Entranc'd I stood, the tuneful waters way'd,

They wrote Taliesin, on the sands they lav'd;
The name repeated, on the rippling shore,

The rocks are records, and the lake is lore;
Enchanting spot-with glowing eye I gaz'd,

The spark divine, through all my bosom blaz'd;
O'er ages past, the mental radiance ran,

When first, in Elphin's arms the strain began,

it appears from a line of the Bard's, that he had a dwelling near this lake.

"Myfi yw Taliesin, ar lan llyn Geirionydd."

I am Taliesin, on the shore of the lake Geirionydd.

* Gwyddno garanhir (the long headed) was, in 540, Lord of Cantre 'r gwaelod, a district on the sea shore, in the county of Merioneth, and soon afterwards overflowed; he gave his son Elphin, for his maintenance, the produce of a wear in this wear, the infant Bard, Taliesin, was found (like Moses) wrapt in a leathernwallet, which Meredydd ap Rhys describes as the casket which. contained a treasure.

"Y tlws lle caed Taliesin."

The beautiful moral Ode, Dyhuddiant Elphin (Elphin's Consolation) and supposed to have been addressed by the infant Bard, to young Elphin, afterwards his Patron, may be seen in the Volumes of Mr. Pennant.

When listening Britain, on his accents hung,
And aged Llowarch's, though herself but young.

Hush'd were on Cambria's tops, th' aspiring gales,
The humbler breezes, breathing in the vales ;
Even Zephyr's wings, that flutter in the glades,
Then lightly floated o'er unbending blades.

Hush'd was the torrent's roar, the tinkling rill,
Even foaming Lligwy's+ thundering sounds were still;

And Conway's self, that heaves th' incessant sigh,
O'er Griffith's urn, look'd on with dewy eye.

Lligwy, this rapid river rising in the interior of Snowdonia, forms, in its passage to the Conwy, the water-fall called Rhaiadr y wennol, the (Cataract of the Swallow.)

Llowarch hên (or the aged) a Bard and Prince of the Cumbrian Britons, his twenty-four sons fell in the field, defending their Country against the Saxons.-The heroic Elegies and other Poems of this Bard, were published in 1792, with literal translations, by Mr. William Owen.

The late Rev. Hugh Davies Griffith, of Caer Rhûn; his

Hush'd were the herds, the flocks responsive low,
The bleating nations, on the mountain's brow;

The buzzing millions, that the sun-beams fill,
The birds of Heaven, and every voice was still;
Still was the world, while in the pause profound,
I trod with holy awe, that hallow'd ground.

Amid cerulean gleams, by Angels led,

His sainted spirit hover'd o'er my head;

His blest approach, a choir symphonious told,

Bright, through my soil, his eye of rapture roll'd;

In spotless silver, song's blest father came,

In vests of azure, other sons of Fame;

published thoughts on the erection of bridges over the Menai, and the Conway; his history in MS. of the latter river; Suggestions on the improvement of the harbours on the coast of North Wales; and an Essay on the Cambrian population; now only excite regret, that a life so likely to be useful to his Country, was terminated so early."

The Muse's train, in other times inspir'd,

When Britain's race, to Cambrian rocks retir'd ;-
Their harps suspended, and the strain unsung,.
While o'er their hoary heads, Oppression* hung;
And those that since, beneath a milder power,
The pastoral pipe have held in happier hour;
When Concord bade the nations cease to bleed,
And led the voice, that long, was Honor's meed;
To give its modulations to the groves,,

To sing the softer virtues, and the loves;

And they, who now, the powers of song partake,

Whose words, untaught, in measur'd warblings break;

My tuneful Brothers, of the passing day,

Who

pour,

in Britain's infant voice, the lay;

A Poet of this period thus pathetically deplores the suffer

ings of his Compatriots.

"Y rhai ydoedd mewn rhyddid,

"Aethon yn caethion i gyd."

Those that Freedom's blessings knew,

Now an iron bondage rue.

To these he gave, a Father's fondest smiles,
Then nam'd, lamented, Burns the living Giles ;*
And He,† who still, with liberal hand explores,

The storied hoard, Poetic page restores;

*Mr. Bloomfield's "Farmer's Boy."

+ Mr. Owen Jones, of London, founder of the Gwyneddigion, or North Wales Society; to this Gentleman, his Country is indebted for the two copious volumes of the Archaiology of Wales, or British Classicks, still carrying on; for a valuable Edition of a favorite Bard Davydd ap Gwilim; for an Edition of that pious and useful work Dyhewid y Cristion; and for his generous and unremitted exertion in behalf of Literature.-His Countrymen, the Cambrian Society offered him their thanks by public Advertisement, in September 1802.

If the Mccænass' and the Mediciss' of past times, have deserv edly received from grateful Science, the Fama Superstes; if Patrons born on the lap of Plenty, who have encouraged Learning, and cherished its votaries with means which it has cost them no care to collect, no effort to create, and no forberance to amass, live in Anvarwol eiria (immortal strains); what meed is to be given to that Merit, which, born in a situation where industry was necessary to existence, has liberally given of its produce to rescue the neglected Literature of his Country, from the destruction that awaited it to munificence thus enhanced, the voice of Praise