Such as rais'd
To height of noblest temper heroes of old
Arming to battle; and, instead of rage,
Deliberate valour breath'd."

Par. Lost, Book I, line 551.

Dr. Crotch, in his eulogium on Welsh music, specially mentions military music only, whereas I think he would have been sure to have alluded to our plaintive music, bad he been better acquainted with such melodies as “ Davydd y Garreg Wen” (David of the White Rock), or “ The Dying Bard to his Harp", "Morva Rhuddlan" (The Plain of Rhuddlan), “ Torriad y Dydd” (The Dawn of Day), and many others of the kind. I consider their great fondness for the minor key to be a very marked characteristic of the Welsh people. Some writers have attributed this peculiarity to the influence of the circumstances under which their music was composed; but, inasmuch as the same tendency exists in the present day, after centuries of peace and prosperity, I am inclined to lay it to the strength of the emotional feelings of the Welsh as a people; for I have frequently witnessed their being so touched by the performance of one of their own plaintive melodies, as to shed a tear of delight,-even in the presence of others, of a different nationality, who did not appear to have been affected in the same degree. Nor are our pastoral melodies less worthy of admiration,—their varied characteristics being equally striking.

The Eisteddvodau have afforded the greatest encouragement to the study of music and poetry; and the contests on those occasions have been the means of recognising real merit, and of suppressing mediocrity. The result being, that music occupies a much more elevated position in the Principality at the present time than it has ever done at any former period. In proof of this, it is only necessary to call attention

a

to the wonderful progress made in choral singing alone, and to the great number of choral societies formed throughout the Principality. It would hardly be credited that, at an Eisteddvod held at Abergavenny on Easter Monday, 1874, as many as ten choirs, each numbering, on an average, between four and five hundred-making a total of between four and five thousand voices—competed for a prize of a hundred pounds; and, as one of the adjudicators upon the occasion, I have no hesitation in stating their singing was in no way inferior to that of the choir which came up to London in 1872, and successfully competed for the prize of a thousand pounds at the Crystal Palace. I believe I am correct in saying that the ten choirs belonged to almost the immediate neighbourhood of Abergavenny; in every case within a radius of twenty miles.

What other country in Europe, of the extent of Wales, can boast of as much activity in the cause of music ?

The consequence is, that our choirs carry everything before them; our young vocalists carry off the scholarships at the principal institution of this country, and perhaps of Europe,—the Royal Academy of Music; our musicians are beginning to take their musical degrees at the great Universities of the Empire; we have established a University of our own in the Principality, and musical education has been included in its programme.

We are thus, I trust, proving ourselves worthy descendants of the bards and minstrels from whom we have inherited THE NATIONAL MUSIC OF WALES.

[The foregoing paper was read by Mr. Thomas before the Honourable Society of Cymmrodorion on the 13th of March, 1878, in the Music Hall of the Royal Academy.—Ed.]

CAN GWRAIG Y PYSGODWR.

GAN Y PARCH. JOHN BLACKWELL,

GORPHWYS Don ! dylifa 'n llonydd,
Paid a digio wrth y creigydd;
Y mae Anian yn noswylio,
Pam y byddi di yn effro ?
Dwndwr daear sydd yn darfod,
Cysga dithau ar dy dywod.

Gorphwys Fôr! Mae ar dy lasdon
Un yn dwyn serchiadau 'nghalon;
Nid ei ran yw bywyd segur,
Ar dy lifiant mae ei lafur;
Bydd dda wrtho, För diddarfod,
Cysga 'n dawel ar dy dywod.

Paid a grwgnach, bydd yn ddiddig,
Dyro ffrwyn yn mhen dy gesig
A pha esgus iti ffromi ?
Nid oes gwynt yn mrig y llwyni;
Tyr'd a bad fy ngwr i'r diddos
Cyn cysgodion dwfn y ceunos.

Iawn i wraig yw teimlo pryder
Pan bo 'i gŵr ar gefn y dyfnder;
Ond os cyffry dig dy donnau,
Pwy a ddirnad ei theimladau ?
O bydd dirion wrth fy mhriod,-
Cysga 'n dawel ar dy dywod.

THE SONG OF THE FISHERMAN'S WIFE.

TRANSLATED BY THE EDITOR.

REST, O wave, within thy deeps,

Nor on angry rocks be breaking;
Twilight falls and Nature sleeps,
Why shouldst thou be ever waking?

Stillness broods o'er all the land, -
Sleep, then, on thy golden strand.

Rest, O Sea! On thy blue wave,

Tossed with ever ceaseless motion,
Toils a spirit frank and brave,-
Lord of all my heart's devotion ;

Gently rock him on thy breast,
Hush him to his evening rest!

In the forest, on the plain,

Not a zephyr now is breathing;
Chafe not then, O Sea; restrain
Thy wild waves' tumultuous seething;

Night is darkening o'er thy strand,
Bear his light-winged barque to land.

Startles oft the tender wife

As she scans the smile of Ocean ;
In its darker hour of strife,
Who can tell her heart's emotion ?

Sleep in peace, tempestuous Sea ;
Bring my loved one back to me!

Byddar ydwyt i fy ymbil,
Fôr didostur! ddofn dy grombil!
Trof at Un a all dy farchog
Pan bo 'th donnau yn gynddeiriog ;
Cymmer Ef fy ngwr i'w gysgod,
A gwna di 'n dawel ar dy dywod.