Translations into English Verse from the Poems of Davyth ap Gwilym

Front matter

INTO ENGLISH VERSE

FROM THE

POEMS OF DAVYTH AP GWILYM,

Sketch

OF THE

LIFE OF DAVYTH AP GWILYM.

One of the most remarkable consequences of the conquest of Wales by Edward I. was the depression of that lofty poetical spirit which had previously distinguished the Welsh nation. Before that event the Cambro-British bards appear to have devoted their genius to the grand theme of national independence. Habituated to regard the martial spirit of their countrymen as the only bulwark against foreign oppression, they naturally selected the single virtue of military prowess as the great subject of their eulogy and their songs. Hence it was, that with the destruction of their country’s freedom, they appear to have lost the only object of their art and the sole source of their inspiration; and nearly a century elapsed before we find any symptoms of its reviving influence. To this result other causes must have powerfully contributed: the jealous policy of the English authorities, by whom the bards were justly viewed as the great promoters of a spirit of independence among the people; the fanaticism of the mendicant friars, who appear to have denounced many of the refinements and amusements of life as at variance with Christianity; and, above all, that general feeling of fear and despondency, which always pervades a recently subjugated nation, and destroys all sympathy with the joyous songs of the minstrel.

About the middle of the fourteenth century the poetical genius of the Welsh began to break forth anew, but with its characteristics essentially changed; both in sentiment and style, the ‘Awen’ of the bards had undergone a complete revolution. We no longer meet in their works with those warlike scenes, and those songs in praise of the heroes of their country, which occur so often in the poems of their predecessors. The Welsh minstrel was now content to tune his harp to themes of love and social festivity; and sportive allusions to objects of nature, and to the picturesque manners of that interesting period, were made to supply the place of lays in celebration of martial achievements. Whatever may have been lost in fire and sublimity by this transition was perhaps more than compensated by the superior polish, vivacity, and imaginativeness, which distinguish the bards of the new school. The dawn of the epoch here noticed was signalized by the birth of Davyth ap Gwilym, on whom the appellation of the Petrarch of Wales has, with some degree of propriety, been bestowed.

A full and authentic history of the life of Davyth ap Gwilym would be a great literary treasure; not only would it throw much light upon the poetry and manners of his age, it would no doubt add to our historical knowledge. Unhappily, however, the only materials extant for such a work, consist of a few traditionary anecdotes preserved in manuscript, and the allusions to his personal history contained in the bard’s own poems. The exact year of his birth is involved in obscurity, but we possess data from which it may be conclusively established that he began and ended his days within the fourteenth century. Even the spot of his nativity has furnished food for controversy; and our bard may be numbered among the men of genius whose birth-place has been a subject of patriotic rivalry; accordingly, on one hand we find the island of Anglesea strenuously laying claim to this honour, while on the other it appears to be satisfactorily proved that the poet first saw the light (about the year 1340), at a place called Bro Gynin, in the parish of Llanbadarn Vawr, in the county of Cardigan. It is recorded in an old poem which has been handed down to us that Taliesin, the most celebrated of the ancient Welsh bards, foretold the honour that awaited this spot, in being the birth-place of a minstrel whose song would be ‘as the sweetness of wine.’

Davyth ap Gwilym was of noble origin. On the paternal side he was allied to some of the most illustrious families of North Wales; his father, Gwilym Gam, being a descendant of Llywarch ab Bran, head of one of ‘the fifteen tribes’ who composed the aristocracy of that division of Wales, and related by marriage to Owain Gwynedd, a monarch no less distinguished as a patron of genius than by the valour and sagacity with which he protected the liberties of his country against the ambitious projects of Henry II. On his mother’s side the poet was connected with the Magnates of the southern division of the principality; his mother, Ardudvul, being the sister of Llywelyn ab Gwilym Vychan, of Emlyn, a person of considerable importance in that part of the country, and styled in some accounts ‘the lord of Cardigan.’

Yet, whatever may have been Davyth ap Gwilym’s pretensions to an illustrious descent, there is reason to believe that his birth was illegitimate, or, at least, that the union of his parents, if it had been previously sanctioned by legal rites, had not received the countenance of their friends. At no distant period, however, a reconciliation must have been effected, as the embryo bard was taken in his infancy under the protection of his uncle, Llywelyn ab Gwilym, who is related to have been a man of some parts. He accordingly became his nephew’s tutor, and seems to have discovered in him the early indications of that particular talent, for which he was afterwards so conspicuous, and in the cultivation of which Llywelyn afforded his young pupil all the encouragement and assistance in his power.

About the age of fifteen Davyth ap Gwilym returned to his paternal home, where, however, he resided but a short time, owing, as it would appear, to the unpleasant bickerings that took place between him and his parents, in consequence of his satirical propensities, which, even at that early age, he could not restrain. Some of his effusions, written during this period, have been preserved; and, whatever ingenuity they may evince, considering the years of the writer, they are by no means indicative of his filial affection. These domestic altercations caused the young bard once more to be separated from his natural guardians; and we accordingly find him, at an early age, enjoying, at Maesaleg in Monmouthshire, the friendship and patronage of Ivor Hael, a near relative of his father.

Ivor, deservedly surnamed Hael, or ‘the Generous,’ received his young kinsman with an affectionate kindness, which he even carried so far as to appoint him his steward, and the instructor of his only daughter, although Davyth ap Gwilym’s qualifications for these duties were not, it is probable, at that time, of the most obvious character. At least, the inconvenient effects of one of these appointments was too soon apparent in the reciprocal attachment that grew up between the poet and his fair charge. The precise nature of Ivor’s conduct towards the former on the discovery of this circumstance is not known; but he appears to have treated him with an indulgence which his own regard for the enamoured tutor could alone explain. He is recorded, however, to have been somewhat severe in the treatment of his daughter, whom he forthwith conveyed to a convent in the island of Anglesea. Thither she was followed by her devoted swain, who, in the humble capacity of a servant at a neighbouring monastery, consoled himself during his hours of disappointed love by offering to his mistress the tributes of his muse, all he had then to bestow; and several poems of considerable beauty are still extant, which he may be supposed to have written during this period.

THE BARD SENDS A LOVE MESSENGER TO LURE THE NUN TO THE GROVE.

True messenger of love—away! And from the Marches bring in May. Thou truant! thou wert not at hand When most the bard in need did stand Of thy tame wings! Oh seek, once more, The place thou visitedst of yore. Thou of fair form and flight sublime, Visit the damsels white as lime!

If, in the churchyard, thou shouldst meet The ‘Gaoler’ of the maiden, greet (Thou poet’s treasure, fair and fleet!) Her ears with ‘psalms’ of all the ills With which that maid my bosom fills! Blessed nuns, fair saints from every land, In their bright cells my suit withstand: Those sacred snow-hued virgins, white As gossamer, on mountain height; Those maids, like swallows to behold Those holy damsels of the choir, Sisters to Morvyth, bright as gold! Oh, visit her, at my desire, And if thy efforts vain should be, To lure her from the priory, And thou the snow-complexioned maid With songs of praise can’st not persuade Her lover in the grove to meet, Then carry her upon thy feet— Delude the nun who, in yon shrine, Rings the small bell!—the abbess cheat!— Before the summer moon shall shine, With pure white ray, the black robed nun To the green woodland must be won!

At length, apparently weary of his fruitless fidelity, he returned to the hospitable mansion of his patron; and the welcome manner in which he seems to have been again received, proves that his affection for the daughter had not produced any serious displeasure on the part of the father, however, from motives of prudence, the latter might have thought it advisable to discountenance the attachment. The young poet seems also at this period to have been reconciled to his parents, between whose house and Maesaleg his time was divided.

During his second residence with Ivor, Davyth ap Gwilym must in all probability have devoted much attention to the cultivation of his favourite pursuit, since we find him, about this period, elected to fill the post of chief bard of Glamorgan. His poetical reputation made him also a welcome, and, in some respects, a necessary guest at the festivals which, in those long-departed days of social cheer and princely hospitality, were common in the houses of the higher orders in Wales. The mansions of Ivor Hael and Llywelyn ab Gwilym were the frequent scenes of these festive assemblies, at which particular respect was shewn to the sons of the awen: and here it was that Davyth ap Gwilym seems to have had the first opportunity of signalizing himself amongst his bardic compeers, in those poetical contests, formerly so frequent in Wales, and which are not even now wholly discontinued. It was at Emlyn, the seat of his uncle Llywelyn, that, on one of these occasions, the deep-rooted enmity, which existed between him and a brother bard, named Rhys Meigan, had its origin, and became the fertile source of the most satirical and even virulent strains on both sides. The laurel in this ‘war of words’ was, however, finally adjudged to the subject of this memoir, whose antagonist is even reported to have fallen dead on the spot, a victim to the unendurable poignancy of our poet’s satire. Strange and incredible as this incident may appear, it is, in a great measure, confirmed by one of Davyth ap Gwilym’s effusions, in which he alludes, with some minuteness, to the extraordinary occurrence.

When Davyth ap Gwilym grew up to manhood, his handsome person and accomplishments rendered him a great favourite with the fair, in every part of the country. According to traditionary accounts, recorded in the age of Elizabeth, he was tall and of a slender make, with yellow hair flowing about his shoulders in beautiful ringlets, and he says himself that the girls, instead of attending to their devotion, used to whisper at church, that he had his sister’s hair on his head. His dress was agreeable to the manner of the age, long trowsers, close jacket, tied round with a sash, suspending a sword of no inconsiderable length, and over the whole a loose flowing gown trimmed with fur, with a round cap or bonnet on his head; these he took pains to make showy, for he was inclined to vie in that respect with the beaux of his time. Thus accomplished, he thought himself happier than the old Welsh princes, though they enjoyed the possession of a mansion in every district in Wales, as he fancied he might secure the affection of every beauteous maid. Every one, says our bard, has his favourite toy; and on a whimsical occasion, he tells us he was “the toy of the fair,” and his temper, full of ardour and levity as it was, naturally disposed him to make an extravagant use of the high esteem in which he stood with his countrywomen. Tradition has preserved a ludicrous instance of his frolics in this respect, which, whether authentic or not, is perfectly consistent with the powerful but reckless vein of humour that pervades his poems. The following is a brief detail of this incident.

Davyth ap Gwilym—so runs the tale—paid his addresses to no fewer than twenty-four damsels at the same time. Having an inclination, on a particular occasion, to divert himself at their expense, he made an appointment with each, unknown to the rest, to meet him under a certain tree, at a specified hour, fixing the same time for all. Our poet himself took care to be on the spot before the period of meeting, and, having ascended the tree, he had the satisfaction of finding, that not one of his faithful inamoratos failed in her engagement. When they were all assembled, feelings of inquisitive wonder took the place of the gentler emotions, to which, it is probable, they had before yielded; and, when at length the stratagem, of which they had been the dupes, became known, the only sentiment that inspired the group was that of indignant vengeance against the unfortunate bard, which they failed not to vent in reproaches loud and long. The author of the plot, who, from his ambuscade above, had perceived the gathering storm, had recourse to his muse for an expedient to allay it, or, at least, to divert its fury from the object to which it was at first directed. Emerging partially from the foliage, in which he had been enveloped, he replied to the menaces of the disappointed fair-ones,—which even extended to his life—in an extemporary stanza, of which the following translation will convey some idea:—

Oh, let the fair and gentle one! Who oftest by the summer sun, To meet me in these shades was won— Let her strike first, and she will find The poet to his fate resigned!

The effect was such as our poet had, perhaps, anticipated. Taunts and recriminations were bandied about by the exasperated assembly, who forgot their common resentment against the bard in this new cause for commotion. The tradition adds, that the contriver of the stratagem had the good fortune to escape unmolested in the confusion of the conflict, being thus indebted to his muse for his protection from a catastrophe of no very agreeable nature.

But, whatever may have been the inconstancy of Davyth ap Gwilym in his general conduct towards the fair sex, he appears, in two instances, to have entertained a sincere and honourable passion—the objects of which, under the names of Dyddgu and Morvyth, he has celebrated in some of his choicest effusions. But, in both cases, the result was equally unpropitious, though in different ways, to the hopes he had indulged.

The fair one first named, who is represented by the bard as endowed with every grace both of body and mind, seems to have proved inaccessible to all the overtures of his heart, enforced as they were by all the fascinations of his muse. However gratified she may have been by the offerings of the bard, she appears to have paid no attention to the adorations of the lover.

Morvyth, our poet’s other favourite, received his addresses more graciously, and had it not been for untoward circumstances, over which she had no control, the event of this attachment might have equalled his most sanguine expectations. Morvyth was the daughter of Madog Lawgam, a gentleman of Anglesea, and was in every point of view the very Laura of our Cambrian Petrarch. His first view with this lady was at Rhosyr, in Anglesea, where, by some means, he attracted her notice. He says, in a poem on the occasion, that he sent a present of wine to her, and she slighted the offer so much as to throw it over the servant who brought it. As this curious incident may suggest a very erroneous idea of the manners of that age and of the light in which such gifts were viewed in the time of the poet, the following observations, extracted chiefly from Mr. Godwin’s Life of Chaucer, will serve to give a more correct impression of the spirit of the bard’s first present to the lady of his love.

There is reason to believe that wine was often given, merely as a token of honour and esteem, and as being a more delicate offering than a sum of money. It is not, therefore, to be supposed that it was always intended for the consumption of the person to whom it was sent. ‘I find,’ says Mr. Godwin, ‘a grant, or rather the confirmation of a grant, of Edward III., in the first year of his reign, to Mary his aunt, daughter of Edward I., of ten tuns of wine per annum towards her sustenance. But the Princess Mary was a votaress, and cannot be supposed to have wanted ten tuns of wine annually for her own consumption; and the phraseology of the grant (in subventum sustentationis suæ) seems to imply rather that it was a commodity to be given in exchange for other commodities, than to be consumed in kind by the grantee.’

Chaucer, who was a contemporary of our bard, had a grant conferred upon him of a pitcher of wine per diem, to be delivered daily in the port of the city of London by the king’s chief butler during the term of his natural life. This pension—for such in reality it was—is calculated by Mr. Godwin to be equivalent to an annuity of £180 in the present day.

It is necessary to observe that the wines then common in England and Wales were of a very different quality from those now in use amongst the higher classes in this country; and unless we keep this fact in view we shall be apt to imagine that our ancestors were guilty of excesses that are not imputable to them. So far back as the year 1154 (on the accession of the Platagenet race) the English government gained possession of Bordeaux and some other important districts in the south-west of France, which they retained, nearly without interruption, for three centuries. Hence this kingdom was amply supplied with the light wines of France.

The bard and Morvyth were united in a manner not uncommon in those days: they repaired to the grove with their friend Madog Benfras, an eminent bard, who exercised the sacred functions on this occasion, in the presence only of the winged choristers of the woods; one of which, the thrush—the bride-groom says—was the clerk. They now considered themselves as one, and their subsequent conduct confirmed it in every respect; but the relations of Morvyth, disliking the union, encouraged a wealthy decrepid old man, Cynfrig Cynin, before alluded to, to become a rival of the bard; and they concerted their plan so well as to take Morvyth away from the latter, and to get her formally married to Cynfrig Cynin, agreeably to the rules of the church. But the remainder of the life of Little Hunchback was spent in watchings and jealousy, which furnished a favourite subject for the muse of his rival; though it proved to him also a source of endless troubles, as, considering Morvyth still his own, he missed no opportunity of procuring an interview, till, at length, he found means to run away with her. But after strict search the fugitives were found and once more separated; and our bard, being rigorously prosecuted by Hunchback, was fined in a very heavy penalty, which being unable to pay, he was imprisoned. In such esteem, however, was the poet held by his countrymen, that the county of Glamorgan released him from confinement by discharging the fine. It is said that he had nearly taken Morvyth away a second time; and a friend asking him if he would again run the hazard which a step must expose him to, which had once cost him so dearly, he answered—‘Yes, I will, in the name of God and the men of Glamorgan!’ which expression became a proverb for a long time after. We must now leave Morvyth as the lawful wife of the Bwa Bach, only observing that her faithful bard continued his attachment, and his muse was ever constant in her praise. Hence he has been compared to Petrarch; and it must be allowed that, in the fervour of his homage to the lady of his heart, the Italian poet did not surpass the Demetian Nightingale, who composed one hundred and forty-seven poems to his beloved Morvyth!

We may take it for granted that Davyth ap Gwilym must have lived in habits of intimacy with the poets of his time, amongst whom many perhaps were to be found not insensible to the charms of the mead-horn; but he does not seem to have been much devoted to it, himself, for among those who were, we find it was a custom to impose upon him when they got him into their company.

Davyth was equally attached to friendship and the muse—two contemporary poets were his inti companions, each of whom wrote an elegy on his death. One was Madog Benfras, occasionally mentioned before, who had a soul congenial with that of our bard, and like him was a favourite with his fair countrywomen. The other was Gruffydd Gryg, of Anglesea, a bard of great genius and learning. Between Davyth ap Gwilym and the latter there appears to have been a rivalship for fame, which gave rise to a poetical contention that began in consequence of a poem written by Gruffydd Gryg, ridiculing our bard for being so great a slave to the charms of Morvyth. This dispute produced several masterly compositions, of which a specimen will be found in this collection. After the contest had been carried on for a long time, and excited the attention of the whole country, though each party was unwilling to give way, one Bola Bauol laid a wager with another person that he would effect an accommodation between them. To bring about his purpose Bola Bauol went into North Wales and industriously spread a report that ‘Davyth ap Gwilym, the Demetian bard, was dead.’ On hearing this news, Gruffydd Gryg was so affected, that, forgetting every other feeling, in the poignancy of his grief he composed an elegy, bewailing the supposed loss of his rival, in the most affectionate terms. Bola Bauol having previously contrived to get a similar account of the death of Gruffydd Gryg circulated in South Wales, returned thither, and was pleased to find it had had the same effect on Davyth ap Gwilym, he having also produced an elegy on his rival. Bola Bauol succeeded according to his expectation; for the contending parties, on each discovering the real sentiments of his opponent, and being brought to a delicate dilemma, though they laughed at the stratagem which had created it, from that time became warm friends.

Though Davyth ap Gwilym lived in an age deeply immersed in ignorance, yet it is obvious from his works that he was but little affected with the superstition of the times. He had very little veneration for the monks; nor would he bend in the least to the authority of the priesthood in general—in those points that were derogatory to an enlightened mind. On the contrary, he took every opportunity to show that he held them in contempt and ridicule; but when old age had disposed him to more serious reflections, in a confessional ode he acknowledged himself reprehensible for having rendered himself so obnoxious to the ministers of religion.

The following whimsical extract will serve to give the reader some idea of the unlimited vituperation which the bard occasionally lavished on the religious orders of his time:—

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE BARD AND A HOLY BROTHER.

With a false form of holy life, O’er all the wide world they are rife! Dull friars!—(each pair of equal age Should bear the yoke of marriage.) With hateful strains a holy man, A fat mouthed brother, thus began, With pertinacious preaching bent, On turning me from my intent; Such was the sage advice that hung On his discreet and brazen tongue!

HOLY BROTHER.

Remember that thou must behold The beauteous maiden turned to mould! And then her lovely figure must Lose all its graces in the dust!

BARD.

No! black red man! the green sod’s bloom, The form of dark mould may assume; But beauty’s flesh and charms sublime Must ever wear the hue of lime!

HOLY BROTHER.

For thee—the love of damsel thin, With matchless, long, and radiant hair, The caldron lined with fire will win, And never-ending sufferings there!

Then I replied, with language firm, To the black visaged silent worm.

BARD.

To terrify the beauty now— It was a most unworthy turn, Spite of thy haughty port—thy vow— Thy awful words—and accents stern, Still will the gallant Davyth pay His court to maids—ten in one day!

He begins another poem, addressed to a Grey brother, (who had tried to persuade Morvyth to become a nun,) with the following ironical allusions to the supposed merit of gifts bestowed on the religious orders:—

Long life—fair journeys—offerings rare, Fall to the chatt’ring raven’s share! The figure like a shadow—those Deserve not peace who are his foes! From Rome he comes with naked feet, And tresses like a thorny nest! In petticoat of network dressed He walks the world—oh, pastor meet, A parish with wise words to greet!

Of the latter years of our bard we have only a general account, which states that they were consumed in his native parish of Llanbadarn, where also had been his paternal home. He appears to have survived his relations, his patrons, and his fair Morvyth. His uncle and kind protector, Llewelyn ab Gwilym, he had lost early in life by the hand of an assassin, and the bard bewails this event in a pathetic elegy on the occasion. Still, so long as his generous friend Ivor survived, his house was a retreat to him from all oppression; there he was entertained like ‘the three free guests in the court of Arthur.’ Indeed the poet seems to have felt the warmest affection for every member of the family of that good and hospitable chieftain.

His melancholy feelings at the loss of the friends of his youth, his patron and the lady of his love—are pathetically described in a poem in which he invokes the summer to visit Glamorganshire with its choicest blessings. After beautifully describing that fertile region under the influence of the serene messenger, his soul becomes suddenly overclouded,—the grave of his friend is brought to his remembrance, and he concludes with an abrupt transition—(addressing the Summer)—

And thus mid all thy radiant flow’rs, Thy thick’ning leaves and glossy bow’rs, The poet’s task shall be to glean Roses and flow’rs that softly bloom, And trefoils wove in pavement green, With sad humility to grace His golden Ivor’s resting place!

When Davyth ap Gwilym became oppressed with age, and a pilgrim as it were in the world, bereft of his dearest friends, he laid aside every thing unbe his situation. In the poem entitled ‘The Bard’s Last Song,’ he describes the altered state of his feelings:—

Ivor is gone—my friend and guide, And Nest—my patroness—his bride! Morvyth, my soul’s delight is fled— All moulder in their clay-cold bed! And I oppressed with woe remain, Victim to age and ling’ring pain!

Davyth ap Gwilym continued true to his muse even in his last moments. One of his poems—perhaps the only one—written on this impressive occasion, remains. It is entitled, ‘The Death-bed Lay of the Bard,’ and may, perhaps, more justly be regarded as his ‘last song,’ than the poem of that designation above quoted. It is full of remorse and penitence for his past life, accompanied by a strain of genuine piety, as may be perceived from the following version, however unequal in poetical merit to the original:—

My shapeless sin with dread I view, And tremble at the reck’ning due; I dread my folly’s long career, But, more than all, my God I fear!

Mysterious Being, prone to save, Thy pardon for the past I crave; The time arrives, death’s awful time, And with it come the stings of crime!

God is the world, the pious know; Without Him all were waste below, Without Him ’twere a desert state, One cheerless void, all desolate!

O Thou! to whom true faith is dear, Grant, as my parting hour draws near, Grant, as I heave my latest sigh, No foe may watch in triumph nigh!

The thought expressed in the last stanza might imply that, although our poet had outlived his friends, he had not survived his enemies. It is probable, indeed, that his propensity to satire had been the means of provoking the enmity of many of his contemporaries, especially of some of the clergy, against whom the invectives of his muse appear to have been often directed. But in a poem entitled ‘The Bard’s Confession of his Sins,’ he acknowledges the culpability of his conduct in this instance as well as in several others; and we may infer that the poem in question was composed during the latter part of his life, when old age had communicated a suitable seriousness to his meditations.

We have now arrived at the close of our bard’s earthly career; and we may say of him, as of the swan, that he terminated his life with a song. But, unlike that of the swan, his tuneful talent was not forgotten at the hour of dissolution. On the contrary,