WHILE our hero was thus pursuing his vagaries, the unhappy lady of Ystrad Fîn, who had not known a day’s peace since his absence, was daily wavering between a resolution to send for him back, to bestow on him her hand, and a deference for her father and proud relatives, who insisted that if ever she married again, it should only be to a title and fortune; by which they should themselves share in the honor. In the mean time information was brought to her, of his wild tricks and excesses, greatly exaggerated to his disadvantage, which gave that kind-hearted lady the greatest concern, as she conceived herself in part the authoress of his misfortunes. Twm, at the same time, felt that his tedious absence from the fair widow was no longer to be endured; and as he knew her conduct to be daily watched by her father’s spies, he determined on paying her a visit in disguise. Previous to putting his design into execution, he composed and sent her the following poem, in which he dwells on, and over-rates his own misfortunes, in a strain calculated to move her tenderness in his favor. CYWYDD Y GOVID. {208} The outcast’s forced ally is mine, Affliction is his name; It is a ruthless savage mate, And like a foe that’s pale with hate, To crush me is his aim: His cruel shafts are fiercely hurl’d, He forced me friendless on the world. If forward, seeking good, I wend, My eager steps out-strips the fiend; If backward, I retreat from ill, My cruel foe arrests me still; I seek the flood, to end despair. Relentless Govid meets me there, And tells of endless pangs for pride, The wages of the suicide. Fell Govid’s mighty in the land, His children are a horrid band, Who joy in hapless man’s distress, Lo, one is Debt—one Nakedness;— And Need against me doth combine, (Fierce Govid’s loveless concubine); And Care, that knows not how to yearn, Is Govid’s consort, keen and stern: And thus this family of ill, E’er bruise my heart and bruise my will. Though lost to me the tranquil day, My vanquisher I hope to slay, The fierce enormous giant fiend No more the heart of Twm shall rend, If thou, my lady-love! but smile, Thou gentle fair, devoid of guile— Thou darling object of my choice, Oh bless me with assentive voice, And soon shall Govid lay his length, A corse! struck down by Rapture’s strength.