The Welsh language is possessed of numerous beauties. Its copiousness is very great; and it has no rival in the variety of its synonymous forms of expression, principally arising from the rich combinations of its verbs; for every simple verb has about twenty modifications, by means of qualifying prefixes; and in every form it may be conjugated, either by inflexions, like the Latin, or by the auxiliaries, as in English. It rivals the Greek, in its aptitude to form the most beautiful derivatives, as well as in the elegance, facility, and expressiveness of an infinite variety of compounds. The author of letters from Snowdon has justly remarked, that it has the softness and harmony of the Italian, with the majesty and expression of the Greek. Of these I will give two singular and striking instances, one of which is an _Englyn_, or epigram on the silk-worm; composed entirely of vowels. O’i wiw y ŵi weu ê â, a’i weuau O’i ŵyau y weua; E’ weua ei ŵe aia’, A’i weuau yw ieuau iâ. “I perish by my art; dig mine own grave: I spin my thread of life; my death I weave.” The other a distich on thunder, the grandeur of which is scarcely to be surpassed in any language. Tân a dŵr yn ymwriaw, Yw’r taranau dreigiau draw. “The roaring thunder, dreadful in its ire, Its water warring with aërial fire.” The metre of the Welsh poetry is very artificial and alliterative, possessing such peculiar ingenuity in the selection and arrangement of words, as to produce a rhythmical concatenation of sounds in every verse. The old British language abounded with consonants, and was formed of monosyllables, which are incompatible with quantity; and the bards could reduce it to concord by no other means than by placing at such intervals its harsher consonants, so intermixing them with vowels, and so adapting, repeating, and dividing the several sounds, as to produce an agreeable effect from their structure. Hence the laws of poetical composition in this language are so strict and rigorous, that were it not for a particular aptitude that it has for that kind of alliterative melody, which is as essential as harmony in music, and which constitutes the great beauty of its poetry, the genius of the bard must have been greatly cramped. To the ears of the natives, the Welsh metre is extremely pleasing, and does not subject the bard to more restraint than the different sorts of feet occasioned to the Greek and Roman poets. From the reign of Llywelyn to that of Elizabeth, the laws of alliteration were prescribed, and observed with such scrupulous exactness, that a line not perfectly alliterative was condemned as much by the Welsh grammarians, as a false quantity was by the Greeks and Romans. [Picture: Map of South Wales] THE CAMBRIAN TOURIST. These are the haunts of Meditation, these The scenes where ancient bards th’ inspiring breath Ecstatic felt.