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equal to any save ONE of his own； was a mere amatory songster。
Yet； diversified as the genius of the Roman was； there is no
species of poetry in which he shone in which the Welshman may not
be said to display equal merit。 Ab Gwilym； then； has been fairly
styled the Welsh Ovid。 But he was something more … and here let
there be no sneers about Welsh： the Welsh are equal in genius；
intellect and learning to any people under the sun； and speak a
language older than Greek； and which is one of the immediate
parents of the Greek。 He was something more than the Welsh Ovid：
he was the Welsh Horace； and wrote light； agreeable； sportive
pieces； equal to any things of the kind composed by Horace in his
best moods。 But he was something more： he was the Welsh Martial；
and wrote pieces equal in pungency to those of the great Roman
epigrammatist； … perhaps more than equal； for we never heard that
any of Martial's epigrams killed anybody； whereas Ab Gwilym's piece
of vituperation on Rhys Meigan … pity that poets should be so
virulent … caused the Welshman to fall down dead。 But he was yet
something more： he could； if he pleased； be a Tyrtaeus； he was no
fighter … where was there ever a poet that was？ … but he wrote an
ode on a sword； the only warlike piece that he ever wrote； the best
poem on the subject ever written in any language。 Finally； he was
something more： he was what not one of the great Latin poets was；
a Christian； that is； in his latter days； when he began to feel the
vanity of all human pursuits； when his nerves began to be unstrung；
his hair to fall off； and his teeth to drop out； and he then
composed sacred pieces entitling him to rank with … we were going
to say Caedmon； had we done so we should have done wrong； no
uninspired poet ever handled sacred subjects like the grand Saxon
Skald … but which entitle him to be called a great religious poet；
inferior to none but the protege of Hilda。
Before ceasing to speak of Ab Gwilym； it will be necessary to state
that his amatory pieces； which constitute more than one…half of his
productions； must be divided into two classes： the purely amatory
and those only partly devoted to love。 His poems to Dyddgu and the
daughter of Ifor Hael are productions very different from those
addressed to Morfudd。 There can be no doubt that he had a sincere
affection for the two first； there is no levity in the cowydds
which he addressed to them； and he seldom introduces any other
objects than those of his love。 But in his cowydds addressed to
Morfudd is there no levity？ Is Morfudd ever prominent？ His
cowydds to that woman abound with humorous levity； and for the most
part have far less to do with her than with natural objects … the
snow； the mist； the trees of the forest； the birds of the air； and
the fishes of the stream。 His first piece to Morfudd is full of
levity quite inconsistent with true love。 It states how； after
seeing her for the first time at Rhosyr in Anglesey； and falling in
love with her； he sends her a present of wine by the hands of a
servant； which present she refuses； casting the wine contemptuously
over the head of the valet。 This commencement promises little in
the way of true passion； so that we are not disappointed when we
read a little farther on that the bard is dead and buried； all on
account of love； and that Morfudd makes a pilgrimage to Mynyw to
seek for pardon for killing him； nor when we find him begging the
popish image to convey a message to her。 Then presently we almost
lose sight of Morfudd amidst birds； animals and trees； and we are
not sorry that we do； for though Ab Gwilym is mighty in humour；
great in describing the emotions of love and the beauties of the
lovely； he is greatest of all in describing objects of nature；
indeed in describing them he has no equal； and the writer has no
hesitation in saying that in many of his cowydds in which he
describes various objects of nature； by which he sends messages to
Morfudd； he shows himself a far greater poet than Ovid appears in
any one of his Metamorphoses。 There are many poets who attempt to
describe natural objects without being intimately acquainted with
them； but Ab Gwilym was not one of these。 No one was better
acquainted with nature； he was a stroller； and there is every
probability that during the greater part of the summer he had no
other roof than the foliage； and that the voices of birds and
animals were more familiar to his ears than was the voice of man。
During the summer months； indeed； in the early part of his life； he
was； if we may credit him； generally lying perdue in the woodland
or mountain recesses near the habitation of his mistress； before or
after her marriage； awaiting her secret visits； made whenever she
could escape the vigilance of her parents； or the watchful of her
husband； and during her absence he had nothing better to do than to
observe objects of nature and describe them。 His ode to the Fox；
one of the most admirable of his pieces； was composed on one of
these occasions。
Want of space prevents the writer from saying as much as he could
wish about the genius of this wonderful man； the greatest of his
country's songsters； well calculated by nature to do honour to the
most polished age and the most widely…spoken language。 The bards
his contemporaries； and those who succeeded him for several hundred
years； were perfectly convinced of his superiority； not only over
themselves； but over all the poets of the past； and one； and a
mighty one； old Iolo the bard of Glendower； went so far as to
insinuate that after Ab Gwilym it would be of little avail for any
one to make verses …
〃Aed lle mae'r eang dangneff；
Ac aed y gerdd gydag ef。〃
〃To Heaven's high peace let him depart；
And with him go the minstrel art。〃
He was buried at Ystrad Flur； and a yew tree was planted over his
grave； to which Gruffydd Gryg； a brother bard； who was at one time
his enemy； but eventually became one of the most ardent of his
admirers； addressed an ode； of part of which the following is a
paraphrase：…
〃Thou noble tree； who shelt'rest kind
The dead man's house from winter's wind；
May lightnings never lay thee low；
Nor archer cut from thee his bow；
Nor Crispin peel thee pegs to frame；
But may thou ever bloom the same；
A noble tree the grave to guard
Of Cambria's most illustrious bard！〃
CHAPTER LXXXVII
Start for Plynlimmon … Plynlimmon's Celebrity … Troed Rhiw Goch。
THE morning of the fifth of November looked rather threatening。
As； however； it did not rain； I determined to set off for
Plynlimmon； and； returning at night to the inn； resume my journey
to the south on the following day。 On looking into a pocket
almanac I found it was Sunday。 This very much disconcerted me； and
I thought at first of giving up my expedition。 Eventually；
however； I determined to go； for I reflected that I should be doing
no harm； and that I might acknowledge the sacredness of the day by
attending morning service at the little Church of England chapel
which lay in my way。
Th