Many of the allusions of this poem will perhaps never be explained. We know no better than the “leaders of literature” whom the vainglorious Taliesin taunted with their ignorance and lack of spirit in what hour Cwy was born, or even who he was, much less who prevented him from going to the dales of Devwy, wherever they may have been. We are in the dark as much as they were with regard to the significance of the brindled ox with the broad head-band, and of the other animal with the silver head.[384] But the earlier portion of the poem is, fortunately, clearer, and it gives glimpses of a grandeur of savage imagination. The strong-doored, foursquare fortress of glass, manned by its dumb, ghostly sentinels, spun round in never-ceasing revolution, so that few could find its entrance; it was pitch-dark save for the twilight made by the lamp burning before its circling gate; feasting went on there, and revelry, and in its centre, choicest of its many riches, was the pearl-rimmed cauldron of poetry and inspiration, kept bubbling by the breaths of nine British pythonesses, so that it might give forth its oracles. To this scanty information we may add a few lines, also by Taliesin, and contained in a poem called “A Song Concerning the Sons of Llyr ab Brochwel Powys”:— “Perfect is my chair in Caer Sidi: Plague and age hurt not him who’s in it— They know, Manawyddan and Pryderi. Three organs round a fire sing before it, And about its points are ocean’s streams And the abundant well above it— Sweeter than white wine the drink in it.”[385] Little is, however, added by it to our knowledge. It reminds us that Annwn was surrounded by the sea—“the heavy blue chain” which held Gweir so firmly;—it informs us that the “bright wine” which was “the drink of the host” was kept in a well; it adds to the revelry the singing of the three organs; it makes a point that its inhabitants were freed from age and death; and, last of all, it shows us, as we might have expected, the ubiquitous Taliesin as a privileged resident of this delightful region. We have two clues as to where the country may have been situated. Lundy Island, off the coast of Devonshire, was anciently called _Ynys Wair_, the “Island of Gweir”, or Gwydion. The Welsh translation of the _Seint Greal_, an Anglo-Norman romance embodying much of the old mythology, locates its “Turning Castle”—evidently the same as Caer Sidi—in the district around and comprising Puffin Island off the coast of Anglesey.[386] But these are slender threads by which to tether to firm ground a realm of the imagination.