THE NORMAN HORSESHOE.
THE

AIR- The War-song of the Men of Glamorgan.

THE Welsh, inhabiting a mountainous country, and possessing only an inferior breed of horses, were usually unable to encounter the shock of the AngloNorman cavalry. Occasionally, however, they were successful in repelling the invaders; and the following verses are supposed to celebrate a defeat of Clare, Earl of Striguil and Pembroke, and of Neville, Baron of Chepstow, Lords-Marchers of Monmouthshire. Rymny is a stream which divides the counties of Monmouth and Glamorgan. Caerphili, the scene of the supposed battle, is a vale upon its banks, dignified by the ruins of a very ancient castle.

I.

RED glows the forge in Striguil's bounds,
And hammers din, and anvil sounds,

And armourers, with iron toil,

Barb many a steed for battle's broil.

Foul fall the hand which bends the steel
Around the courser's thundering heel,

That e'er shall dint a sable wound

On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground!

II.

From Chepstow's towers, ere dawn of morn, Was heard afar the bugle horn;

And forth, in banded pomp and pride,

Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride.

They swore, their banners broad should gleam,
In crimson light, on Rymny's stream;
They vow'd, Caerphili's sod should feel

The Norman charger's spurning heel.

And sooth they swore

III.

-the sun arose,

And Rymny's wave with crimson glows;
For Clare's red banner, floating wide,
Roll'd down the stream to Severn's tide!
And sooth they vow'd - the trampled green
Show'd where hot Neville's charge had been:
In every sable hoof-tramp stood

A Norman horseman's curdling blood!

IV.

Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil,
That arm'd stout Clare for Cambrian broil;
Their orphans long the art may rue,
For Neville's war-horse forged the shoe.

No more the stamp of armed steed Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet mead; Nor trace be there, in early spring, Save of the Fairies' emerald ring.

THE DYING BARD.

AIR-Daffydz Gangwen.

THE Welsh tradition bears, that a Bard, on his death-bed, demanded his harp, and played the air to which these verses are adapted; requesting that it might be performed at his funeral.

I.

DINAS EMLINN, lament; for the moment is nigh, When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall

die:

No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave,
And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing wave.

II.

In spring and in autumn thy glories of shade
Unhonour'd shall flourish, unhonour'd shall fade,
For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the tongue,
That view'd them with rapture, with rapture that

sung.