The Poetry of Wales — Themes and Context

(0 User reviews) 1700

In Category - Historical Psychological Social Fiction

Authors: Jenkins, John, 1821-1896 [Editor] Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2006 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Welsh poetry -- Translations into English Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 34,602

Reading time 151 min

Text sections 4

This digital edition of The Poetry of Wales — Themes and Context is described by source-level measurements including 34,602 words, 2 hr 31 min estimated reading time, and 4 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 24.7 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Welsh poetry -- Translations into English,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #18523

This 1873 anthology, edited by John Jenkins, presents English translations of Welsh poetry from the sixth to the nineteenth century, with a preface and introduction that frame the collection as a response to English curiosity about Welsh literature.

Editorial Edition Score 4.5/5

★★★★★ ★★★★★

Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.

How this score is calculated

Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg18523

Read the Text

Moore did a similar, though smaller, service for the Irish branch of the Celtic race. And we most truly think that a Welsh Scott or Moore is only wanting to marry the lays of Wales to undying verse. The third part of this collection will contain some of the most spirited of the patriotic poems of Wales.

Humour is inherent in every people, and is more or less characteristic of every nation. Cervantes among the Spaniards, the Abbate Casti among the Italians, Jean Paul Richter among the Germans, Voltaire among the French, Samuel Butler, the author of Hudibras, and Dr. John Wolcot among the English, Jonathan Swift among the Irish, and Robert Burns among the Scotch, have introduced humorous writing into the literature of their respective countries with more or less of success. Nor was it possible that a people so lively, so susceptible of contrast, and possessed of so keen a sense of the ridiculous in manners and conversation as the Welsh, should not spice their literature with examples of humorous writing. We shall furnish in the fourth part of this collection a few specimens from the writings of some of the humorists of Wales.

Sentiment, which may be defined as the emotion of the human heart, mixes freely in verse and sentimental poetry, forms a considerable portion of the lays of every country. There is in this particular no distinction between the early and modern history of nations, for sentiment enters the metrical effusions of every period alike. Pathos and taste appear to be the foster mothers of this quality, which is a distinguishing trait of the poetry of Wales, as shown by the examples furnished in the fifth part of this collection.

If any trait be more distinctive of the Welshman than another, it is his love for his bible, his chapel and church, and this has furnished the richest store of spiritual song. The hymnists of Wales are many; but distinguished beyond and above every other, is the celebrated Williams of Pantycelyn, whose hymns are sung in every chapel and cottage throughout the Principality, and are now as refreshing to the religious tastes and emotions of the people as at their first appearance; and, from their intrinsic beauty and warmth, they are not likely to be lost so long as the Welsh language remains a spoken or written tongue. The sixth part of this collection will furnish the reader with an insight into the transcendent merit and fervour of this prince of religious song.

King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou rearest in the clouds, as if to mock The littleness of human things below; The tempest cannot harm thee, and the shock Of the deep thunder falls upon thy head As the light footfalls of an infant's tread.

The livid lightning's all destroying flame Has flashed upon thee harmlessly, the rage Of savage storms have left thee still the same; Thou art imperishable! Age after age Thou hast endured; aye, and for evermore Thy form shall be as changeless as before.

The works of man shall perish and decay, Cities shall crumble down to dust, and all Their "gorgeous palaces" shall pass away; Even their lofty monuments shall fall; And a few scattered stones be all to tell The place where once they stood,--where since they fell!

Yet, even time has not the power to shiver One single fragment from thee; thou shalt be A monument that shall exist for ever! While the vast world endures in its immensity, The eternal snows that gather on thy brow Shall diadem thy crest, as they do now.

Thy head is wrapt in mists, yet still thou gleam'st, At intervals, from out the clouds, that are A glorious canopy, in which thou seem'st To shroud thy many beauties; now afar Thou glitterest in the sun, and dost unfold Thy giant form, in robes of burning gold.

And, when the red day dawned upon thee, oh! how bright Thy mighty form appeared! a thousand dies Shed o'er thee all the brilliance of their light, Catching their hues from the o'er-arching skies, That seemed to play around thee, like a dress Sporting around some form of loveliness.

And when the silver moonbeams on thee threw Their calm and tranquil light, thou seem'st to be A thing so wildly beautiful to view, So wrapt in strange unearthly mystery, That the mind feels an awful sense of fear When gazing on thy form, so wild and drear.

The poet loves to gaze upon thee when No living soul is near, and all are gone Wooing their couches for soft sleep; for then The poet feels that he is _least_ alone,-- Holding communion with the mighty dead, Whose viewless shadows flit around thy head.

Continue Reading →

John Jenkins’s 1873 anthology opens with a telling epigraph from Montaigne: “I offer you a bouquet of culled flowers, I did not grow, only collect and arrange them.” The editor’s preface confirms this role, stating that he undertook the work at the request of English literary friends who wanted translated specimens of Welsh poetry. Jenkins emphasizes that he received no pecuniary benefit, framing the project as a cultural service. The introduction then sketches a literary history of Wales, dividing it into three periods: the age of Aneurin, Taliesin, and Llywarch Hen (odes and triads); the age of Dafydd ap Gwilym (love and romance); and later moral songs and religious hymns, notably by William Williams of Pantycelyn.

The Editor’s Framing and the Question of Audience

The preface reveals that Jenkins’s primary audience was English, not Welsh. He writes that English friends—‘eminent in literature’—had asked why no one had translated Welsh poetry into English, noting that translated specimens existed for ‘almost every other nation and people.’ This framing shapes the entire collection: it is a response to external curiosity, not an internal preservation effort. Jenkins’s self-description as a collector rather than a creator aligns with his modest claim that his sole recompense would be ‘the satisfaction of having attempted to extend and perpetuate some of the treasures and beauties of the literature of his native country.’ The introduction reinforces this by asserting that ‘the history of Wales is its literature,’ a statement that positions the anthology as a window into national character.

Periodization and the Selection of Poets

Jenkins’s introduction organizes Welsh poetry into three eras: the heroic age of Aneurin, Taliesin, and Llywarch Hen; the romantic age of Dafydd ap Gwilym, Hywel ap Einion, and Rhys Goch; and the later era of moral songs and religious hymns, dominated by William Williams. This schema is neat but reductive; the excerpts themselves show a more varied range. For instance, the poem ‘The Eisteddfod’ by Mrs. Cornwell Baron Wilson celebrates contemporary bardic gatherings, while ‘Llywarch Hen’s Lament on Cynddylan’—attributed to the sixth-century poet—is presented with a prose note explaining his biography. The note states that Llywarch had twenty-four sons, all slain in battle, and that he died at age 150. Such details are presented as fact, though the anthology does not cite sources for these claims.

Recurring Imagery and Thematic Patterns in the Excerpts

The excerpts reveal several recurring motifs: ruined halls, silenced harps, and the contrast between past violence and present peace. In ‘Llywarch Hen’s Lament,’ the refrain ‘Cynddylan’s hearth is dark to-night’ and ‘I am left to chant apart / One murmur of a broken heart’ emphasize personal loss amid national decay. Another poem describes a shepherd’s peaceful scene where ‘the hillock where crossed the sharp spears / Now shadows the ewe and its lamb.’ The speaker’s heart becomes sad ‘when remembering / That silent in death is the foe.’ These lines suggest a preoccupation with memory and the passage from war to pastoral calm. The anthology’s title, The Poetry of Wales, implies a unified tradition, but the excerpts show a tension between martial lament and domestic tranquility.

Readers should note that this edition is a transcription of the 1873 Houlston & Sons cheap edition, and the Project Gutenberg file includes extensive legal boilerplate. The anthology’s value lies less in its completeness than in its snapshot of Victorian efforts to mediate Welsh culture for an English audience. The excerpts are brief; the full text may contain more poems and notes that further illuminate Jenkins’s editorial choices.

Turning these old pages, I remembered sitting in my grandmother's parlour, her reading Welsh verses aloud while rain tapped the glass. The longing in those translations felt familiar, much like the fragments of Sappho that once kept me company during a quiet, lonely winter. Both whisper of loss and beauty across centuries, a gentle ache. Sappho: A New Rendering — Text and Context carried that same tender weight.