To this period belong the greatest monuments of Welsh genius—_The Four Ancient Books of Wales_, and the wonderful cycle of romance treasured for us in the Mabinogion, besides those numerous compositions traditionally attributed to Taliessin, Myrddinn, and others. Chronicles, romances, poems, mabinogion, and a large collection of moral and historical triads—these constitute the result of that extraordinary outburst of creative energy which dates from the days of Gruffyd ap Kynan. Nor was Brittany asleep during this literary activity, for she too had her share in common with Wales in the origin and dissemination of the Arthurian romance. It is one of the problems of criticism to-day, rightly to apportion the credit between the two countries. Robert Wace undoubtedly drew from independent Breton sources as well as from Geoffrey of Monmouth. And from the eleventh century onwards date the historic and narrative ballads so characteristic of Brittany. A selection of these have been translated into English by Mr. Taylor, and all of those he gives came into existence, he assures us, before the end of the fourteenth century. So we have such medieval titles as, “The Evil Tribute of Nomenöe,” “Bran,” “The Return from Saxon-land,” “The Crusader’s Wife,” “The Clerk of Rohan,” “Baron Jauïoz,” “The Battle of the Thirty,” “Jean of the Flame,” “Du Guesclin’s Vassal,” and “The Wedding Girdle”—titles not unlike Chaucer’s own. Bran, the hero of the second ballad, is believed to have been taken prisoner in the great battle recorded in history as having been fought in the tenth century near Kerloän, between the Norsemen and the Bretons, under Ewen the Great. Sore wounded lies the good knight Bran On the foughten field of Kerloän. On Kerloän’s field, hard by the shore, Lieth the grandson of Bran-Vor. Maugre our Bretons won the day, He’s bound and o’er sea borne away. Borne over sea, shut up, alone, In Donjon tower he made his moan. Bran dies in captivity. On the battlefield of Kerloän There grows a tree looks o’er the lan’; There grows an oak in the place of stour, (_i.e._ battle) Where the Saxon fled from Ewen-Vor. Upon this oak, when the moon shines bright, The birds they gather from the night. Sea-mews, pied-black and white are there On every forehead a bloodspeck clear. With them a corbie, ashgrey for eld And a young crow[31] aye at her side beheld. Wayworn seem the twain, with wings that dreep, As birds that flight o’er sea must keep. So sweetly sing these birds, and clear, The great sea stills its waves to hear. And aye their songs one burden hold All save the young crow’s and the corbie’s old. And this is ever the crow’s sore cry, “Sing, little birds, sing merrily.”