portion of the garreg gôch that marked the lambs, the other some slight remains of the kettle in which the shepherds boiled their pitch! This, however, is by the way. I must now return to my own part of the argument, having first apologized to W. G. T. for trespassing so long on his grounds. Among the different poems attributed to Taliesin is Kad Goddeu, or Battle of the Trees, designs, or devices. As printed in the Archæology, the author begins with a relation of his own transmigrations, or the various forms which he successively assumed. The author of Celtic Researches denies that the poem refers in any way to the doctrine of Metampsychosis: be affirms it to be an allegory, and that, by the changes recorded, the bard only meant to delineate, according to his Druidical views, the ripening progress of art, science, or invention; and from thence concluded that we are to consider Taliesin as personifying science or the inventive principle, when he says Bûm yn lliaws rhith Cyn bûm dyscyvrith. "I was in a multitude of shapes before I assumed a consistent form." He then enumerates sixteen of these forms, and in the twenty-third line adds Bûm Gwydd yngwarthan. "At last I became TREES," or "a sage." Next we have a description of an ugly monster, which may remind us of the Typhon of antiquity. He has "a hundred heads;" "a battle is contested under the roof of his tongues;" and another "in the recesses of his heads:" "he is a black gasping toad, armed with a hundred claws, a spotted and a crested snake." Here an interpolator steps in to explain that this monster symbolizes "the sins which occasion our punishment in the flesh." The style of the interpretation savours much of the odour of the mouks, an order that wrought more mischief among our Bardic poems than is readily described. This monster having been delineated, Taliesin then commences his Druidism; that is, he proceeds to arm his symbolical trees or plants in order of battle. "I was in the city of Bevenydd," he says, "whither the herbs and trees hastened." Here the Sages invoke the Supreme Ruler to succour those whose conduct and integrity had satisfied him. The Ruler gave for answer-" Delineate the commanding trees throughout language and its elements in the capacity of warriors, and restrain the confusion in the hand of the inexpert." Let the reader observe, the Sages are the Druids, the favoured of God-the trees and plants those mysteries which were not to be touched by the hand of the inexpert. This was the great, the profound secret of Druidism. The symbolical trees and plants spoke a language which the initiated only could comprehend. So important was its use, so ingenious was the contrivance, that none but the Supreme Being could have communicated it. All this we may look upon as of a wild and singular nature, but if we view Druidism as a great mystery, we cannot but considerit as a device of great sublimity. The language of the trees, it is probable, we may never be able to fathom thoroughly; here and there, however, the great Druid does occasionally break through his metaphors, and a few rays of light are then admitted through the scanty chinks. Yet, dim as the whole vision appears, it is satisfactory to think that Christianity bears no part in it; that the British church is not answerable for it. It takes us back to the mythic ages, far beyond the scope of history; it is Druidism throughout-dark, mysterious, awful Druidism; that superstition that bowed the people as abject slaves, and raised the priest, a tyrant, triumphant and supreme. But this is a digression. The bard now tells us how the plants or trees came forward to the battle, discriminating, at the same time, between their several dispositions and the various talents they exerted. Some, he observes, came forward voluntarily, others were armed with difficulty and after a long interval. Far advanced in the van is Gwaed Gwyr, the PENNY ROYAL, followed by the alder, the willow, the ash, the birch, the holly, the fern, the broom, the gorse, the heather, and the oak, "shaking heaven and earth." What may all this signify, I for one do not pretend to know; nor is it necessary, in proving my point, that I should. My knowledge of the matter is sufficient, if I have proved to the reader that this particular part of the poem has no reference to a deluge-that it is merely a catalogue of certain plants arranged in a certain order-that Gwaed Gwyr is one of these plants-that we still assign it to a plant known out of the Principality by the name of Penny Royal-that it occurs in the poem in dispute side by side with other plants and trees, of whose names we have no doubtful signification,—and that, if it be translated according to the learned author's view, we cannot but arrive at pretty much the same absurdity as in those passages where pair was translated a caldron, and so gave to our Saviour a double mother. Relative to the six lines which follow Gwaed Gwyr, and by which the learned author makes the Druid say that, "Human blood up to our hips is the greatest ardent excitement that sports in the world, and one who has completed the study of the Deluge (is) of Christ the Cruciform Deputy at the day of Judgment," I would beg to submit that the first four are out of their proper position in the poem, though there can be little doubt of their being authentic. The reader who should sit down to the Archæology on the supposition that every line of it is in that position where it was originally written, will find, on examination, that he is very much mistaken. The editors have done nothing for him further than collecting the original materials. The work of restoring and re-arranging must be done by himself. The lines in question have been referred, by a very learned man, to the system of symbols which we have been already considering. They import that "it (the system) is the greatest of the mental exertions that disported in the world, and the one which was amongst the stores of the deluge," intimating that the symbolical system was no new one-that it was anciently known, and handed down from the ages beyond the flood as a treasure of the greatest importance to mankind, The two remaining lines A Crist y crocaw A dyddbrawd rhagllaw— strangely enough translated, "Of Christ, the cruciform Deputy at the Day of Judgment," mean, in fact, anything but this. Let the learned author try again, and let him say whether I am wrong in translating them thus: "And Christ the cruciform, and the Day of Judgment that is to come." If he take the trouble to cross the borders, he will find that no Welshman's ear, while reading, or hearing these two lines read, would ever make so strange a mistake as to suppose that rhag llaw, to be, in this place, was the single word rhagllaw, deputy. To the mere English reader it may seem strange to say, that the ear should be any index towards speaking or reading Welsh correctly, that is, grammatically. But so it is. The most ignorant boor, from the wildest recesses of our mountains-the man who has never read a letter-can, by the ear alone, detect instantly a false concord, or a false mutation. And this even the English reader will detect; he will observe, on referring to page 250 of last volume, the great straining to which the learned author is put to make out his own view. He will there see, first, a verb introduced within parentheses; second, an extraneous note about the ancient vowel A; whereas, I would venture to affirm that there is not a Welshman, born and bred up to speak his mother tongue, who would not translate these two lines as I have done. I mean, of course, a boná fide Welshman; one who is brought up, by wise parents, to know something of the feelings, and sympathies, and the language of his countrymen around him-those whose happiness are centred in him; and not a mere exotic, as is too often the case with us now, knowing as much of what lives around him as he does of the polar bears that lurk beneath the icebergs of Kamskatka, and often, very often, just the same measure of sympathy towards them. But, independent of this granting even that I have not translated them correctly, the two lines in question have, in point of fact, nothing whatever to do with the context. They are an interpolation, introduced according to a vile custom, which I promised to explain in my last communication—a custom which it would have been well for the learned author if his extensive reading had allowed him to pause over; for I cannot suppose that it is new to him. As I am not aware of its having been noticed before, I will humbly endeavour to do so now at full length, yet as little tedious, and as concise as the importance of the subject will allow. I say important, because, unless I fondly delude myself, I think there are signs in the times of these long neglected records being about to occupy a greater share of public attention than has been hitherto allowed to them: to the church historian, their value can never be trifling. Giraldus Cambrensis, writing in the twelfth century, has said that the Bardic poems were sadly mutilated even in his day. But, if he had not said so, evidence to prove the fact would be anything but wanting. I quote him merely to prove its antiquity. The Bards of Wales, like the Troubadours of Europe, or the Rhap sodists of Homer, went about the country i glera, as they termed it-that is, to sing at the principal residences of the chiefs of the land. In imitation of the Bards, and knowing the speculation to be a profitable one, begging monks, who were unable to compose matter of their own, and drivelling rhymers, who would compose anything but what was tolerable, were fain to content themselves by regaling the ears of their patrons with the more agreeable, though to themselves the more irksome effusions of our ancient bards. Accordingly, when the recitation was ended, a sympathetic appeal was made to the purses of their hosts, by tacking on to the old poem some two or three, or more, lines of their own composition, bearing upon monetary matters, and having no connexion whatever, of course, with the subject previously recited. This was one species of interpolation. There was another, which may be termed the interpolation explanatory. And this was when the rhymer condescended to enlighten his audience, by way of comment, relative to some abstruse druidical mystery, as in the case of the hundred-headed monster already referred to; or in cases where the Druid was supposed not to have been sufficiently explicit-as, for example, in the poem now considered, the Battle of the Trees. The Druid having said pointedly that the Sages of the primitive world addressed "the Supreme Ruler," the rhymer thought that it would be more catholic to add that they addressed Christ also; consequently, a verse to that effect is introduced forthwith-though, as is evident, from the verse following, one Being only was originally contemplated. Similarly, in the Consolation of Elphin, page 250, last volume, quoted by our author, "the three Hosts," tri llu, having been mentioned, it mattered not to the monk to whom the Druid referred,-sufficient was it for him that the number three was there; he required nothing more to prove the presence of the Trinity; and, consequently, we have the holy name of Jesus introduced by the line Ger-bron yr Jesu into the delirious effusions of pagan blasphemy. So, likewise, when Taliesin "tells the Druids to declare to Arthur all that is predicted of yore"-translated by our author, "that what is, is from of yore," (see page 250)- he asks them, "Have they not sung of me? With my precious golden device upon my piece of gold [the badge of his priesthood, like the Urim and Thummim of the Jews] Lo, I am that splendid one who sportively came from the invading host of the Feryll." [Cabiri Helio-Arkites. Dav. Myth.] But this would not do for the rhymers. Into this mysticism they must introduce the sacred name of Christ, and the terrors of the Judgment Day A Crist y crocaw Though, as it cannot but be evident to every reader of the Myvyrian, they bear not the slightest relation to the context, and only add to the mysticism already existing. If anything more be wanting to prove the interpolation of these two lines, let me point the reader's attention to the original poem, where he will see, in addition to the rhymer's interpolation, a glaring mistake of the transcriber, who has introduced them twice; first, after the Penny Royal, and the four lines by which the Druid describes his system of symbols; secondly, in the passage which I have now translated and restored, believing it to be the original reading. At the same time, let the reader observe that he has dragged with them two of the four lines, but in a reverse order. Of the first class of interpolation, there is a remarkable instance in a poem styled, Kaidair Keridwen, or the Chair of Keridwen. This poem was probably recited by a priest during some solemn festival of the mysterious goddess. It may be looked upon as the curious remains of Druidical Liturgy. The monk, however, would have it Christian too; accordingly, he tacks to it three lines, differing from the rest of the poem in style and metre, and, I need hardly say, in matter also. An rhothwy y Drindawd "May the Trinity give us mercy in the day of Judgment—a good man will give us alms!" In a beautiful little poem, attributed to Taliesin, and called the Little Song of the World, he proposes to his brethren the following problem-"What upholds the world? How great a wonder it is! While it glides on without resting, it is still within its hollow orbit! How wonderful its frame that it does not fall off in one direction ! How strange that it is not disturbed by the multitude of tramplings!" The British Association of the sixth century, whether they met at York or at Stonehenge or in the consecrated recesses of Anglesea, confessed themselves, in each instance, unable to answer. Not so, however, the monks of the twelfth. They submitted a brief, if not a curious, solution. As a specimen of monkish mathematics, it is, perhaps, unrivalled. "The world," said they, "is held by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John." So evident is this species of interpolation in the "Primitive Greeting of Taliesin," that the interpolator has foisted his rubbish after the first line of a couplet, interrupting both couplet and sense. Its meaning I leave others to make out. The matter is as follows: Pater noster ambulo Gentis tonans in adjuvando Apparently, then, it will not do to open the Archæology at random, and, wherever we meet with the words Trinity, Christ, Judgment, and Deluge, to infer from thence that the original bard is treating of those subjects. With respect to the extract from the poem entitled Angar Cyryngdad Concordia Discors, translated by our author, Covenant of Angar, and especially that part of it adduced to support his theory, it is satisfactory to know that Prydydd Hir has, as it were by chance, translated these two identical lines, and nothing more. I submit his translation the more willingly, as I am persuaded that it is a decision from which |