which lies to the right of the road. It was formerly a place of much
consequence, at which the assizes for the county of Flint were held, as
were likewise a species of British Olympics, it being the seat of the
“Eisteddfod,” or Sessions of the Bards and Minstrels; the grand theatre
where, in honourable contention, they tried their skill, poured forth
their extemporaneous effusions, awaked their harps to melody,
“And gave to rapture all the trembling strings.”
Under the British princes, the bards and minstrels were associated in
corporate, or rather collegiate bodies; into which none were admitted,
but such as had given proof of their skill in the respective sciences
before proper judges, duly appointed by royal commission. And although
the institution is now dissolved, and the character officially no more,
yet those who, “born with music in their souls, _that_ wish to feast on
raptures ever new,” will consentaneously say,
“But hail ye mighty masters of the lay,
Nature’s true sons, the friends of man and truth!
Whose song, sublimely sweet, serenely gay,
Amused my childhood, and inform’d my youth.
O let your spirit still my bosom soothe,
Inspire my dreams, and my wild wanderings guide!
Your voice each rugged path of life can smooth;
For well I know wherever ye reside,
There harmony, and peace, and innocence abide.”