‘Llywelyn of the potent hand oft wrought Trouble upon the kings and consternation; When he with the Lloegrain monarch fought, Whose cry was “Devastation!” Forward impetuously his squadrons ran; Great was the tumult ere the shoot began; Proud was the hero of his reeking glaive, Proud of their numbers were his followers brave. {25a} O then were heard resounding o’er the fields The clash of faulchions and the crash of shields! Many the wounds in yonder fight receiv’d! Many the warriors of their lives bereaved! The battle rages till our foes recoil Behind the Dike which Offa built with toil. Bloody their foreheads, gash’d with many a blow, Blood streaming down their quaking knees below. Llywelyn we as our high chief obey, To fair Porth Ysgewin extends his sway; For regal virtues and for princely line He towers above imperial Constantine.’ Dafydd ab Gwilym was born at Bro Gynan, in Cardiganshire, in 1293, about forty years after the whole of Wales had been subjected to the sway of England. He was the Ovid of Wales, the poet of love and nature. In his early years he was very dissipated, but towards the latter part of his life became religious. He died at the age of sixty-three, and was buried within the precincts of the great monastery of Strata Florida. {25b} Such was the power of his genius, that the generality of the poets who succeeded him for the next four hundred years were more or less his imitators. Iolo Goch, or Red Julius, whose real name was Llwyd, was the bard of Owen Glendower, and, amongst other pieces, composed a graphic ode on his patron’s mansion at Sycharth, and the manner of life there:— ‘Its likeness now I’ll limn you out: ’Tis water-girdled wide about; It shows a wide and stately door, Reach’d by a bridge the water o’er; ’Tis formed of buildings coupled fair— Coupled is every couple there; Within a quadrate structure tall Muster the merry pleasures all; Conjointly are the angles bound, No flaw in all the place is found. Structures in contact meet the eye Upon the hillock’s top on high; Into each other fasten’d they The form of a hard knot display. There dwells the chief we all extol In timber house on lightsome knoll; Upon four wooden columns proud Mounteth his mansion to the cloud. Each column’s thick and firmly bas’d, And upon each a loft is plac’d; In those four lofts, which coupled stand, Repose at night the minstrel band. Four lofts they were in pristine state, But now partition’d form they eight. Tiled is the roof. On each house-top Rise smoke-ejecting chimneys up. All of one form there are nine halls, Each with nine wardrobes in its walls, With linen white as well supplied As fairest shops of fam’d Cheapside. * * * * *