Chapter 19 - Page 2

language of some of these is so antiquated, that the best
scholars differ about the interpretation of many passages; but,
generally speaking, the body of poetry which the Welsh possess, from
the year 1000 downwards, is intelligible to those who are acquainted
with the modern language.
Till within the last half-century these compositions remained buried
in the libraries of colleges or of individuals, and so difficult of
access that no successful attempt was made to give them to the
world. This reproach was removed, after ineffectual appeals to the
patriotism of the gentry of Wales, by Owen Jones, a furrier of London,
who at his own expense collected and published the chief productions
of Welsh literature, under the title of the Myvyrian Archaeology of
Wales. In this task he was assisted by Dr. Owen and other Welsh
scholars.
After the cessation of Jones's exertions, the old apathy returned,
and continued till within a few years. Dr. Owen exerted himself to
obtain support for the publication of the Mabinogeon, or Prose Tales
of the Welsh, but died without accomplishing his purpose, which has
since been carried into execution by Lady Charlotte Guest. The legends
which fill the remainder of this volume are taken from this work, of
which we have already spoken more fully in the introductory chapter to
the First Part. THE WELSH BARDS. The authors to whom the oldest Welsh poems are attributed are
Aneurin, who is supposed to have lived A.D. 500 and 550, and Taliesin,
Llywarch Hen (Llywarch the Aged), and Myrddin or Merlin, who were a
few years later. The authenticity of the poems which bear their
names has been assailed, and it is still an open question how many and
which of them are authentic, though it is hardly to be doubted that
some are so. The poem of Aneurin, entitled the "Gododin," bears very
strong marks of authenticity. Aneurin was one of the Northern
Britons of Strath-Clyde, who have left to that part of the district
they inhabited the name of Cumberland, or Land of the Cymri. In this
poem he laments the defeat of his countrymen by the Saxons at the
battle of Cattraeth, in consequence of having partaken too freely of
the mead before joining in combat. The bard himself and two of his
fellow-warriors were all who escaped from the field. A portion of this
poem has been translated by Gray, of which the following is an
extract:- "To Cattraeth's vale, in glittering row,
Twice two hundred warriors go;
Every warrior's manly neck
Chains of regal honor deck,
Wreathed in many a golden link;
From the golden cup they drink
Nectar that the bees produce,
Or the grape's exalted juice.
Flushed with mirth and hope they burn,
But none to Cattraeth's vale return,
Save Aeron brave, and Conan