, And thou the snow-complexioned maid With songs of praise can’st not persuade Her lover in the grove to meet, Then carry her upon thy feet— Delude the nun who, in yon shrine, Rings the small bell!—the abbess cheat!— Before the summer moon shall shine, With pure white ray, the black robed nun To the green woodland must be won!
At length, apparently weary of his fruitless fidelity, he returned to the hospitable mansion of his patron; and the welcome manner in which he seems to have been again received, proves that his affection for the daughter had not produced any serious displeasure ​on the part of the father, however, from motives of prudence, the latter might have thought it advisable to discountenance the attachment. The young poet seems also at this period to have been reconciled to his parents, between whose house and Maesaleg his time was divided.
During his second residence with Ivor, Davyth ap Gwilym must in all probability have devoted much attention to the cultivation of his favourite pursuit, since we find him, about this period, elected to fill the post of chief bard of Glamorgan. His poetical reputation made him also a welcome, and, in some respects, a necessary guest at the festivals which, in those long-departed days of social cheer and princely hospitality, were common in the houses of the higher orders in Wales. The mansions of Ivor Hael and Llywelyn ab Gwilym were the frequent scenes of these festive assemblies, at which particular respect was shewn to the sons of the awen: and here it was that Davyth ap Gwilym seems to have had the first opportunity of signalizing himself amongst his bardic compeers, in those poetical contests, formerly so frequent in Wales, and which are not even now wholly discontinued. It was at Emlyn, the seat of his uncle Llywelyn, that, on one of these occasions, the deep-rooted enmity, which existed between him and a brother bard, named Rhys Meigan, had its origin, and became the fertile source of the most satirical and even virulent strains on both sides. The ​laurel in this ‘war of words’ was, however, finally adjudged to the subject of this memoir, whose antagonist is even reported to have fallen dead on the spot, a victim to the unendurable poignancy of our poet’s satire. Strange and incredible as this incident may appear, it is, in a great measure, confirmed by one of Davyth ap Gwilym’s effusions, in which he alludes, with some minuteness, to the extraordinary occurrence.
When Davyth ap Gwilym grew up to manhood, his handsome person and accomplishments rendered him a great favourite with the fair, in every part of the country. According to traditionary accounts, recorded in the age of Elizabeth, he was tall and of a slender make, with yellow hair flowing about his shoulders in beautiful ringlets, and he says himself that the girls, instead of attending to their devotion, used to whisper at church, that he had his sister’s hair on his head. His dress was agreeable to the manner of the age, long trowsers, close jacket, tied round with a sash, suspending a sword of no inconsiderable length, and over the whole a loose flowing gown trimmed with fur, with a round cap or bonnet on his head; these he took pains to make showy, for he was inclined to vie in that respect ​with the beaux of his time. Thus accomplished, he thought himself happier than the old Welsh princes, though they enjoyed the possession of a mansion in every district in Wales, as he fancied he might secure the affection of every beauteous maid. Every one, says our bard, has his favourite toy; and on a whimsical occasion, he tells us he was “the toy of the fair,” and his temper, full of ardour and levity as it was, naturally disposed him to make an extravagant use of the high esteem in which he stood with his countrywomen. Tradition has preserved a ludicrous instance of his frolics in this respect, which, whether authentic or not, is perfectly consistent with the powerful but reckless vein of humour that pervades his poems. The following is a brief detail of this incident.
Davyth ap Gwilym—so runs the tale—paid his addresses to no fewer than twenty-four damsels at the same time. Having an inclination, on a particular occasion, to divert himself at their expense, he made an appointment with each, unknown to the rest, to meet him under a certain tree, at a specified hour, fixing the same time for all. Our poet himself took care to be on the spot before the period of meeting, and, having ascended the tree, he had the satisfaction of finding, that not one of his faithful inamoratos failed in her engagement. When they were all assembled, feelings ​of inquisitive wonder took the place of the gentler emotions, to which, it is probable, they had before yielded; and, when at length the stratagem, of which they had been the dupes, became known, the only sentiment that inspired the group was that of indignant vengeance against the unfortunate bard, which they failed not to vent in reproaches loud and long. The author of the plot, who, from his ambuscade above, had perceived the gathering storm, had recourse to his muse for an expedient to allay it, or, at least, to divert its fury from the object to which it was at first directed. Emerging partially from the foliage, in which he had been enveloped, he replied to the menaces of the disappointed fair-ones,—which even extended to his life—in an extemporary stanza, of which the following translation will convey some idea:—
Oh, let the fair and gentle one! Who oftest by the summer sun, To meet me in these shades was won— Let her strike first, and she will find The poet to his fate resigned!
The effect was such as our poet had, perhaps, anticipated. Taunts and recriminations were bandied about by the exasperated assembly, who forgot their common resentment against the bard in this new cause for commotion. The tradition adds, that the contriver of the stratagem had the good fortune to escape unmolested in the confusion of the conflict, being thus indebted to his muse for his protection from a catastrophe of no very agreeable nature.
​But, whatever may have been the inconstancy of Davyth ap Gwilym in his general conduct towards the fair sex, he appears, in two instances, to have entertained a sincere and honourable passion—the objects of which, under the names of Dyddgu and Morvyth, he has celebrated in some of his choicest effusions. But, in both cases, the result was equally unpropitious, though in different ways, to the hopes he had indulged.
The fair one first named, who is represented by the bard as endowed with every grace both of body and mind, seems to have proved inaccessible to all the overtures of his heart, enforced as they were by all the fascinations of his muse. However gratified she may have been by the offerings of the bard, she appears to have paid no attention to the adorations of the lover.
Morvyth, our poet’s other favourite, received his addresses more graciously, and had it not been for untoward circumstances, over which she had no control, the event of this attachment might have equalled his most sanguine expectations. Morvyth was the daughter of Madog Lawgam, a gentleman of Anglesea, and was in every point of view the very Laura of our Cambrian Petrarch. His first view with this lady was at Rhosyr, in Anglesea, where, by some means, he attracted her notice. He says, in a poem on the occasion, that he sent a present of wine to her, and she slighted the offer so much as to throw it over the servant who brought ​it. As this curious incident may suggest a very erroneous idea of the manners of that age and of the light in which such gifts were viewed in the time of the poet, the following observations, extracted chiefly from Mr. Godwin’s Life of Chaucer, will serve to give a more correct impression of the spirit of the bard’s first present to the lady of his love.
There is reason to believe that wine was often given, merely as a token of honour and esteem, and as being a more delicate offering than a sum of money. It is not, therefore, to be supposed that it was always intended for the consumption of the person to whom it was sent. ‘I find,’ says Mr. Godwin, ‘a grant, or rather the confirmation of a grant, of Edward III., in the first year of his reign, to Mary his aunt, daughter of Edward I., of ten tuns of wine per annum towards her sustenance. But the Princess Mary was a votaress, and cannot be supposed to have wanted ten tuns of wine annually for her own consumption; and the phraseology of the grant (in subventum sustentationis suæ) seems to imply rather that it was a commodity to be given in exchange for other commodities, than to be consumed in kind by the grantee.’
Chaucer, who was a contemporary of our bard, had a grant conferred upon him of a pitcher of wine per diem, to be delivered daily in the port of the city of London by the king’s chief butler during the term of his natural life. This pension—for such in reality it was—is calculated by Mr. Godwin to be equivalent to an annuity of £180 in the present day.
​It is necessary to observe that the wines then common in England and Wales were of a very different quality from those now in use amongst the higher classes in this country; and unless we keep this fact in view we shall be apt to imagine that our ancestors were guilty of excesses that are not imputable to them. So far back as the year 1154 (on the accession of the Platagenet race) the English government gained possession of Bordeaux and some other important districts in the south-west of France, which they retained, nearly without interruption, for three centuries. Hence this kingdom was amply supplied with the light wines of France.
The bard and Morvyth were united in a manner not uncommon in those days: they repaired to the grove with their friend Madog Benfras, an eminent bard, who exercised the sacred functions on this occasion, in the presence only of the winged choristers of the woods; one of which, the thrush—the bride-groom says—was the clerk. They now considered themselves as one, and their subsequent conduct confirmed it in every respect; but the relations of Morvyth, disliking the union, encouraged a wealthy decrepid old man, Cynfrig Cynin, before alluded to, to become a rival of the bard; and they concerted their plan so well as to take Morvyth away from the latter, and to get her formally married to Cynfrig Cynin, agreeably to the rules of the church. But the ​remainder of the life of Little Hunchback was spent in watchings and jealousy, which furnished a favourite subject for the muse of his rival; though it proved to him also a source of endless troubles, as, considering Morvyth still his own, he missed no opportunity of procuring an interview, till, at length, he found means to run away with her. But after strict search the fugitives were found and once more separated; and our bard, being rigorously prosecuted by Hunchback, was fined in a very heavy penalty, which being unable to pay, he was imprisoned. In such esteem, however, was the poet held by his countrymen, that the county of Glamorgan released him from confinement by discharging the fine. It is said that he had nearly taken Morvyth away a second time; and a friend asking him if he would again run the hazard which a step must expose him to, which had once cost him so dearly, he answered—‘Yes, I will, in the name of God and the men of Glamorgan!’ which expression became ​a proverb for a long time after. We must now leave Morvyth as the lawful wife of the Bwa Bach, only observing that her faithful bard continued his attachment, and his muse was ever constant in her praise. Hence he has been compared to Petrarch; and it must be allowed that, in the fervour of his homage to the lady of his heart, the Italian poet did not surpass the Demetian Nightingale, who composed one hundred and forty-seven poems to his beloved Morvyth!
We may take it for granted that Davyth ap Gwilym must have lived in habits of intimacy with the poets of his time, amongst whom many perhaps were to be found not insensible to the charms of the mead-horn; but he does not seem to have been much devoted to it, himself, for among those who were, we find it was a custom to impose upon him when they got him into their company.
Davyth was equally attached to friendship and the muse—two contemporary poets were his ​intimate companions, each of whom wrote an elegy on his death. One was Madog Benfras, occasionally mentioned before, who had a soul congenial with that of our bard, and like him was a favourite with his fair countrywomen. The other was Gruffydd Gryg, of Anglesea, a bard of great genius and learning. Between Davyth ap Gwilym and the latter there appears to have been a rivalship for fame, which gave rise to a poetical contention that began in consequence of a poem written by Gruffydd Gryg, ridiculing our bard for being so great a slave to the charms of Morvyth. This dispute produced several masterly compositions, of which a specimen will be found in this collection. After the contest had been carried on for a long time, and excited the attention of the whole country, though each party was unwilling to give way, one Bola Bauol laid a wager with another person that he would effect an accommodation between them. To bring about his purpose Bola Bauol went into North Wales and industriously spread a report that ‘Davyth ap Gwilym, the Demetian bard, was dead.’ On hearing this ​news, Gruffydd Gryg was so affected, that, forgetting every other feeling, in the poignancy of his grief he composed an elegy, bewailing the supposed loss of his rival, in the most affectionate terms. Bola Bauol having previously contrived to get a similar account of the death of Gruffydd Gryg circulated in South Wales, returned thither, and was pleased to find it had had the same effect on Davyth ap Gwilym, he having also produced an elegy on his rival. Bola Bauol succeeded according to his expectation; for the contending parties, on each discovering the real sentiments of his opponent, and being brought to a delicate dilemma, though they laughed at the stratagem which had created it, from that time became warm friends.
Though Davyth ap Gwilym lived in an age deeply immersed in ignorance, yet it is obvious from his works that he was but little affected with the superstition of the times. He had very little veneration for the monks; nor would he bend in the least to the authority of the priesthood in general—in those points that were derogatory to an enlightened mind. On the contrary, he took every opportunity to show that he held them in contempt and ridicule; but when old age had disposed him to more serious reflections, in a confessional ode he acknowledged ​himself reprehensible for having rendered himself so obnoxious to the ministers of religion.
The following whimsical extract will serve to give the reader some idea of the unlimited vituperation which the bard occasionally lavished on the religious orders of his time:—
A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE BARD AND A HOLY BROTHER.
With a false form of holy life, O’er all the wide world they are rife! Dull friars!—(each pair of equal age Should bear the yoke of marriage.) With hateful strains a holy man, A fat mouthed brother, thus began, With pertinacious preaching bent, On turning me from my intent; Such was the sage advice that hung On his discreet and brazen tongue!
HOLY BROTHER.
Remember that thou must behold The beauteous maiden turned to mould! And then her lovely figure must Lose all its graces in the dust!
BARD.
No! black red man! the green sod’s bloom, The form of dark mould may assume; But beauty’s flesh and charms sublime Must ever wear the hue of lime!
HOLY BROTHER.
For thee—the love of damsel thin, With matchless, long, and radiant hair, The caldron lined with fire will win, And never-ending sufferings there!
Then I replied, with language firm, To the black visaged silent worm.
BARD.
To terrify the beauty now— It was a most unworthy turn, Spite of thy haughty port—thy vow— Thy awful words—and accents stern, Still will the gallant Davyth pay His court to maids—ten in one day!
He begins another poem, addressed to a Grey brother, (who had tried to persuade Morvyth to become a nun,) with the following ironical allusions to the supposed merit of gifts bestowed on the religious orders:—
Long life—fair journeys—offerings rare, Fall to the chatt’ring raven’s share! The figure like a shadow—those Deserve not peace who are his foes! From Rome he comes with naked feet, And tresses like a thorny nest! In petticoat of network dressed He walks the world—oh, pastor meet, A parish with wise words to greet!
Of the latter years of our bard we have only a general account, which states that they were consumed in his native parish of Llanbadarn, where also had been his paternal home. He appears to have survived his relations, his patrons, and his fair Morvyth. His uncle and kind protector, Llewelyn ab Gwilym, he had lost early in life by the hand of an assassin, and the bard bewails this event in a pathetic elegy on the occasion. Still, so long as ​his generous friend Ivor survived, his house was a retreat to him from all oppression; there he was entertained like ‘the three free guests in the court of Arthur.’ Indeed the poet seems to have felt the warmest affection for every member of the family of that good and hospitable chieftain.
His melancholy feelings at the loss of the friends of his youth, his patron and the lady of his love—are pathetically described in a poem in which he invokes the summer to visit Glamorganshire with its choicest blessings. After beautifully describing that fertile region under the influence of the serene messenger, his soul becomes suddenly overclouded,—the grave of his friend is brought to his remembrance, and he concludes with an abrupt transition—(addressing the Summer)—
And thus mid all thy radiant flow’rs, Thy thick’ning leaves and glossy bow’rs, The poet’s task shall be to glean Roses and flow’rs that softly bloom, And trefoils wove in pavement green, With sad humility to grace His golden Ivor’s resting place!
When Davyth ap Gwilym became oppressed with age, and a pilgrim as it were in the world, bereft of his dearest friends, he laid aside every thing ​unbecoming his situation. In the poem entitled ‘The Bard’s Last Song,’ he describes the altered state of his feelings:—
Ivor is gone—my friend and guide, And Nest—my patroness—his bride! Morvyth, my soul’s delight is fled— All moulder in their clay-cold bed! And I oppressed with woe remain, Victim to age and ling’ring pain!
Davyth ap Gwilym continued true to his muse even in his last moments. One of his poems—perhaps the only one—written on this impressive occasion, remains. It is entitled, ‘The Death-bed Lay of the Bard,’ and may, perhaps, more justly be regarded as his ‘last song,’ than the poem of that designation above quoted. It is full of remorse and penitence for his past life, accompanied by a strain of genuine piety, as may be perceived from the following version, however unequal in poetical merit to the original:—
My shapeless sin with dread I view, And tremble at the reck’ning due; I dread my folly’s long career, But, more than all, my God I fear!
Mysterious Being, prone to save, Thy pardon for the past I crave; The time arrives, death’s awful time, And with it come the stings of crime!
God is the world, the pious know; Without Him all were waste below, Without Him ’twere a desert state, One cheerless void, all desolate!
O Thou! to whom true faith is dear, Grant, as my parting hour draws near, Grant, as I heave my latest sigh, No foe may watch in triumph nigh!
The thought expressed in the last stanza might imply that, although our poet had outlived his friends, he had not survived his enemies. It is probable, indeed, that his propensity to satire had been the means of provoking the enmity of many of his contemporaries, especially of some of the clergy, against whom the invectives of his muse appear to have been often directed. But in a poem entitled ‘The Bard’s Confession of his Sins,’ he acknowledges the culpability of his conduct in this instance as well as in several others; and we may infer that the poem in question was composed during the latter part of his life, when old age had communicated a suitable seriousness to his meditations.
We have now arrived at the close of our bard’s earthly career; and we may say of him, as of the swan, that he terminated his life with a song. But, unlike that of the swan, his tuneful talent was not forgotten at the hour of dissolution. On the contrary,
———————servatur ad imum, Qualis ab incœpto processerat, et sibi constat.
His death (as before stated) is said to have occurred about the year 1400—in Anglesea, according to some authorities, but according to others of a more credible ​character, at his home in Llanbadarn. His ashes repose at Ystrad Flur, or Strata Florida, in the county of Cardigan, the burial-place of the ancient princes of South Wales; and his tomb has not wanted the congenial tribute of the muse. Some kindred spirit has recorded on it his friendship for the poet, and his regret for his loss, in an epitaph, of which the translation that follows will afford some idea:—
Gwilym, bless’d with song divine, Sleeps’t thou, then, beneath this tree; ’Neath this yew, whose foliage fine Shades alike thy song and thee?
Mantling yew-tree, he lies near, Gwilym, Teivi’s nightingale, And his song too slumbers here, Tuneless ever through the vale!
But the commemoration of his fame has not been confined to an anonymous herald. Three of our poet’s most illustrious bardic contemporaries have ​left elegies on his death, which bespeak at once the high estimation in which the writers regarded his talents, and the respect they entertained for his private worth. The spirit of rivalry, which may naturally be imagined to have existed during the life of the bard, was at once extinguished by his death, or manifested itself only in the generous trophies heaped upon his tomb.
Of the merit of our poet’s productions it is almost superfluous to speak: the meed of praise, awarded by his contemporaries, has received the sanction of four centuries, and Davyth ap Gwilym is still regarded as one of the most eminent of the Welsh bards, whether we estimate him by the originality of his genius, or the harmonious character of his versification. Nor should it be forgotten that he wrote at a period when the laws of Welsh poetry were in a state of considerable fluctuation, exposed to the various caprices of writers, who, having abandoned the rich and full-flowing melody of the old metres, were severally anxious to substitute in their stead their own crude inventions. Davyth ap Gwilym was among the very few that rose superior to the prejudices and disadvantages of the age; and he had the peculiar honour of establishing a style of versification which has become a model to all succeeding bards. He is likewise supposed to have introduced the Cywydd, a species of composition that has since his time been constantly adopted in Wales.
​Independent of Davyth ap Gwilym’s general merits as a poet, there is one characteristic of his versification worthy of particular notice, connected as it is in an essential manner with the genius of the Welsh tongue, and the singular structure of Welsh verse. I mean the remarkable felicity with which he generally adapts the diction to the immediate subject. Pre-eminent as the advantages are, which his materials afforded in this respect, he has availed himself of them with an effect hardly conceivable, and not to be adequately explained to one unacquainted with the Welsh language. Thus, nothing can exceed, in harmonious sweetness, some of his love-poems; while in instances of another nature, as in his description of a thunder-storm, the sound is accommodated to the sense with an appalling fidelity. Few equally successful attempts of a similar kind are to be met with in the works of any poet, ancient or modern.
But it is not merely in the mechanism of his poetry that Davyth ap Gwilym excels. As monuments of his powerful and fertile imagination, and as pictures of the manners of the age and country in which he lived, his writings possess more commanding and permanent claims on our attention. So vividly do they reflect the prominent ideas and objects of his time, that, in the absence of historical evidence of the fact, we should feel no difficulty in referring their production to the fourteenth century.
In the time of Davyth ap Gwilym the principality ​had been, for nearly two centuries, under the sway of England; hence we are naturally led to expect a considerable similarity between the two countries in some respects—accompanied by a marked difference in others, arising from the preservation of those original customs of the Welsh people which had survived the conquest, and still continued to be observed, blended with several introductions of English refinement. Now this is precisely the idea of the principality that the writings of the bard are calculated to convey.
As the objects—whether of nature or of art—which then presented themselves to the attention, and the habits and opinions which then prevailed in Wales, may be regarded as the chief source of the imagery which occurs in his poems, a cursory view of this subject may, in some measure, enhance the interest of this volume.
Turning our attention first to those objects of attraction which were common to the recently united kingdoms, I may quote from Mr. Godwin’s Life of Chaucer an eloquent passage which is equally applicable to the Cambro-British bard and to his great contemporary, the father of English poetry.
“The adventures of romance and the tales of the minstrels were listened to by him with avidity. Tales of chivalry, of generous enterprise, and heroic adventure had a double interest with him, because he knew that when he went forth into the world, the men of whom he read, a race that is now extinct, would be the objects of his daily observation and intercourse. The whole world was then romantic, ​scenic, and sublime. The castle of the ancient baron—the magnificence of ecclesiastical edifices—the splendour of the tournament—the solemnity of religious worship, yet unstripped of any of its decorations—the troops of monks and friars devoted to the things of an invisible world—these were the objects that met the eye on every side. The mind of man was not yet broken down into a dull monotony.”
No doubt exists that all these, the more splendid characteristics of the age of chivalry, were daily before the eyes of the Welsh bard. The county of Glamorgan, in which he spent the greatest part of his life, was in his time studded with proud feudal castles, and superb ecclesiastical edifices in the finest style of architecture, many of which still excite admiration even in their ruins. In the hospitable mansion of his patron he appears to have enjoyed all the peculiar amusements of that festive period. In one of the earlier poems in this volume he thus describes his occupations at Ivor’s court:—
Honors great for me are stored, (If I live) from Ivor’s hand; Hound and huntsman at command, Daily banquet at his board, (Princely baron!) at the game With his piercing shafts to aim; And to let his falcons fly On the breezes of the sky.
The influence of the external splendours of the Roman Catholic church is not more apparent in the ​pages of Chaucer than in the remains of the Cambrian bard. Her doctrines, it is true, retained but a faint and wavering hold on his understanding, but her gorgeous and varied ceremonies supplied a fund of imagery that was highly acceptable to his imagination. Illustrations and similes drawn from the accompaniments of the worship of the Roman Catholic church are profusely scattered through his writings, and allusions to her rites pervade his poetry. But these ornaments are sometimes introduced with a tone of levity that sufficiently evinces how powerfully the fancy may be affected by showy pageants which leave the conscience and the heart untouched.
The fondness displayed by Davyth ap Gwilym for the embellishments of the church forms a singular contrast with the acrimony with which he so often assails her priesthood. In the one instance we see the taste of the poet, in the other we recognise the feelings of the man. It is highly interesting to observe that the bard’s fiercest invectives are directed against the eleemosynary clergy—the Franciscan and Dominican friars—who are also the object of Chaucer’s bitterest satire; and in a poem previously quoted it is observable that he appears to insinuate against these orders the same charges that are advanced by his contemporary—an abject devotion to the Romish See—and hypocritical professions of religion combined with the servile arts and low frauds of the common mendicant:—
With a false form of holy life, O’er all the wide world they are rife, False friars, &c.
Yet, notwithstanding the freedom with which the bard ridicules the immoral lives of the clergy, and the irreverence with which he occasionally treats even the rites of the church, I do not conceive that we are warranted in ascribing to him views of Christianity more enlightened than were generally entertained by the more intelligent part of his contemporaries. The fourteenth century, though signalized by the birth of Wicliffe,—whose doctrines were looked upon with no unfavourable eye by the bulk of the English nation,—was not an age in which many instances are recorded of a positive rejection of the doctrines, and a formal departure from the communion of the church of Rome. This period is remarkable rather as the era of the first awakening of the human mind, which exhibited itself in a certain vague hostility to the pretensions of the Romish see, rather than in any clear and consistent objections to its authority. The great majority even of the learned, though they had become in some measure sensible of the thraldom in which they had been so long held, had not yet acquired courage to throw off the yoke. Hence it is, that we often perceive in the literary remains of those days, that strange mixture of satire and superstition which is ​so prominent a feature of the ecclesiastical allusions of Davyth ap Gwilym. In this respect, also, he bears a close resemblance to Chaucer. In their religious sentiments both these poets are in fact to be regarded rather as representatives of the views of the more enlightened men of their age, than in the light of original and independent thinkers. I may here remark that the similarity that so frequently occurs between the ideas and imagery of the Cambrian bard and the great father of English poetry, constitutes one of the chief attractions of the remains of Davyth ap Gwilym.
I shall now briefly notice those objects and customs peculiar to his native principality by which the genius of the bard must have been chiefly influenced.
In the habits of the Welsh bard of those days there was much that tended to improve and elevate the mind, and to enrich the fancy. The privilege he enjoyed of roving from mansion to mansion familiarized him with all the most romantic features of his beautiful native country; while the hospitable reception that he everywhere experienced, enlarged his knowledge of life and manners, and frequently brought him into the society of the most distinguished men of his time and country. The beneficial influence of this continual change of scene is very perceptible in the productions of our bard, whose excitable mind appears to have been thus repeatedly roused and invigorated. Without the animating spur of novelty, Davyth ap Gwilym, like ​many other men of genius, might often have sunk into despondency under the monotonous influence of a common-place existence. We have every reason to believe that the spirit-stirring and adventurous life which he led was highly propitious to the development of his energies; most of his finest poems were evidently suggested by some novel scene or situation, and often by localities in a part of Wales very remote from his ordinary residence.
But Dayyth ap Gwilym was indebted not only to the scenery and habits of his country: he undoubtedly owed much to her ancient literature. The rude but energetic lays of her elder bards—her mystical but interesting legends—and the records of the gallant deeds of her heroic kings—seem to have been deeply impressed on his memory, and to have furnished him with many a happy illustration, and many a fanciful embellishment.
Of Davyth ap Gwilym’s accomplishments it is difficult to speak with certainty. His productions supply some proof of his having participated at least in the learning which that age was qualified to impart. Allusions to classical personages occur occasionally in his poems, and he frequently professes to have made the works of Ovid his study. With these attainments he united the national accomplishment of playing on the harp, which he appears to have learnt at an early age from his uncle Llywelyn ap Gwilym; and from one of his poems it is to be inferred that he delighted to contribute in this manner to the amusement of his female acquaintance.
The character of Davyth ap Gwilym has been ​variously represented. From some of his writings we are in the first instance inclined to attribute to him a peculiar levity and recklessness of disposition; and undoubtedly some of his productions contain allusions repugnant to the decorous moral feeling of the present day. Some accounts, however, ascribe to him qualities of a very different description, and represent him as remarkably distinguished for the regularity of his conduct, his sobriety and gentle manners, and, above all, by an extreme reserve in conversation. Judging from an attentive perusal of the works of the bard, I cannot help believing that the favourable picture is the correct one. Compared to the generality of the productions of that time—those of Chaucer for example—the writings of Davyth ap Gwilym certainly do not present many coarse and objectionable passages, and these may with more propriety be imputed to the rude taste of a half-civilized age, than to moral depravity in the poet. To form a fair and just decision, we should balance against these scanty blemishes the grander features of his poetry—his constant and touching attachment to the lady of his love—his fervent gratitude to his patron—his patriotic veneration of the country of his benefactors—the generous warmth and playful kindness of disposition that break forth even in the wildest flights of his humour, and the most daring flights of his imagination—these, it must be remembered, are features not more characteristic of the genius of the poet than indicative of the heart of the man!
As before observed, Davyth ap Gwilym has been ​compared to Petrarch; and no doubt his personal history bears in one respect a strong and interesting resemblance to that of the Italian poet. But in all the peculiarities of his genius, our bard approaches more nearly to Burns than to any poet, whether of his own or other countries. He has the same originality, the same intense sympathy with nature, and, above all, the same magic transitions from satire and raillery to wild sublimity and deep pathos.
* ↑ For the materials of the following Life of Davyth ap Gwilym we are entirely indebted to the ingenuity and research of Dr. William Owen Pughe; they were first published by him in 1789, in the form of a biographical sketch prefixed to the original poems. In the present arrangement of them, I have for the most part adopted the memoir published by Mr. Humphreys Parry, in his Cambrian Plutarch. I may here remark, that in spelling many Welsh names, such as ‘Morfydd Gwyn ab Nudd,’ &c.—‘Morvyth Gwyn ap Neath’ (according to the English mode of orthography), I have not been influenced by any disposition to build theories, but solely by the wish to convey to the English reader, for whom, in fact, these translations are intended, the sound of these names. By adhering to the Welsh style of spelling, I should have left him without any idea of the sound of these appellations, and thereby, in many instances, have given him false notions of the metre and the rhyme.
* ↑ ‘Awen,’ the term applied to the poetical inspiration of the bards.
* ↑ The ground on which it has been contended that the poet was a native of Anglesea is, that there was a house called Bro Gynin in that island; but it is plain that Bro Gynin, in South Wales, must be the place of his birth, for, in many passages of his works, he calls himself a native of Bro Gadell, or the ‘Country of Cadell.’ Now this term is a poetical appellation for South Wales; Rodri, king of Wales, having, in 877, divided the principality amongst his sons, when South Wales fell to the share of his son Cadell.
* ↑ ‘Brydydd a’ i gywydd fal gwin.’
* ↑ “These llwythau or tribes were the nobility of North Wales. They commenced extremely early, and at different times were lords of distinct districts, and called to that honour by several princes. The latest were about the time of Davydd ap Owen Gwynedd, who began his reign in 1169. We are left ignorant of the form by which they were called to this rank. All we know is, that each of them enjoyed some office in the court of our princes, which seems to have been hereditary, and probably attendant on the honour.”—Pennant’s Tour in North Wales.
* ↑ Ivor Hael was, by both parents, of a noble lineage: by his mother’s side he was descended from Rhys ab Tewdwr. He was the owner of several houses in South Wales, one of which, the old mansion of Gwenalt in Monmouthshire, was lately, if it be not still, in existence. The house, that was the usual residence of our poet, has long been in ruins. The Rev. Evan Evans, author of Dissertatio de Bardis, has made it the theme of his muse in the following couplet:— “Y llwybran gynt lle bu’r gân Yw lleoedd y ddylluan.” Lo! now the moping owlets haunt Where erst was heard the muse’s chaunt. Ivor is numbered among the ancestors of the family of Tredagar.
* ↑ It seems most probable that she had not actually become a nun, but was merely an inmate in the nunnery.
* ↑ Probably the abbess is meant.
* ↑ This lady, the chief object of the poet’s love and songs, will be mentioned hereafter. Anglesea was her native county, and it is perhaps for that reason that he calls the nuns her sisters.
* ↑ ‘Clochyddes,’ an office in the Roman Catholic service.
* ↑ Poetical inspiration.
* ↑ ‘Davyth ap Gwilym’s Poems,’ No. 125, at the conclusion, and also the poem immediately preceding it, by Gruffydd Grug.
* ↑ This description of the bard’s person is in accordance with one which he puts into the mouth of an apparition who appears to warn him of his approaching death, See the poem entitled ‘The Spirit.’
* ↑ See the poem No. 88— ‘Na phair ddyn deg, waneg wedd, Grogi Dillyn y gwragedd!’ See also Nos. 103 and 158.
* ↑ The poems to Dyddgu now extant are seven in number, from No. 14 to 20 inclusive, in the original.
* ↑ Godwin’s Life of Chaucer, vol. ii. p. 493.
* ↑ It is supposed that Cynfrig Cynin, or Bwa Bach, lived at Brynllîn in Meirion.
* ↑ The poems No. 70 to 75 treat of this event.
* ↑ The bard seldom failed to introduce the Bwa Bach into all his poems to Morvyth after this event, particularly from No. 76 to No. 90, wherein he is placed in many ludicrous situations, and several humorous adventures are related; but it would retard our progress too much in this sketch to notice them all. Indeed the bard seems to have been so delighted with ridiculing his rival, as partly to forget his own loss, and to amuse himself by laughing even at his lost spouse. As she and Hunchback passed him by chance on horseback, on the banks of the Wye, he made a pretence of drowning himself. See No. 74.
* ↑ See No. 80, 81, and 82.
* ↑ See the Poems No. 88 and 92.
* ↑ ‘A ae ef â hi a druted fuasai iddo?’—‘Af (eb ef) yn enw Duw a gwyr Morganwg!’—David Jones o Lanfair’s Collection of British Poetry, p. 164.
* ↑ ‘Eos Dyfed,’ an appellation by which our bard was often distinguished by his countrymen.
* ↑ Y bardd oedd ar dro ymhlith ei gyfeillion mewn Gwindy, lle daeth cwsg yn orthrwm arno; a hwythau, drwy y cyfleusdra hwnnw, á dynasant ei ysgor cyfrif o’i amner, a bwriasant eu hysgor eu hunain yn ei le, i fod yn attebol am y gwin à yfesynt. Yntau wrth ddeffro á ddeallodd à ddamweiniasau, ac eb ef wrthynt— Hyllais pan welais, hyllwyr ofer!—faith Fyth rygnbren i’m hamner: Hoyw fydd gwin gloyw gan glêr, A chwerw, poen dielw, pan daler!
* ↑ Madog Benfras, of Maelor, was the son of Gruffydd ab Jorwerth ab Einion Goch o Sonlli, ab Jeuaf ab Llywarch ab Nyniaw ab Cynwrig ab Rhiwallon ab Dingad ab Tudur Trefor, earl of Hereford. ‘Ar ol rhoi o’r ail rhiain I Fadog het fedw cain, Gwen á roes o gae, ni rydd Hyd efell o gae Dafydd.’ Dafydd ab Edmwnt, 1460.
* ↑ His mother was an Irishwoman,—‘Gwyddelyn march cregyn cryg’.—Iolo Goch.
* ↑ David Jones of Lanfair had seen twenty-two of these poems.—Coll. Brit. Poetry, p. 164.
* ↑ David Jones of Lanfair’s Coll. Brit. Poetry, p. 173.
* ↑ The poem, No. 79, addressed to St. Dwynwen, is an admirable satire on the invocation of saints. In it the bard prays that this female saint would be his Llatai to procure him a meeting with Morvyth.
* ↑ See the Poems Nos. 64, 149, 154, 217, 224,.
* ↑ No. 245.
* ↑ No. 232.
* ↑ Tri Thrwyddedog ac anfoddog Llys Arthur.
* ↑ The bard often expressed his gratitude for the generous contribution raised for him by the men of Glamorgan; and the poems No. 93 and 11 of the original were composed particularly on the occasion.
* ↑ No. 246 of the Poems.
* ↑ See the Poems, No. 64, 149, 154, 217, 224.
* ↑ No. 245 of the Poems.
* ↑ In the original ‘Eos Teivi:’ Eos Dyved, however, or the Demetian Nightingale, was the designation by which our bard was frequently known. The following is the epitaph, of which a translation is here given:— ‘Davydd, gwiw awenydd gwrdd,’ Ai yma’th roed dan goed gwyrdd? Dan laspren hoyw ywen hardd, Lle ’i claddwyd, y cuddiwyd cerdd. ‘Glas dew ywen, glân Eos—Deivi, Mae Davydd yn agos! Yn y pridd mae’r gerdd ddiddos; Diddawn in’ bob dydd a nos!’
* ↑ The poets here alluded to were Iolo Goch, Madog Benvras, and Gruffydd Grug.
* ↑ The following remarks have, for the most part, been added by the translator.
* ↑ See page 4.
* ↑ See the poem, p. 432. The object of his attack in that production must have been a Dominican friar, for he calls him, in line 39, ‘Ffriw Sain Dominig.’ He terms the friar ‘an old crow, always flying with his face towards heaven,’ ‘a brazen bell that incessantly pesters you with its noise,’ &c.