Chester ale, Chester ale! I could ne’er get it down,
’Tis made of ground-ivy, of dirt, and of bran,
’Tis as thick as a river below a huge town!
’Tis not lap for a dog, far less drink for a man.

II.

Gone, gone are thy gates, Dinas Bran on the height!
Thy warders are blood-crows and ravens, I trow;
Now no one will wend from the field of the fight
To the fortress on high, save the raven and crow.

III.

Here, after sailing far, I, Madoc, lie,
Of Owain Gwynedd lawful progeny:
The verdant land had little charms for me;
From earliest youth I loved the dark-blue sea.
God in his head the Muse instill’d,
And from his head the world he fill’d.

IV. EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH WILLIAMS.

Though thou art gone to dwelling cold,
To lie in mould for many a year,
Thou shalt, at length, from earthy bed,
Uplift thy head to blissful sphere.

V. THE LAST JOURNEY. From Huw Morus.

Now to my rest I hurry away,
To the world which lasts for ever and aye,
To Paradise, the beautiful place,
Trusting alone in the Lord of Grace.

VI. THE FOUR AND TWENTY MEASURES. From Edward Price.

I’ve read the master-pieces great
Of languages no less than eight,
But ne’er have found a woof of song
So strict as that of Cambria’s tongue.

VII. MONA. By Robert Lleiaf.

Av i dir Mon, er dwr Menai,
Tros y traeth, ond aros trai.

I will go to the land of Mona, notwithstanding the water of the Menai, across the sand, without waiting for the ebb.

VIII. MONA. From “Y Greal.”

I got up in Mona as soon as ’twas light,
At nine in old Chester my breakfast I took;
In Ireland I dined, and in Mona, ere night,
By the turf fire sat, in my own ingle nook.

IX. ERYRI.

Easy to say, “Behold Eryri!”
But difficult to reach its head;
Easy for him whose hopes are cheery
To bid the wretch be comforted.

X. ERYRI. From Goronwy Owen.

Ail i’r ar ael Eryri,
Cyfartal hoewal a hi.

The brow of Snowdon shall be levelled with the ground, and the eddying waters shall murmur round it.

XI. ELLEN. From Goronwy Owen.

Ellen, my darling,
Who liest in the churchyard of Walton.

XII. MON. From the Ode by Robin Ddu.

Bread of the wholesomest is found
In my mother-land of Anglesey;
Friendly bounteous men abound
In Penmynnydd of Anglesey. . . .

Twelve sober men the muses woo,
Twelve sober men in Anglesey,
Dwelling at home, like patriots true,
In reverence for Anglesey. . .

Though Arvon graduate bards can boast,
Yet more canst thou, O Anglesey.

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.

XVII. THE SATIRIST. From Gruffydd Hiraethog.

He who satire loves to sing,
On himself will satire bring.

XVIII. ON GRUFFYDD HIRAETHOG. From William Lleyn.

In Eden’s grove from Adam’s mouth
Upsprang a muse of noble growth;
So from thy grave, O poet wise,
Cross Consonancy’s boughs shall rise.

XIX. LLANGOLLEN ALE. (George Borrow).

Llangollen’s brown ale is with malt and hop rife;
’Tis good; but don’t quaff it from evening till dawn;
For too much of that ale will incline you to strife;
Too much of that ale has caused knives to be drawn.

XX. TOM EVANS alias Twm o’r Nant. By Twm Tai.

Tom Evan’s the lad for hunting up songs,
Tom Evan to whom the best learning belongs;
Betwixt his two pasteboards he verses has got,
Sufficient to fill the whole country, I wot.

XXI. ENGLYN ON A WATERFALL.

Foaming and frothing from mountainous height,
Roaring like thunder the Rhyadr falls;
Though its silvery splendour the eye may delight,
Its fury the heart of the bravest appals.

XXII. DAVID GAM. Attributed to Owain Glyndower.

Shouldst thou a little red man descry
Asking about his dwelling fair,
Tell him it under the bank doth lie,
And its brow the mark of the coal doth bear.

XXIII. LLAWDDEN. From Lewis Meredith.

Whilst fair Machynlleth decks thy quiet plain,
Conjoined with it shall Lawdden’s name remain.

XXIV. TWM O’R NANT.

Tom O Nant is a nickname I’ve got,
My name’s Thomas Edwards, I wot.

XXV. SEVERN AND WYE.

O pleasantly do glide along the Severn and the Wye;
But Rheidol’s rough, and yet he’s held by all in honour high.

XXVI. GLAMORGAN. From Dafydd ab Gwilym.

If every strand oppression strong
Should arm against the son of song,
The weary wight would find, I ween,
A welcome in Glamorgan green.

XXVII. DAFYDD AB GWILYM. From Iolo Goch (?).

To Heaven’s high peace let him depart,
And with him go the minstrel art.

XXVIII. TO THE YEW TREE on the Grave of Dafydd ab Gwilym at Ystrad Flur. After Gruffydd Grug.

Thou noble tree; who shelt’rest kind
The dead man’s house from winter’s wind:
May lightnings never lay thee low,
Nor archer cut from thee his bow;
Nor Crispin peel thee pegs to frame,
But may thou ever bloom the same,
A noble tree the grave to guard
Of Cambria’s most illustrious bard!
O tree of yew, which here I spy,
By Ystrad Flur’s blest monast’ry,
Beneath thee lies, by cold Death bound,
The tongue for sweetness once renown’d.

* * *

Better for thee thy boughs to wave,
Though scath’d, above Ab Gwilym’s grave,
Than stand in pristine glory drest
Where some ignobler bard doth rest;
I’d rather hear a taunting rhyme
From one who’ll live through endless time,
Than hear my praises chanted loud
By poets of the vulgar crowd.

XXIX. HU GADARN. From Iolo Goch.

The Mighty Hu who lives for ever,
Of mead and wine to men the giver,
The emperor of land and sea,
And of all things that living be,
Did hold a plough with his good hand,
Soon as the Deluge left the land,
To show to men both strong and weak,
The haughty-hearted and the meek,
Of all the arts the heaven below
The noblest is to guide the plough.

XXX. EPITAPH.

Thou earth from earth reflect with anxious mind
That earth to earth must quickly be consigned,
And earth in earth must lie entranced, enthralled,
Till earth from earth to judgment shall be called.

XXXI. GOD’S BETTER THAN ALL.
By Vicar Pritchard of Llandovery.

God’s better than heaven or aught therein,
Than the earth or aught we there can win,
Better than the world or its wealth to me—
God’s better than all that is or can be.

Better than father, than mother, than nurse,
Better than riches, oft proving a curse,
Better than Martha or Mary even—
Better by far is the God of heaven.

If God for thy portion thou hast ta’en
There’s Christ to support thee in every pain,
The world to respect thee thou wilt gain,
To fear the fiend and all his train.

Of the best of portions thou choice didst make
When thou the high God to thyself didst take,
A portion which none from thy grasp can rend
Whilst the sun and the moon on their course shall wend.

When the sun grows dark and the moon turns red,
When the stars shall drop and millions dread,
When the earth shall vanish with its pomps in fire,
Thy portion still shall remain entire.

Then let not thy heart though distressed, complain!
A hold on thy portion firm maintain.
Thou didst choose the best portion, again I say—
Resign it not till thy dying day.

XXXII. THE SUN IN GLAMORGAN.
From Dafydd ab Gwilym.

Each morn, benign of countenance,
Upon Glamorgan’s pennon glance!
Each afternoon in beauty clear
Above my own dear bounds appear!
Bright outline of a blessed clime,
Again, though sunk, arise sublime—
Upon my errand, swift repair,
And unto green Glamorgan bear
Good days and terms of courtesy
From my dear country and from me!
Move round—but need I thee command?—
Its chalk-white halls, which cheerful stand—
Pleasant thy own pavilions too—
Its fields and orchards fair to view.

O, pleasant is thy task and high
In radiant warmth to roam the sky,
To keep from ill that kindly ground,
Its meads and farms, where mead is found,
A land whose commons live content,
Where each man’s lot is excellent.
Where hosts to hail thee shall upstand,
Where lads are bold and lasses bland;
A land I oft from hill that’s high
Have gazed upon with raptur’d eye;

Where maids are trained in virtue’s school,
Where duteous wives spin dainty wool;
A country with each gift supplied,
Confronting Cornwall’s cliffs of pride.