like a small bird. Presently it became more distinct, and before I was
really aware, the royal carriage had arrived, having come nearly five
minutes earlier than we expected. At once we stepped into the royal
saloon. Presently I discovered the carriage moving. When we ascended
some twenty yards above the earth, we were carried at a fearful pace
through the air; I perceived it was kept up by means of wings, which were
made of material which in appearance was silk. These wings were of great
dimensions, but were extended or contracted in size according to the
power and force of the current. The propelling agency was compressed
air, but how this worked, and whether it was combined with other gases or
not, I could not learn. I found the travelling exceedingly pleasant;
when I closed my eyes I could not detect the least motion. Objects came
and went, we appeared to pass them as rapidly as the moving clouds in a
terrible storm, or falling stars on a bright November night. We arrived
at our destination a few minutes earlier than we anticipated. The prince
conducted me to the royal palace, and placing me in charge of some
important state functionary, repaired to the council of his royal master;
when he left, he said he would not be long, and on returning he would
join me for the evening. I must own, that I felt extremely sorry to have
to part, even for a short time, from one who was so kind and so
agreeable; and I felt this the more in consequence of the peculiar
position in which I was placed. I was now the denizen of a strange
world, and surrounded by a strange race.
During the absence of Prince Tippin I began to realize my position. I
thought what a fool I was in leaving my home and country, the anxiety my
absence would cause my parents, and the uncertainty of my ever seeing
them again. This thought deeply moved me. I was exceedingly uneasy in
both mind and conscience; I could neither sit nor lie still for three
consecutive minutes. At last, after examining every article in the room,
I asked the attendant if he could give me any kind of book or writing
material, by the aid of which I hoped to forget myself. The attendant
informed me that they did not use books, that their knowledge was orally
handed down from father to son, from the priests to the people, and thus
all the inhabitants became wise.
When the prince returned dinner was served up in the ante-room,—a fine
hall, radiantly lighted up. Our first course was soup made of choice
herbs, which was not only extremely satisfying but exceedingly palatable.
Of this I partook heartily. When the dishes were removed our attendant
brought in milk thickened with meal, coloured with saffron; this was
served up in basins of gold. Afterwards we had tarts, pies, and fruit of
the most delicious flavour; the fruit resembled the pear, but was sweeter
and more juicy.
After the meal was over, I asked the prince if he would give me a glass
of wine.
“My young friend,” replied the prince, “I regret to be unable to comply
with your wish. Wines, and all kinds of alcoholic drinks, are prohibited
from being used by the law of the State; I dare not, therefore, supply
you with this beverage, even if I had it in my possession.”
“But why, excellency, have you such a singular law?”
“For various reasons. Would you wish to be furnished with the cause of
the existence of such an enactment?”
“You will confer upon me a personal favour by stating the reasons for the
existence of such a regulation.”
“These are the reasons. We want the minds of our people to be clear and
bright, and their intellectual vision unclouded. Is not that important?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“Again; in these dominions, crime, destitution, poverty, pauperism, and
wrong-doing are unknown; but if our people, like yours, imbibed
spirituous liquors, crimes would be as frequent and poverty as widely
spread as are those terrible evils in your kingdom!”
“I readily admit the force of your reasoning; I am bound to own that the
drinking customs of my country are the real causes of our more serious
national evils.”
“Then, sir, your government ought to enact stringent laws in order to
diminish the cause of those evils.”
“We are a race of free men, living in a free country, and I am afraid
that no government will for some years be strong enough to battle
successfully with this custom.”
“You pass laws to suppress vice; and drunkenness being one of the
greatest vices of your people, and the parent of all others, I can see no
reason why you should not put down this traffic by legislation.”
“Your excellency may be right in your conclusion. The evil is a terrible
blot on our civilization; were we a strictly sober race, we should be by
far the grandest people on earth.”
“My own observations lead me to the same conclusion; but for the present
we must put an end to the argument. It is time for you to retire. Your
attendant awaits you. To-morrow we shall meet again, though I am afraid
only for a few minutes, as I have to pay a visit to a distant part of the
empire.”
The next morning I breakfasted alone. Though I saw during the morning
several of the little people passing along the lawn in front of my
window, I did not venture to speak to them, nor did any member of the
race pay me a visit.
About midday the door of my room was opened, and a little gentleman
walked into the hall, and, without saying a word, sat down in a vacant
chair opposite the one on which I was seated. After examining my
appearance, he observed, “I presume you are the stranger who accompanied
Prince Tippin to the palace last evening?”
“I am the stranger, sir.”
“I hope the attendant has shown you every courtesy, and has not been
wanting in hospitality.”
“From the prince and attendant I have received every consideration; and
as for the fare, sir, I might have gone further and fared worse. I like
your food much.”
“This is a very different country from yours, is it not?”
_Myself_. Yes; widely different.
“I presume you find it strange to have light without a sun or moon or
stars?”
_Myself_. I miss the genial light of the sun; but there is a softness, a
reflected beauty, in the light here which we do not possess in our
diurnal luminary.
“Our light is uniform, as is our climate. In the northern regions of
your country the sun constantly shines during several months of your
year, which is followed by continuous darkness or night, when the
inhabitants have to reside in snow or ice-built houses. Dreary must be
the life of a people so circumstanced. You have in your climate genial
and joyous spring, when nature revives from the dead and puts on her
youthful and gay apparel, when the thorn, the citron, and the apple-tree
bud and blossom;—beautiful is your spring, the loveliest and most
charming season of your year. Then comes your summer, with its green
meads, and fields of waving corn, and rich fruit. No artist can paint,
no language can set forth, the grandeur of your clime during autumn.
What have you afterwards? Cold, icy, and chilling winter, with its dank
and cold atmosphere; with your hills, mountains, and even your dales,
covered with snow. In winter your country seems dead, clay-like, and
lifeless; sad and dreary to me is your winter scene. In this land we
have perpetual spring. In all the months of the year the orange, the
citron, and the apple-tree send forth their buds and blossoms and their
ripe and rich fruit; our valleys and mountains are always green, a
circumstance which to you, doubtless, appears very strange.”
_Myself_. Is that really so? Do your fields and trees and hillsides
present at all times the same hue?
“Yes; the colour never alters, and nature in this region is never weary
in its development, and never halts in the manifestation of her power;
she goes from strength to strength, and with increased vigour as the
years roll on.”
_Myself_. A strange phenomenon this! Can you account for the existence
of such perennial inherent power?
“Oh yes. Upon our mountains, valleys, and plains there perpetually
descend from above constant showers of ethereal riches. Our earth thus
daily receives from heaven even more riches than she gives in flower and
fruit, and grass, and vegetable matter. Thus she daily and hourly
becomes richer and more bountiful.”
_Myself_. But suppose the spring, the perennial fountain, of this
life-giving bounty and luxuriance, were to fail or to dry up, what would
be your position then? From whence could you then obtain your supply?
“Of such a calamity we entertain no dread. For thousands of years this
process has been going on, and through years unnumbered it will be
continued. In your world there is a gradual decay; nature there is
exhausting herself. For the present you have enough and to spare; but
how will it be, what will your people do, when the virgin soil of the
world on the other side of the Atlantic becomes exhausted? That time
must come; what will your people do then?”
_Myself_. Before that day arrives humanity will become etherealized,
spirit-like, and super-mundane. As a race, sir, we are not destined to
continue the sordid, cloddy, and vulgar eating people we now are. Oh,
no; the earthly tabernacle is to be put off, and we shall live on angels’
food.
“Your race then, sir, has the hope and prospect of dwelling in a sphere
beyond your present world?”
_Myself_. Most assuredly.
“Who is to be the king of that world? Who the ruler?”
_Myself_. The king will be the great Unseen and Eternal, the
self-existent and self-created Being who rules heaven’s armies and
earth’s inhabitants.
“This is the Being, is it not, whom your nation worship and adore?”
_Myself_. Yes; and we are to live with Him for ever, and enjoy His
fellowship. And don’t you believe in Him too?
“Alas! no; I wish we did. When I consider how beautiful our clime and
country are,—our friendship, associations, consciousness, friends,
relations,—I often shudder at the thought of annihilation. Sometimes I
am terribly oppressed with the thought of ceasing to be, and the more
thoughtful of my race hold similar opinions and feelings.”
_Myself_. What do you and your people worship? Who is the object of
your adoration?
“We worship truth; a thing not a person; an idea, not a reality; a form,
beautiful though it be, and not a substance. It is awful to think that
the grave is to be the end of our joys, pleasures, and delights. In the
matter of worship, you are right and we are wrong; you are the wise ones,
we the fools. But you have, methinks, too much of form in your manner of
worshipping your Supreme.”
_Myself_. I agree with your last remark; but pray tell me how you have
acquired such an intimate knowledge of our affairs.
“By frequent visits to your land, and by mixing with your people.”
_Myself_. I never saw a member of your race until I was fortunate enough
to meet Prince Tippin.
“Perhaps not; but I have traversed the whole of your country, as well as
other countries beyond the sea.”
_Myself_. Is that really so? You certainly astonish me.
“Twice every year, in your spring time and autumn, I visit your world on
affairs of state.”
_Myself_. Then there dwell in other climes a kindred people, a race like
your own?
“Certainly; and I have often paid them a friendly visit.”
_Myself_. In what parts of the country do they live?
“In several parts. In fair Mona’s Isle there dwell the Pobli Bach. In
East Anglia is the race of the Plantos. In Germany, living on the banks
of the Rhine, are the Pobli Wyn. In France, Spain, Italy, and the East
there are different tribes inhabiting a precisely similar country to
this. And their habits, customs, mode of life and government, are all
identical with ours.”
_Myself_. And do you live in peace with each other? Do you never
quarrel, and go to war, and kill each other in battle?
“Oh dear no! We live at peace. According to our code of morals, it is
very wicked to take away or destroy life. Of all things in our world
life is the beautifullest. We are shocked, and pained, and grieved in
witnessing the contentions between the peoples of your world. In our
view it is awful to use your arts, skill, and wealth, in making
instruments, and in training and paying men, to kill and destroy. Yet
you call yourselves Christians!”
_Myself_. In my conscience I believe we are wrong.
“You do; do you?”
_Myself_. Assuredly I do. I believe war is wrong; is hateful to high
heaven; is contrary to the principles of the gospel, which command us to
love one another. From God comes life. He sustains it. He only has a
right to take it away. In man we see His image. Of one blood He has
made us all. Although we are brothers, yet we act towards each other as
if we were the children of the evil one. But a time will come when
strife and contention shall cease, when there shall exist universal
harmony, a harmony founded on the law of Christ, which is the law of
love.
“I am surprised at your confession. The opinion you hold on this
question is directly contrary to that held by your teachers. Why, your
ministers preach the doctrine that war is in harmony with your faith. Is
not that so?”
_Myself_. I must own that that is so. Still I believe them to be in
error, and hope they will discover their error before it is too late. I
am afraid that a great deal of the scepticism of the times is principally
owing to the want of harmony between the truth and the profession of it.
As a race we don’t practically live out the precepts of our faith. Hence
the reason why men of the world scorn religious men, and you know
contempt usually ends in disbelief.
“If we have not the light you have, still we are a purer and a more
virtuous people than yours. We are sober and temperate, but your race is
not. We live in peace, never engage in war, but you kill each other with
the sword and the bow. Then as our climate is so superior to yours, why
not stay with us for ever?”
_Myself_. I could not live without seeing my father and mother; without
visiting the upper world in order to bask occasionally on the sylvan
banks of Tawe’s crystal waters; to gaze on the blue heavens, with their
twinkling stars; to wander about the green meads, and listen to the rich
melody of the winged songsters of the grove and primeval forest; but I
should like to visit you now and then. Before I return I am anxious to
see and have converse with your king, the rather that, as the prince
informed me, he is a wise and virtuous ruler.
“I rejoice that the prince has spoken so well of his master. I am the
king, and I thank you for speaking so freely of your country and its
people. Whenever you choose to pay us a visit, be assured you shall be
heartily welcome.”
_Myself_. May it please your majesty, your majesty has treated me as if
I were a prince instead of a poor fisherman’s son. Your majesty’s
kindness and hospitality I shall ever remember with gratitude. I accept
your invitation, and I will certainly pay another visit to your beautiful
country.
_The King_. At all times you shall be heartily received.
_Myself_. Thanks; a thousand thanks. Were I not a Welshman, I would
dwell in your beautiful land.
_The King_. You have spoken handsomely of my dominions. But here comes
the prince; he shall conduct you to the sylvan banks of your beautiful
river, a river you so much love.
Before setting out on my homeward journey, I briefly inspected the royal
carriage. I now discovered, what had previously escaped my notice, that
underneath, and attached to the side of the carriage, were inflated skins
filled with natural gas. These gave a buoyancy to the machine. Indeed,
it was only by the use of strong ropes made of grass that it was kept on
the earth. On stepping into the carriage, these ropes were unhooked; it
then began to ascend, and on reaching an altitude of forty yards we got
into what the prince called node currents, which carried us along at the
rate of 300 miles an hour. We soon reached the public buildings referred
to in a previous part of my story, and from thence he conducted me
through the subterranean passage until we reached fair Tawe’s shore.
I urged the prince to accompany me to my parents’ cottage, which he
declined. He said that he had a special engagement with the fairies of
East Anglia—having arranged to spend the night with them at their annual
dance on the verdant fields below Derwent Fawr. I subsequently learnt,
that Prince Tippin was engaged to a princess of the above tribe, of the
name of Titania; and that they frequently met on Derwent’s green fields
“to dance the nights to the whistling wind.”
On entering my home I found my parents mourning for me as one who was
dead. At first they would not believe me to be their son, but thought it
was their son’s spirit which had come to visit them. I soon convinced
them of being still in the flesh,—that I was no ghost, no spirit. I had
then to give them a history of my travels, to tell them of the strange
sights I had seen, the singular people I had met, the character of the
kingdom I had visited; but on my telling them of the gold and precious
stones with which the land abounded, my mother upbraided me for coming
away without a large lump of gold. I told her that I did not covet other
people’s property, and that I should have acted extremely wrong had I
taken away the gold of a people from whom I had received so much
kindness.
I remained at home for several weeks, and occasionally went to school. I
found my old enemy as cruel as ever, and I came to the conclusion that on
the very first opportunity I would return to the fairy kingdom beneath
the bay.
On wandering along the strand one fine morning, I was hailed by a voice I
could never forget. The prince informed me that having just returned
from visiting his fair Titania, he was about to return to Dinas Aur, and
urged me to return with him. I readily yielded to his wishes, and
sending a message to my parents where I had gone, we started off, and
returned by means of the aërial carriage.
As I anticipated, my return to Dinas Aur, was hailed with extreme delight
by the few persons I had come in contact with on my previous visit. His
majesty the king gave me a hearty welcome, and expressed a hope that I
would continue to sojourn in his dominions at least for a season. I
expressed my gratitude to his majesty for his extreme kindness, and
informed him that as my parents were acquainted with the place of my
abode, I was the less anxious to return home than if that knowledge was
not in their possession.
The king replied, that I had shown, by sending the message I had, that I
was a dutiful son, fond of my mother and father, that I had shown I did
not want to give them a moment’s uneasiness and pain. His majesty then
dismissed me, and placed me under the special protection of his
chancellor, Prince Tippin. This arrangement afforded me inexpressible
satisfaction and delight, as on all occasions I had received from him
every consideration and courtesy.
In my subsequent intercourse with the prince, I found him to be a man
without prejudice, wholly free from bigotry, and in all circumstances
never showing the least indication of passion. He loved purity and
goodness wherever he found those virtues. He abominated cant, and
loathed low tricks which no one who wished to be regarded as honourable
would resort to in order to gain a special end. In his own beautiful
language, which I soon learned, he would use a string of adjectives to
characterize that class of men, who are mean, selfish, unprincipled; men
who have no claim to be admitted into the society of pure and noble and
unselfish individuals. “Look,” he said one day to me, “at your public
men, from the highest to the lowest; they are influenced by the love of
power and fame, and you find that when a particular end is to be secured
they are indifferent as to the means to be employed. In appointing
persons to fill important posts, the claims of your best men are wholly
ignored. You sadly want men at the head of your affairs who are just,
magnanimous, and patriotic, men who are simply ambitious to secure the
welfare and weal of the people.”
_Myself_. I must own, your excellency, that there is too much truth in
your strictures and censures. But we are improving, and shall ultimately
become a pure and perfect race. Are there no persons of the class you
have described in your country? Is your race perfectly free from
selfishness and faction?
“Certainly; we are all equal. As citizens and subjects we occupy the
same position. Our best men occupy all posts in the civil government of
the country. Here again, all people readily obey the law: delinquents
are banished the kingdom.”
_Myself_. Have you not frequent occasion to put the law in force?
“By no means. There is only one case on record for one hundred years in
which the law has been rigorously carried out.”
_Myself_. You must be a law-observing people. I wish from my heart that
our race were as pure as yours.
“They would be were your rulers as wise as ours.”
_Myself_. Then you think that our leading men are inferior to yours?
“Think! I know they are. The history of your country proves this. But
we must drop the subject now. I have an engagement with my royal master
at this hour, and I must hasten to the council chamber, for I fear his
majesty has already gone there.”
After supper, and just as I was about to retire to my chamber, I received
a visit from the Princess Mervyna and her two little sisters. They were
attended by their maid, who, though she was smaller in stature than her
mistress, was evidently many years her senior. The Princess Mervyna
introduced herself, and said that she had come to command me to join them
at their sports the next day. I expressed regret to the princess at
being unable to comply with her wish, having previously arranged to
accompany the chancellor to a distant part of the kingdom. I told her
that I should regard it as a high honour to join them at their games the
day after. She acquiesced in this, though she was evidently a little
vexed as well as disappointed with the arrangement. However, she gave me
a gracious bow, and on retiring, said, “Don’t forget your promise.” I
again assured her I would not.
It was nearly noon before Prince Tippin and I started off from the city
on the following day. We had the same carriage as the one we had used on
previous occasions, and we proceeded at an equally rapid pace.
After a flight of 140 miles, we descended to the earth on the top of a
high mountain, which in their language was called Wyddfa, or Conspicuous,
from which position we had a magnificent prospect of the country. In the
distance we beheld seas like glass, on which apparently were myriads of
little people, some of whom were engaged in skating, others in bowling
balls along the ice, others were playing cricket, while not a few were
dancing to the music of the wind. We observed a great number of the
little folks playing with golden balls, which they propelled along the
ice by means of a crook.
Though the players went along the ice at a fearful pace, yet I did not
observe a single person fall.
Between us and the players there was a beautiful undulating country,
which abounded with streamlets and sylvan dells, and the peculiar soft
light of the region brought out the deep green of the foliage to a degree
I had not previously beheld. The scene was exquisitely lovely, so rich
in tint and colour as to leave an indelible impression upon the mind.
Indeed and in truth this was a fairyland, an enchanted ground, though to
my vision it was real, palpable, and actual. I became rooted to the
spot, for never had I beheld a scene so full of beauty. I was awakened
from my reverie by the familiar voice of the prince, who called out,
“Elidorus! Elidorus! our time is up; we must haste over other mountains
and valleys, over streamlets and rivers, for we have a long distance yet
to go, and but a short time to travel it in.”
On taking our seat in the aërial carriage, the prince informed me that we
should not stop again until arriving at our journey’s end, and that on
passing a rocky headland we could see in the distance, we should have a
capital view of the city of the plain. When we passed the place alluded
to, the city appeared in sight, but the houses and palaces were buried in
the rich green foliage of trees, which grew in every street. As we were
proceeding at a fearful pace, we had only a glance at the city as we
passed over it.
On arriving at our destination, we were conducted by a little gentleman
clad in rich apparel to the Hall of Brotherhood, which we found was
crowded with the principal inhabitants of the city. The prince was
conducted to the chair of honour—a kind of throne, and he motioned me to
occupy the vacant seat on his right hand. Presently the prince asked the
governor of the city if peace, good-will, and concord reigned there?
“Tranquillity and brotherly love still continue,” replied the governor.
“Ever so live,” said the prince, “for peace is one of the cardinal
virtues of all good citizens. I wish to know, sir governor, if your city
is free from sickness, disease, and fevers; and if not, why not?”
“The bloom of health, your excellency,” replied the governor, “is on the
cheeks of all. And why? Our people drink only the pure waters of the
crystal fountain. They inhale the constant current of vital air, which
flows here like a tidal wave, and it imparts life, energy, power, and joy
to all.”
The governor then retired and left the hall. When the door was closed,
the prince asked the citizens if they had any charge to make or any
complaint to bring against the governor. They all rejoined that they had
not any complaint, but that, on the contrary, his conduct met with the
hearty approval of all. Presently the council came to an end, and soon
afterwards we returned home.
On the following morning I was awakened by a gentle knock at my chamber
door. Presently the door was opened, whereupon my waiting attendant
walked in. He informed me that the Princess Mervyna had already called,
and that she and the royal party were ready to proceed to their place of
rendezvous, having arranged to have a grand day in honour of my visit. I
felt very much annoyed at having overslept myself, and still more vexed
at keeping the little lady and her friends waiting me. I only took a few
minutes to dress, and having taken a basin of warm milk, proceeded in
search of the royal party, who had already taken their seats in the
king’s carriage. The princess and her little brother and sisters gave me
a cordial greeting. I soon found that we had left the earth and were
travelling due south of my previous day’s voyage, and before I fully
realized my position we had descended on the identical sea of ice where I
had seen the games being carried on on the preceding morning.
On leaving the carriage the party broke up into sections, some joining
parties who had already arrived from other cities of the kingdom; others
joining other parties who appeared of a different race from the natives.
The princess acted as my cicerone during the day, and she laughed
heartily on seeing me now and then unable to retain my balance on the
slippery ice. Had it not been for her presence of mind, I certainly
should have fallen on several occasions. Towards the evening I joined in
the games, though I found myself but an indifferent player. We wound up
the day’s fête by a dance on the ice to the music of the harp. Never
shall I forget the scenes of that day. The hopping and skipping, the
dancing and romping of the little people, who tried to excel each other
in mirth and fun: the scene produced an impression on my mind which the
iron hand of time will never deface or remove. On our return to the
palace, we were all ushered into the banqueting hall, where a grand feast
awaited us. After dinner, Mervyna related to the king, her father, the
principal incidents of the day; and the good monarch was highly amused at
her stories of my difficulties and mishaps. When the banquet was over I
retired to my apartment, where I was soon joined by Prince Tippin.
* * * * *
[Here there is a break in the narrative owing to the loss of several
folios of the original manuscript. From the contents of the remaining
portion, we infer that the missing pages contained an account of several
other visits paid to the people of the fairy kingdom, and the incidents
of the respective journeys. We learn, too, that the Princess Mervyna
became greatly attached to our hero, but that an estrangement
subsequently took place between them. But the remaining narrative
contains no record of the cause which led to the estrangement. The
following is the concluding portion of the history.]
* * * * *
Ah, me! ah, me! what a strange race and people is that who inhabit the
fairy kingdom. They live in a beautiful country, speak a language which
is full of poetry, they are a virtuous and truth-loving race. Moreover,
their land abounds with treasures; gems, gold, and precious stones are
there. Oh, what a noble and loving spirit is that of the dear princess,
loving and lovable is she. To be with her, was like a heaven upon earth.
I loved her as I never loved human being. To me she was more precious
than all the world. In my various visits the tie between us became
dearer and dearer. Had it not been for — I’ll not mention his name, I
should be longingly looking forward to another tender embrace. But the
tie is now broken—I did not mean to take the gold. Justly have I been
punished. Had I not done this, had I refused to listen to the suggestive
temptations of my mother,—the door would not have been closed. It was I
who did the deed, and I repent in dust and ashes. What I have suffered
on account of this, no tongue can tell, nor can language set forth. But
my deepest grief arises from the thought that I shall never again embrace
the dear M—, the object of my heart’s fondest affection.
CEFN-Y-BEDD;
OR, A
VISIT TO THE SHRINE OF LLEWELYN AB
GRUFFYDD, THE LAST CAMBRIAN KING.
Frequent is heard the voice of woe,
Frequent the tears of sorrow flow;
Such sounds as erst, in Camlan heard,
Roused to wrath old Arthur’s bard;
Cambria’s warrior we deplore;
Our Llewelyn is no more.
Who like Llewelyn now remains,
To shield from wrong his native plains?
My soul with piercing grief is filled;
My vital blood with horror chilled:
Nature herself is changed, and lo!
Now all things sympathize below.
Hark! how the howling wind and rain,
In loud symphony complain!
Hark! how the consecrated oaks,
Unconscious of the woodman’s strokes,
With thundering crash proclaim he’s gone;
Fall in each others’ arms and groan!
Hark! how the sullen tempests roar!
See! how the white waves lash the shore!
See! how eclipsed the sun appears!
See! how the stars fall from their spheres!
Each awful Heaven-sent prodigy
Ye sons of infidelity,
Believe and tremble! Guilty land,
Lo, thy destruction is at hand!
Thou great Creator of the world,
Why are not thy red lightnings hurled?
Will not the sea, at Thy command,
Swallow up this guilty land?
Why are we left to mourn in vain
The guardian of our country slain?
No place, no refuge for us left,
Of homes, of liberty bereft;
Where shall we flee, to whom complain,
Since our dear Llewelyn’s slain?
_Translated from a Welsh poem_.
It was a calm and balmy evening in the month of July, 18—, when all
nature appeared hushed in still quietude and death-like repose, when not
a zephyr breeze, causing the leaves of the trees to murmur or wave, was
felt: such was the character of the lovely and sunny evening on which I
left the beautiful valley in which the little village of Llanwrtyd
nestles among the hills, for the purpose of paying a special visit to
Cefn-y-Bedd, the spot to which the finger of tradition points as the
resting-place, the sacred ground, the hallowed earth in which were
deposited—amid the universal wail and lamentation of the Cambrian people,
when widows, fathers, brothers and sisters, heroes not a few, men who
never dreaded danger, and who were always foremost in battle—strong,
fearless, and valiant warriors, wept and sorrowed, and refused to be
comforted because their Prince, their champion, and their idol was not.
It was at Cefn-y-Bedd, which is now a respectable farm homestead, where
no monument of any kind marks the spot, that the mortal remains of
Llewelyn ap Gruffydd, the last reigning sovereign of Wales, were
interred. If no Parian marble marks the ground beneath whose sacred sod
lies the dust of the dear departed, his name still survives, his virtues
still live, his memory is still fondly cherished by hundreds and
thousands of his descendants; and though nearly six centuries have come
and gone since the fall of our great captain, prince, and patriot, he
still speaks to the people and the nation. Yes; his name is still dear
to Cambria’s sons and daughters. His memory is even now, after the lapse
of so many years, fresh and green. If the poor flesh, which contained
one of the purest and manliest souls that ever dwelt in a tabernacle of
clay, has long, long ago crumbled into dust, the man, the hero, and the
patriot survive, and will live in the annals of his country, and be an
idol in the heart of his descending race until time shall be no more.
I have remarked that the above visit was a “special visit.” A few days
previous I had passed Cefn-y-Bedd, on my way to the little border town of
Builth, but in passing by the sacred shrine of our illustrious ancestor,
I knew not that I was on hallowed ground. A lady companion called my
attention to an admirable husbandry arrangement of the homestead, the
like of which I had not previously seen in Breconshire. The observation
of my companion and the scene around led me into a train of thought
relating to bygone years, to the deeds of old, the revolution of
kingdoms, the decline and fall of empires, and the changes which are
daily taking place in families, in governments, and in the homes of both
rich and poor. I said to myself, every house, every cottage, every
mountain and valley has a history peculiar to itself—a history full of
interest, replete with romantic doings and sayings far more
wonderful,—embodying events and circumstances of more profound interest
and of deeper and far more pathetic story—than is often found in the
works of fiction. Who can tell, for I am sure I cannot, but that,
perhaps, that house, with its farm-yard and out-buildings, its garden and
flowers, possesses a history peculiar to itself? and it may be that long,
long ago heroes and mighty men of valour took shelter here from the fury
of the tempest or from the burning sun of mid-day July heat, in their
march from one battle-field to another. But why travel to the land of
shadows? Why draw ideal pictures of events that are past, of heroes,
warriors, and statesmen, of battles, conquests, and defeats? The dead
cannot be called to life. The past cannot be revived. The work done
cannot be undone. The past can never be recalled. Well, if these things
are among the impossibilities of life, there is one thing at any rate
which I can do. I can drop a tear on the grave which contains the
hallowed dust. I can recall the memories of the dear departed; I can
paint and set forth their virtues, can photograph their manliness and
bravery, can sketch and limn their life and deeds; so that this and
succeeding generations may learn to live more wisely, be more true, more
faithful to the dearest interests of their country, especially with
reference to those measures which lie at the basis of national progress
and the comfort and weal of the people.
The situation of Cefn-y-Bedd is exquisitely beautiful, and the scenery is
richly diversified. From it one beholds a wide expanse of country, with
varied and magnificent views, which are finely alternated with luxuriant
fertile meadows, groves of thriving timber, and flourishing plantations.
In the distance we have views of the rocky hills of Llanelwedd, at whose
base flows the poetic and majestic Wye, the beautifullest of rivers. To
the south-east is the far-famed Eppynt Forest, and down through a
luxuriant sylvan dell runs the meandering Irvon. From this sacred spot
one beholds at a glance scenery in which are combined the bold and soft,
the sterile and woody, bare and rocky hills and verdant glades. It is a
scene on which the eye delights to dwell. In the far distance the bald
rocks of Aberedw appear in view. It was among those rocks that Llewelyn
encamped before his departure for Builth. Little did he fancy when he
left that stronghold on the cold winter’s morning that his life was so
near its close. That he was surrounded by enemies, he was well aware.
That the armies of King Edward were in the immediate vicinity of his camp
he was fully cognizant of. His spies had brought him information of the
several posts occupied by the English, and of his being in imminent
danger of an attack from various quarters of the combined hosts.
Aberedw, though admirably formed by nature for resisting an attack, when
directed from the Wye banks, was yet wholly untenable in the face of the
terrible odds with which he had now to cope—a combined army moving from
various military posts. Seeing his danger, the Cambrian prince resolved
to break up his camp, and march along the sylvan Wye to Builth. Crossing
the bridge, he moved on in a southwesterly direction to Pont Orewyn,
where the Prince, unarmed, received the deadly spear. He was killed on
the 10th of December, 1282.
Having introduced to the notice of my readers the hero of my story—the
man whom Heaven, in its wisdom, specially raised up to meet the demands
of the most trying emergency which had befallen a great and an heroic
people—the man who, when placed at the head of affairs, found his country
prostrate, the national treasury empty, and the people dispirited by
reason of sad reverses—I shall proceed now to sketch the career of the
man; to set forth his virtues; to paint, but with no exaggerated
colouring, his character as a prince, as a ruler, as a military
commander, and as a friend; and shall show, what history clearly proves,
that he inspired his countrymen with an amount of confidence and trust
which no previous sovereign had been able to infuse into them; that the
veneration with which his name was so universally held was traceable to
virtues in his public acts and private life; further, that had it not
been for the treason of the faithless few, Llewelyn would have
transmitted the sovereignty of Wales to his posterity. He died, not on
the field of battle, but alone and unarmed was he when the fatal blow was
struck. By-and-by I shall show that he had done his work, and for him to
die was gain.
On the right bank of the sylvan Wheeler,—a small crystal stream which
flows through the luxuriant and richly wooded vale of Caerwys,—there
stands the modern mansion of Maesmynen. In a meadow near the present
hall there was, in the thirteenth century, an ancient palace, which from
time immemorial had been one of the royal residences of the Cambrian
Princes. Beautiful was the situation of this ancient mansion. All that
the eye loves to rest on could be seen from the elevated spot on which it
stood. This palace was the favourite residence of the unfortunate Prince
Llewelyn. Here he spent his boyhood. Here he principally lived until
his country called him to occupy a more conspicuous and more prominent
position. In the neighbouring woods of Yseiefiog, Caerwys, Trev-Edwyn,
and Bodfari, he and his trusty friends were accustomed to follow the
chase. Indeed, he lived here among friends and dependents, for the
circumjacent cantrevs of Rhos, Dyffryn Clwyd, Rhyfoniog, and
Englefield—which cantrevs included the country between Conway and
Chester—were his own property and possessions. About midway between the
two extreme points was the royal palace of Maesmynen. Here he breathed
the pure air of heaven. Here he was free from the turmoil of life’s
cares and life’s battles. Here he felt but little anxiety in connection
with the terrible war then being carried on between his countrymen,
headed by Llewelyn the Great, and, subsequent to the death, in 1240, of
that illustrious monarch, by his son and successor, Prince Davydd;
because the Prince of Maesmynen felt that the right men were at the head
of affairs, and that Heaven would defend the cause of the just. Though
Llewelyn, the last prince, was not anxious as to the result of the
struggle, yet that he was not an indifferent spectator of the scene, and
its consequences to the nation, is evident from the annals of those
momentous times. Why then did he keep aloof from the struggle? Why did
he remain inactive? Why did he continue to live a life of ease and
pleasure, when duty called him to the front? The reason is apparent when
we consider the then existing relation between members of the royal
house. His father had been cruelly treated, and had been made a prisoner
by his own brother Davydd; and when liberated, through the intervention
of mutual friends, he simply exchanged the castle of Criccaeth for the
Tower of London. In that stronghold he was securely guarded by King
Henry’s soldiers. Some of his noble compatriots, illustrious Cambrian
chieftains, successfully effected his release from the Tower, but Prince
Gruffydd, the father of our hero, in an endeavour to accomplish his own
liberation, fell from a great height and was killed on the spot. It
appears that that prince had made a cord with the linen of his bed and
table, and when he had descended about midway between the window and the
ground, the cord broke, and the unhappy prince was precipitated into the
Tower ditch, and was killed. This sad event took place in the year 1244.
During the two following years, King Davydd, being wholly free from
anxiety on account of his brother’s superior claim to the throne, which
his death had annulled, pursued a vigorous policy, displaying traits of
character and versatility of genius of the highest order. He was brave
as a lion, and was ever foremost in the struggle; thus he secured the
confidence of his friends, the admiration of his followers, the love of
his soldiers, and the dread of his enemies. His reign, however, was but
of brief duration. In 1216 he died at Aber Palace. Though this prince
was hated by many during his reign, his death was generally lamented.
When the solemn obsequies connected with the funeral of the deceased
prince were over, the Cambrian barons and chieftains met in a national
congress, and unanimously elected Prince Llewelyn-ap-Gruffydd and his
brother Owen as joint sovereigns of Wales. The decision of the barons
was hailed with the liveliest satisfaction by the Cambrian people. The
reason of the existence of this feeling in favour of the two princes is
obvious. Their father had been the idol of the Welsh. The people in
both North and South Wales had felt that he had been cruelly treated by
his brother, that he had been unjustly deprived of his inheritance, that
his birthright had been taken from him by unfair means (for he was the
lawful successor to Llewelyn the Great, the heir-apparent to the throne
on his decease), and hence that the crown belonged to him by seniority.
The people now rejoiced that the sons of the boy hero who in his youth
had made King Henry’s army feel his power, were about to be placed in
possession of their lawful inheritance as rulers and sovereigns of the
Cambrian nation. In the following pages I shall place before the reader
facts which show the wisdom of the choice which the national congress
made.
But I have no intention, indeed it is wholly foreign to my present
purpose, to write a life of Llewelyn, that is, a consecutive narrative of
his deeds and acts, and his grand military achievements. In 1856 I
compiled a biography of my hero, but it still remains in manuscript.
Briefly stated, my present purpose is to paint a likeness of the last
prince of the Cymru in three different aspects, that is, as a military
commander and tactician, as a Cambrian patriot, and as a citizen and
friend. Regarded in these several aspects, I shall, from reliable data,
make it perfectly clear that the prince was as just as he was generous;
that he commanded the respect, the love, the affection and the admiration
of all who came in contact with him; that moreover, by his deeds of
prowess, by the manifestation of great skill and eminent military
tactics, by the rapidity with which he moved his army from one part of
the battle-field to another, from one point of attack to another place
which he regarded as vulnerable, he gained a title to be regarded as one
of the greatest generals of those eventful times. He successfully
resisted, and more than once conquered, the bravest army then existing in
Europe.
Immediately after the Welsh princes ascended the throne of their
ancestors, King Henry of England, at the head of a powerful army, invaded
North Wales. For this attack the Welsh princes were wholly unprepared;
and rather than risk an engagement with such terrible odds against them,
they prudently retreated before the enemy, retiring to the mountain
districts, from which the English king failed to dislodge them.
Subsequently, but before Henry returned to England, a treaty of amity and
peace was concluded between the Cambrian and Saxon monarchs. The
conditions of this treaty were, first, that Llewelyn was to give up
possession for ever of his patrimony, the four cantrevs; secondly, that
he was to serve in Wales, or in the Marches, with one thousand foot and
twenty-four horse,—this at his own expense; thirdly, that all the Welsh
barons were to do homage to the English monarch. That the conditions of
this treaty were most humiliating, we must at once admit; but under the
circumstances there can be no doubt that Llewelyn acted wisely in
acceding to them, for had he defied the enemy then, the struggle would
have proved a hopeless one. The peace which he by the treaty secured,
lasted for a period of nine years, when Llewelyn became (1254) the sole
sovereign of Wales. From that time until his untimely end, he reigned
alone: nobly and magnanimously did he wear the crown. His was a life
without a stain of dishonour, as pure and bright as the crystal fountain;
and he has left a name which will never die. Magnanimous was he,
generous and noble was he, chivalrous and princely in mien and heart was
he: hence the reason why he was almost worshipped by all who came within
the sacred circle of his influence; and had he had a moiety of the power
possessed by the English monarchs, the issue of the struggle would have
been widely different. However, an all-wise Providence willed it
otherwise, and it is our duty to bow our heads without a murmur, for He
does all things in infinite love and wisdom.
After securing such important concessions from Llewelyn, the English
king, if be had been wise, would have pursued a mild and conciliatory
policy towards the nobles and barons of the Welsh nation: unfortunately
for his reputation and statesmanship, good-will towards the conquered
formed no part of the imperial virtues. He ruled with a rod of iron, the
olive-branch forming no part of the device upon the king’s banner. Thus
the fruit of his policy soon became apparent. It would be expecting more
than human nature to suppose that the Cambrian chieftains and barons
would remain peaceful and quiet on seeing their estates seized by lords
Marchers. Moreover, the greatest oppression was practised by minions of
King Henry, and for the most trivial offences the proud barons of Wales
were subjected to cruel and extreme punishment. As was natural, his
cruelties and his policy of confiscation produced everywhere
disaffection, and ultimately a spirit of implacable hate was engendered.
The people, to a man, were in the end ready to rise in order to throw off
the bitter yoke. They had their leader, the brave prince Llewelyn; but
the fruit was not yet ripe. But while he urged delay, he did not neglect
preparation for the conflict, for he knew that the day of conflict must
come. When the hour arrived, Llewelyn took the field, and his
achievements far surpassed the most sanguine expectations of both himself
and his brave followers. In the space of a single week he recovered from
the enemy the possessions they had acquired by war in North Wales and
Cardiganshire. Wherever he and his little army went, the enemy was
compelled to yield, and to retire from the battlefield as defeated hosts.
Soon after these successes, Llewelyn led a large army into South Wales.
Before Dynevor Castle, near Llandilo, he encountered the English forces,
which were commanded by Rhys Vychan. The battle was conducted with great
skill and bravery on both sides; but at last the king’s army was
thoroughly beaten and retired from the field. Immediately after this
splendid victory, the Cambrian prince returned in triumph to the North,
where his subjects received him with universal acclamation and heart-felt
gratitude. But his work now had only just commenced. On his arrival at
Aber, he found awaiting him a deputation from the four cantrevs,—tenants
and chiefs residing on lands within his patrimony,—who had come to lay
before their prince and friend the terrible wrongs they had to endure
from the exactions of Geoffrey de Langley, who farmed the crown lands
under Prince Edward of England. “Llewelyn, to avenge their injuries,
crossed the frontier, carrying fire and sword to the very gates of
Chester, from the walls of which, Edward himself is said to have been a
galled witness of the havoc.” On this defeat Edward sought his father’s
aid, but he sought it in vain: he then applied to his uncle, the king of
the Romans, for assistance; but the forces he was thereby able to bring
to the field were found either too cowardly or too weak to attack the
Welsh. “The Cambrian prince with his army then took a _détour_, they
entered the territory of Gruffydd ab Madog, lord of Dinas Brân, a chief
who had formed a hostile league against Llewelyn and his native land,”
upon whom he took ample revenge. On returning, he suddenly met the
English army, which was commanded by Prince Edward in person. A terrible
battle was fought between the Welsh and English armies; but at every
point of the line Llewelyn’s troops were victorious. In this conflict,
Edward’s forces were badly beaten, a small remnant only escaping with
their life. After a brief repose, Llewelyn renewed his operations
against the domains of Edward, and these he carried on without meeting
with any serious opposition; but Llewelyn did not love war: in the hour
of his most splendid triumphs he was anxious for peace. Immediately
after his recent grand achievements, he wrote to King Henry offering, “if
a peace were concluded, and the Welsh restored to their ancient laws, to
give a sum of money to Henry, and to acknowledge his sovereignty.”
Considering his late successes, we are surprised at his thus humbling
himself to his foe. Doubtless he made this offer because of the deep
solicitude he felt for the lives and property of his people. This
generous offer was rejected with scorn by Henry, whereupon hostilities
were recommenced with great and increased vigour by both of the
contending parties.
In reviewing thus far the life and character of the Cambrian prince, we
have seen that his decision was always followed by prompt and energetic
action. Whenever he resolved to do a special thing or to gain a certain
point, he at once set about its accomplishment. To this characteristic
of the man is traceable the secret of some of his mightiest achievements.
In the present case Llewelyn gained important victories before the
English monarch could collect his forces and approach
his—Llewelyn’s—dominions. During the lull the prince moved his army
against the Lord of Powys, whom he easily defeated. The tidings of this
victory having been carried to Gruffydd ab Madog, that chief felt that it
would be madness on his part to resist the Cambrian prince, and he
therefore sought and obtained a treaty of peace. Llewelyn then marched
against the Earl of Gloucester, whom he defeated in a general battle.
These successes and achievements roused the Welsh to the highest pitch of
enthusiasm. Accordingly we find that the Cambrian barons and chiefs
entered into a solemn league to defend till death the independence and
freedom of their country. This confederacy was formed in the year 1258.
On its being ratified the Cambrian prince commenced to march southward,
and gained easy victories over the forces that were thrown forward to
impede his progress. In a subsequent campaign in South Wales he took the
castle of Maelienydd, in Radnorshire. Afterwards he invaded the English
borders on the west side of Shropshire and Cheshire, where he gained
important advantages over the lords Marchers. From thence he proceeded
to the castles of Diserdd and Diganwy, which he besieged and destroyed.
On being apprised of these fresh disasters, Prince Edward marched against
Llewelyn, who retired to, and took refuge among, the “mountain bulwarks”
of Carnarvonshire. As Edward dared not follow the Welsh prince there, he
returned to England, “if not disgraced, at least without any particular
honour.”
I pass over, as forming no part of my design, the insurrection of De
Montford, that nobleman’s success against Sir Roger Mortimer, and his
triumph over Prince Edward, whom he kept a prisoner in Hereford Castle.
Further, I shall content myself with a passing reference to the invasion
of Glamorganshire by Llewelyn, the important treaty of Montgomery in 1267
between Henry and Llewelyn, and the death of the former five years
afterwards.
When Edward ascended the throne, be called upon Llewelyn to do homage at
his coronation. The Welsh prince replied that he was prepared to comply
with the mandate, provided some English noblemen of distinction were sent
to the Principality as hostages for his security. The negotiations
respecting the question of homage, and the correspondence relating to the
imprisonment of Eleanor de Montford, Llewelyn’s betrothed, were carried
on until the summer of 1277, when Edward, at the head of a numerous body
of vassals, invaded North Wales. Llewelyn’s army being small, he dared
not risk a general battle, so he retired and took refuge among the
inaccessible defences of Snowdon—a safe asylum, a secure retreat on all
occasions when the commissariat department of the army was attended to.
Anglesey being now in the hands of the English, and there existing
disaffection among some of the South Wales chieftains, the prince found
himself so hemmed in that supplies could not be obtained. “Urged by the
sufferings of his famishing soldiers, and without any chance of relief,”
and his betrothed still being a prisoner, Llewelyn was compelled to sue
for peace; but King Edward refused to entertain any proposal short of an
unconditional surrender. Under the treaty which was then agreed to, it
was stipulated that Llewelyn was to do homage in London annually, to
deliver up all prisoners, to restore all forfeited lands, to resign the
feudal supremacy over his barons; and all the Welsh chieftains, excepting
the five barons of Snowdon, were to hold their lands direct from Edward.
The conditions of this treaty were strictly observed by the Welsh prince
for a period of about four years. To his subjects those were years of
suffering. The administration was corrupt; gross frauds were practised
on the Welsh; while oppression, tyranny, and cruelties characterized the
proceedings of the representatives of the Government. The people
complained of the wrongs which they sustained, and mildly but firmly
asked for a redress of their grievances; but a deaf ear was turned to all
the representations which were made. At last the yoke became
intolerable; they appealed to Prince David for assistance, and that
prince renounced his “unnatural allegiance to Edward,” and became
reconciled to his brother Llewelyn; and the two princes and a number of
powerful and influential chieftains organized a concerted movement with a
view to drive the English from their land and to re-establish the freedom
and independence of their country. Their cause was good, and their
object just and noble; but, ah me! they lacked the power and resources
necessary to accomplish their grand and holy purpose.
Llewelyn and his brother, having matured their plan of action, at once
commenced the campaign. They jointly invested the castle of Flint, on
the estuary of the Dee; and from thence they marched to and successfully
attacked the castle of Rhuddlan. The Cambrian army then moved along the
coast, and were hotly pursued by Edward, who overtook the retreating
forces near Conway. Here a general battle was fought between the
contending forces, in which the Welsh were victorious. On his defeat the
English king retired to Hope Dale, from which he soon recommenced
operations, and re-occupied Rhuddlan without experiencing any opposition.
From Rhuddlan he “despatched a part of his army by sea to take possession
of the Isle of Anglesey,” and from thence, by means of a bridge of boats,
this section of the army crossed over the Menai and landed at Moel-y-Don,
near Bangor. When the reflux of the tide had broken the communication
between the artificial bridge and the mainland, the Welsh army rushed
from their hiding-place, and nearly the whole number of the enemy were
either killed by the sword or perished in the waves. To Edward this was
an unexpected disaster. For a moment it paralysed his operations. He
felt that he had underrated the strength and undervalued the generalship
of Llewelyn, and to make up for the losses he had sustained he raised
fresh levies throughout his dominions.
During the preparations which were being made by Edward for another
campaign the Cambrian princes were not idle. They arranged that the
younger brother, Prince David, should be entrusted with the defence of
North Wales, while Llewelyn would march against the English forces in
South Wales. In the county of Cardigan Llewelyn gained important
victories against the enemy; with a small body of troops he proceeded to
the vicinity of Builth, with a view to consult some chieftains of that
locality; and here, unattended and alone, this great, brave, manly,
heroic, and magnanimous prince fell by the hand of an assassin. Thus
perished, in the year 1282, after a reign of twenty-eight years,
Llewelyn, the last native prince of the Cymry!
Having reviewed the military career of Llewelyn, I shall proceed to make
two or three observations respecting his character as a ruler and
citizen. We have abundant evidence to prove that he was a profound lover
of his country. He loved her hills and dales, her mountains and valleys,
her alpine heights and cwms, or dells, with all the strong passion of a
warm and generous heart. Deeper than the love of home, of wife, of
kindred, of lands and possessions, was his affection for wild Wales and
its people. Of all countries in the wide world, Wales was to him the
brightest and fairest, and its people the bravest and best. For her
welfare, he sacrificed all he had, all he possessed; and at last his life
was immolated on his dear country’s shrine. As a citizen, he was
generous and kind. His heart was full of human sympathy, while his
spirit was one of the gentlest that ever dwelt in a tabernacle of clay.
Although he raised his country to a position of military fame which she
had not occupied in previous history, yet war, in his view, had no glory.
He loved peace. He desired to live on terms of amity and friendship with
the English people and their rulers. But alas! alas! those rulers were
bent on the destruction of the independence and freedom of his country.
To prevent this, he led his army against the foe, and for a time war
smiled upon him; but at last he fell, not in battle, but unarmed and
alone, stricken to the earth by an assassin.
Brief, comparatively brief, was the public life of Prince Llewelyn; but
grand, noble, and heroic were his deeds. He lived for others, not for
himself. For the welfare of his country he laboured, not for personal
aggrandizement. The mainspring of his actions was the deep and intense
love of Fatherland. The great object for which he worked and fought and
suffered, for which he became a public man, the leader and chief and
ruler of a brave, a virtuous, an heroic people, was, to secure the
independence of his country, the freedom and liberty of its people, and
the blessing of permanent peace. To the interests of the land of his
birth, the home of his father’s sepulchre, he was ever true, ever
faithful, ever unswerving in fidelity and loyalty. If others proved
faithless, not so this patriotic prince. If others of his countrymen
forsook the true standard of national independence, if they joined the
ranks of the enemy with a view to aid in crushing the liberties of an
ancient people—a race who could trace their history, without a single
break in the narrative, hundreds of years before the appearance of the
Divine Teacher on earth—Llewelyn felt it all the more necessary for him
to be more fearless in the fray, to put on a bolder and a manlier front,
to toil and to work more incessantly in the cause which he felt was
founded upon justice, upon right, and equity. For a period of thirty-six
years he carried on a successful though an unequal struggle with the
English monarchs Henry and Edward. But few, very few, was the number of
his soldiers compared with the hosts who made up the armies that fought
under the banner of his country’s foes. His were brave men, and they
were engaged in a struggle which was dearer and more sacred to them than
life itself. They were true soldiers. To fear they were strangers.
Deeper than the love of life, than the love of kindred, than the love of
estates and possessions, was their love and affection for Fatherland. We
hardly know which to admire the more, the people or their leaders, the
soldiers or their brave chiefs, the Cambrian army or their lawful prince.
They were exposed to temptation, but they yielded not to its alluring
charms. Bribes were freely offered to many a Cambrian chieftain, but
these offers were made in vain. When at last treason achieved the work
which a far more powerful nation than the Welsh failed to accomplish on
the battle-field, let it be proclaimed to the world, and let the fact be
known to all ages to come, that the traitor was a border man, and not a
man in whose veins flowed Cambrian blood. But he accomplished his work,
and Llewelyn was no more. His death was the direst calamity that had
ever befallen the Cambrian people. Strange as it might appear,
nevertheless it is an historical fact, that when Llewelyn’s compatriots
found that their brave prince had fallen by the hands of an assassin, the
spirit of heroism and bravery appears to have forsaken them. Hence to
the best, and to the bravest of the brave, the struggle now appeared
hopeless, notwithstanding that Prince David still lived and was free.
Though that prince was as brave as his deceased brother he did not
command the same amount of confidence which was reposed in the slain
Llewelyn. Thus we find, that though the struggle was continued, it
lacked the boldness, energy, and high military tactics which had
characterized the generalship of the martyred chief. Hence it soon
became evident to the enemy that the death-knell of Cambrian freedom and
independence had sounded, and that in a few days, or at any rate in a few
months at most, this ancient Principality would cease to occupy a
separate and distinct place in the annals of the world. That the people
in those times should have regarded the downfall of their country, the
loss of their freedom and independence, as a terrible calamity, was but
natural. In King Edward’s promises and generosity the Welsh people had
no confidence. To him and to his immediate predecessor they traced, and
correctly traced, most of their troubles with the English nation. They
had desired to live in peace; war they did not invite. They took up
arms, not for conquest, not to extend their dominion, not to annex new
counties to the Principality, but simply in defence of the rights and
liberties of their country, which they desired to transmit and hand down
to their children and their children’s children. But Providence had, for
some grand purpose and design, willed that the weaker nation should be
united to the stronger and more powerful people. In this age we behold
and recognise the wisdom of His purpose. Though a distinct race, in
language, feeling, and mental and physical idiosyncrasy, yet we unitedly
admit that the benefits which come to us by reason of our union with the
Saxon, are neither few nor unimportant. Happily, too, the ancient feuds
between the two races are forgotten. We now live as brethren. The
rivalry between us is no longer on the battle-field; we contend not with
sword and bayonet. No! the contest is shifted to a more noble, a more
beautiful, and a grander scene, with a sublimer aim and object than ever
has characterized broad fields of battle; namely, the advancement of
material civilization; the triumphs of art and the conquests of science;
and the social, intellectual, moral, and religious welfare of the people.
May the standard of our contention ever be towards this high ideal! then
a glorious future awaits the union of the Cambrian and Saxon peoples.
If now and then we of the former race drop a tear when the shadows of our
country’s martyred princes pass by, it is with no feeling of bitterness
towards those into whose hands the sceptre of our land has passed. On
the contrary, while we remember with pride and gratitude the heroic
struggle of the “last of our native princes,” we admit that it is
infinitely better for Wales that she should be united to England under
the beneficent sway of Victoria, and we have still a Prince of Wales to
whom the Cambrian people are as loyal as their fathers were to Prince
Llewelyn.
NOTE.—The historic facts embodied in the preceding sketch are taken from
“Carnhuanawc’s Hanes Cymru,” “Warrington’s History of Wales,” the
“Cambrian Plutarch,” and “Welsh Sketches.”
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NOTES.
{178} This is a literal fact.
{260} Mr. Eli, I fancy, obtained some of his facts from Pennant.