Penrhyn Castle possesses a great curiosity; and Mr. Evans’s account of it, in his Topography, being both judicious and entertaining, I subjoin it. It is the Hirlas or drinking-horn of Piers Gryffydd, which is perhaps the only elegant specimen of that kind of utensil elucidatory of ancient manners.
“It is a large bugle horn of an ox, ornamented with enchased silver, and suspended by a chain of the same metal, having the initials of his own name and family engraved at the end. In the royal court of Cambria, there were legally _three_ sorts of horns, for the purpose of private or public libations. The first was y corn ydd yfo y brenin, or the one solely appropriated to the king’s use; second, corn cyweithas, by which the domestics of the palace were summoned to duty. And, third, corn y pencynydd, committed to the custody of the chief huntsman. Each of these was to be of the reputed value of one pound. On grand occurrences, the domestics of the palace were permitted to drink out of the sovereign’s horn, and the chamberlain, or high steward, on such occasions, furnished handsome potations of the generous metheglin. The contents of the horn, at these times, assumed the name of the sacred potion, similar to the _wassail bowl_, or the apostle’s cup, in use among the Saxons. Ulphus, when he conveyed certain lands to the church of York, is said to have quaffed off the sparkling contents of such a vessel, drinking a health, “_Deo et Sancto Petro_,” to God and St. Peter. On festive days, the imperious custom was to empty the horn at one tip, and instantly blow it, as a testimony that no dereliction of draught had occurred.
“Fill the horn with foaming liquor, Fill it up, my boy, be quicker; Hence away despair and sorrow, Time enough to sigh to-morrow. Let the brimming goblet smile, And Ednyfed’s cares beguile. Gallant youth, unus’d to fear, Master of the broken spear; And the arrow-pierced shield, Brought with honour from the field. Like an hurricane is he Bursting on the troubled sea. See their spears distain’d with gore, Hear the din of battle roar, Bucklers, swords, together clashing, Sparkles from their helmets flashing, Hear ye not their loud alarms? Hark! they shout—to arms! to arms! Thus were Garthen’s plains defended, Melor fight, began and ended: There two princes fought; and there Was Morach Vowran’s feast exchang’d for rout and fear.” { 208}