THE FAIR PILGRIM.

From the Welsh of Davydd ab Gwilym.

By Iolo Morganwg.

The charmer sweet, of Mona's isle,
With Death attendant on her smile,
Intent on Pilgrimage divine
Speeds to St, David's holy shrine ;
Too conscious of a sinful mind,
And hopes she may forgiveness find.

" What hast thou done, thrice lovely maid ? What crimes can to thy charge be laid ? Didst thou contemn the suppliant poor, Drive helpless orphans from thy door, Unduteous to thy parents prove, Or yield thy charms to lawless love ?

“No, Morvid, no; thy gentle breast
Was form’d to pity the distress'd;
Has ne'er one thought, one feeling known,
That virtue could not call her own;
Nor bast thou caused a parent's pain
Till quitting now thy native plain.

“ Yet, lovely nymph, thy way pursue,
And keep repentance full in view ;
Yield not thy tongue to cold restraint,
But lay thy soul before the saint ;
Oh tell him that thy lover dies;
On death's cold bed unpitied lies ;
Murder'd by thee, relentless maid,
And to th' untimely grave convey’d.

“ Yet ere he's number'd with the dead,
Ere yet his latest breath is fed ;
Confess, repent, thou cruel fair,
And hear, for once, a lover's pray'r,
So may the saint, with ear benign,
Sweet Penitent, attend to thine.

“ Soon o'er the Menai* must thou go-
May ev'ry current softly flow,
Thy little bark securely glide
Swift o'er the calm pellucid tide ;
Unruffled be thy gentle breast,
Without one fear to break thy rest,
Till thou art safely wafted o’er,
To bold Arvonia'sť tow'ring shore.
Oh could I guard thy lovely form
Safe through yon desert of the storm,
Where fiercely rage encount’ring gales,
And whirlwinds rend th' affr vales :
Sons of the tempest! cease to blow,
Sleep in your cavern'd glens below;
Ye streams that, with terrific sound,
Pour from your thousand hills around;
Cease with rude clamours to dismay
A gentle Pilgrim on her way.

“ Peace! rude Traeth Mawr, no longer urge
O'er thy wild strand the sweeping surge ;
'Tis Morvid on thy beach appears,
She dreads thy wrath--she owns her fears ;
Oh let the meek repentant maid
Securely through thy windings wade.

* Menai, the frith or channel dividing Anglesea from Caernai vonshire.

+ Arvonia, or Arvon, Caernarvonshiri Snowdon ; supposed the highest mountain in Britain. $ Traeth Mawr, the Great Strand, in Caernarvonshire, noted for it quicksands, and sudden fowing of its tides.

" Traeth Bychan,* check thy dreadful ire ;
And bid thy foamy waves retire ;
Till from thy threat’ning dangers freed,
My charmer trips the flow'ry mead,
Then bid again, with sullen roar,
Thy billows lash the sounding shore.

“Abermo, t from thy rocky bay,
Drive each terrific surge away:
Though sunk beneath thy billows lie
Proud fanes that once assail'd the sky.
Dash'd by thy foam, yon vestal braves
The dangers of thy bursting waves.
Oh Cyric, § see my lovely fair
Consigo'd to thy paternal care ;
Rebuke the raging seas ! and land
My Morvid on yon friendly strand.

“ Dyssyni,|| tame thy furious tide,
Fixt at thy source in peace abide ;
She comes-oh greet her with a smile !-
The charmer of sweet Mona's isle.
So may thy limpid rills around
Purl down their dells with soothing sound,
Sport on thy bosom, and display
Their crystal to the glitt'ring day ;
Nor shrink from summer's parching sun,
Nor chain'd in ice, forget to run.
So may thy verdant marge along
Mervinia's** bards in raptured song

• Traeth Bychan, Little Strand, in Merionethshire, a place equally dangerous.

+ Abermo, a perilous rocky bay in Merionethshire.

Proud fanes, &c. Cantrev y Gwaelod, the Lowland Hundred, a country inundated by the sea in the sixth Century.

$ The patron saint of the Welsh Mariners. A river in Merionethshire, running through a beautiful country. "Merionethshire, which is also called Meirion, its proper Welsh name.

Dwell on thy bold majestic scene,
Huge bills, vast woods, and valleys green,
Where revels thy enchanting stream,
The lover's haunt, and poet's theme.

“ Thou Dyvi,* dangerous and deep,
On beds of ooze unruffled sleep ;
O’er thy green wave my Morvid sails,
Conduct her safe, ye gentle gales;
Charm'd with her beauties, waft ber o'er
To famed Ceredig'sť wond'ring shore.

Foamy Rheidol, & rage no more
Down thy rocks with echo'd roar ;
Be silent Ystwyth+ in thy meads,
Glide softly through thy peaceful reeds ;
Nor bid thy delts, rude Aeron,|| ring,
But halt at thy maternal spring ;
Hide from the nymph, ye torrents wild,
Or wear, like her, an aspe mild,
For her light steps clear all your ways;
Oh listen ! 'tis a lover prays !”

Such as in busy tumults roll,
When love's confusion fills the soul.

“ Her wearied step, with awe profound,
Now treads Menevia's* honor'd ground.
At David's shrine now, lovely maid,
Thy pious orisons are paid ;
He sees the secrets of thy breast,
One sin, one only, stands confess'd,
One heinous guilt, that, ruthless, gave
Thy hopeless lover to the grave.
Thy soften’d bosom now relents,
And of its cruelty repents,
Gives to remurse the fervent sigh,
Sweet Pity's tear bedews thine eye ;
Now love lights up its hallow'd fire,
Melts all thy heart with chaste desire :
Whilst in thy soul new feelings burn,
Oh Morvid, to thy bard return !
One tender look will cure his pain,
Will bid him rise to life again,
A life like that of saints above,
Extatic joy, and endless love."

CAN Y DARVOCHIN; OR, THE BADGER HUNT.

From the Welsh of Hywel Rhys.

By Theophilus Jones, Esq.

While treating of the parish of Vaenor, in the course of his history of Brecknockshire, the translator says:-Though this parish cannot

• In Welsh Mynyw, the ancient name of St. David's, which was also called, in the time of the Romans, Vallis Rosina.

K