"I had heaps of gold and velvet From frail princes for loving them."
Llewelyn the Great, the second, that is to say, of the three Llewelyns, aroused the enthusiasm of Bardic literature and was the subject of much stirring eulogy:
"None his valour could withstand, None could stem his furious hand. Like a whirlwind on the deep, See him through their squadrons sweep. Then was seen the crimson flood, Then was Offa bathed in blood, Then the Saxons fled with fright, Then they felt his royal might."
Dafydd Benvras, the author of this stanza, left many poems, and later on Griffith ap Yr Ynad Goch wrote what is regarded as among the finest of Welsh odes, on the death of the last Llewelyn, laying the blame of that catastrophe on the wickedness of his countrymen:
"Hark how the howling wind and rain In loudest symphony complain; Hark how the consecrated oaks, Unconscious of the woodman's strokes, With thundering crash proclaim he's gone, Fall in each other's arms and groan. Hark! how the sullen trumpets roar. See! how the white waves lash the shore. See how eclipsed the sun appears, See! how the stars fall from their spheres, Each awful Heaven-sent prodigy, Ye sons of infidelity! Believe and tremble, guilty land. Lo! thy destruction is at hand."
After the Edwardian conquest in 1284 the note of the bards sensibly softened and attuned itself much more generally to love and nature. The song-birds particularly were in great request as recipients of poetic addresses and confidences.
"And thou, lark, Bard of the morning dawn, Show to this maid My broken heart."
While the same singer, Rhys Goch, describes thus the light tread of his ladylove:
"As peahens stride in sun-ray heat, See her the earth elastic tread; And where she walks, neath snow-white feet Not e'en a trefoil bends its head."
The latter part of the 14th century was extremely prolific in poetry which, with some notable exceptions, is regarded rather as showing a good general level than as producing any masterpieces. Dafydd ap Gwilym, the Welsh Ovid, is of course a striking exception. Over 250 of his poems are preserved, while Lewis Glyncothi, Gutyn Owain, Iolo Goch, Glyndwr's bard, and two or three more have left behind them something like 300 others. Dafydd ap Gwilym, who was buried at Strata Florida, holds one of the highest places in Cymric literature. It is as a love poet that he is chiefly distinguished, but his love of nature and his own beautiful country finds sole expression in many of his productions. His ode to Fair Glamorgan, written from "the heart of wild, wild Gwynedd," asking the summer to be his messenger, is regarded as one of his best. In translation it is interesting as a contemporary picture, though a poetic one, of the richest Welsh province.