POETS OF POWYS-LAND AND II. GEORGE LORD LUDLOW1 AND THE REV. GORONWY OWEN. BY THE REV. ROBERT JONES, B.A., VICAR OF ALL SAINTS, ROTHERHITHE. WE preface our paper with a request for our readers' indulgence. A journal like the one for which we write, and which deals with the hard, dry facts of history, topography, and antiquities, looks with eyes askant on the effusions of the poet. The highest flights of his fancy are in its estimation but empty dreams. And yet so entwined is Oswestry with our early years that we find it impossible to revert to it, even in thought, without hallowing nook and corner with the glow of memories that will not be fettered, but roam "fancy free" amidst its every locality; be it the old venerable church and its square, massive tower, or churchyard with its avenue of fine tall limes, or ruined castle, now in fragments, or old grammar school, our last though not least interesting of the records of the past. All have been mellowed by time into hues rich and golden. We are speaking of the Oswestry of fifty years ago, and when at the earliest age allowed we became one of the pupils of its grammar school, a noble foundation with its date reaching back, some five centuries, to the 1 He was son of Henry Arthur, Earl of Powis, and upon his death, unmarried, was succeeded in his estate by Lady Henrietta Antonia Herbert, the grandmother of the present Earl of Powis. reign of the fourth Henry. At our time of joining, it was in the zenith of its success under the head mastership of Dr. Donne. Its numbers, if we reckon the town boys, reached to upwards of three hundred. And how perfect its discipline, and how loyal our fealty! Never was community more free from anarchy and misrule. The head master managed our unwieldy numbers with ease. Nor was the secret of his success difficult to unravel. The model birch rod that, instead of a weathercock, veered over the belfry, was not more uncertain in its movements than the real one in the Doctor's hand was certain to come down on the truant or idler. The schoolroom, a plain though spacious building, opened on extensive sloping grounds, more like a park than a playground, shaded here and there by widely branching trees. On the western extremity was the famous well of King Oswald, clear and limpid, under an arch whose key-stone was cut into the shape of the old warrior's head. It welled forth a stream that sufficed to float our tiny play-ships on its surface. What wonderful regattas we had with those mimic boats! and how deep the excitement they created! When the contest drew near its close, never did barque return to English shores laden with wealth * of Ormuz and of Ind," amid louder acclamations than those fairy winners of the race. We do not wonder that one of England's sweetest poets expended so much pathos in describing the "school-boy spot". But we cannot yet part with the school or its renowned head master. Dr. Donne was one of the best Greek scholars of his day. With Homer he was so familiar as scarcely to need a book when giving a lesson; while Æschylus and Sophocles were his constant companions. We remember meeting him many years afterwards, in 1835, at the Vicarage of Meifod, during the incumbency of the Rev. Rowland Williams; and, though he was then an old man, the fire of his earlier days lighted up at the mention of the Greek playwrights. And when we asked his explanation of the closing passage of the "Edipus Tyrannus", he threw a bright light into its darkness. We have said that the number of the boys was large; we must add that their quality was excellent. The sons of the neighbouring gentry of Shropshire, Montgomeryshire, Denbighshire, and of most of the counties of North Wales, came there to be educated. How well do we remember the Longueville Jones', the Croxons, the Kinchants, the Cartwrights, the Humffreys', the Evans', the Pooles, and a host of others, at whose head was Stephen, Dr. Donne's son, who in after years himself succeeded to the head mastership. Of these, Quorum pars parva fui," how varied has been the fate! While time has dealt hardly with some, it has scarcely touched others. Of the five Humffreys' one only remains: the eldest, an officer in the Indian army, fell a victim to the climate; the second, who inherited an extensive estate, lived to see every acre go. The third was torn to pieces by a tiger in an Indian jungle; and the fifth and last, also an officer in India, perished on its soil; while LLWYN, their old ancestral seat, has passed into other hands, and the old familiar faces are known there no more. We have said that time has dealt leniently with others. Of the two Evans' of Dommengastell, the elder resides in the old home, while the younger is the Rector of Llanfihangel in the county of Montgomery, revered by his parishioners, and loved and respected by all who know him. But we must leave the Oswestry of fifty years ago for that of the middle of the last century, and confine our remarks to one person only, the curate of its parish church. The Reverend Goronwy Owen was a native of Llanfair Mathafarn Eithaf in the Isle of Anglesea. Gifted from childhood with rare talents, he had been enabled, through the kindness of his friend and patron, Lewis Morris, the renowned poet and antiquary, to obtain a university education at Jesus College, Oxford. Deriving thence his passport into the church, he was ordained by the Bishop of Bangor, and for a week or two acted as the curate of his native parish. This satisfied his utmost ambition. His dream of happiness, however, soon vanished; the curacy was wanted for the relative of a friend of the Bishop; and poor Goronwy was compelled to leave and accept an English one. In 1747 we find him in Oswestry, married to a farmer's daughter from the neighbouring parish of Selattyn. He never returned to Wales, although his every wish was centered in obtaining preferment, however insignificant, amongst his native mountains. But little is known of him during his stay in Oswestry, and that little is derived from his correspondence at a later period. Not only was his muse quiescent, but he seems to have laid his literary pursuits altogether aside. And yet we are loth to believe that during these three long years his pen produced no fruit. O that a discovery could be made in the old town of some book or scrap of a MS. containing a solitary production of his brilliant genius! It were worth its weight in gold. From Oswestry Goronwy removed to Donnington in the same county. We find him in the latter place in 1748, having the sole charge of the parish of Uppington, under Douglas, afterwards Bishop of Carlisle. He received the splendid sum of twenty-six pounds per annum for his labours, although he had, in addition to his clerical duties, to undertake the charge of a school. He held a a small piece of land under the incumbent; but after a while its yearly rent would have been increased, had not the agent of the future Bishop intervened, and declared it to be already sufficiently dear. It was here that he wrote "Cywydd y Farn", one of the most beautiful poems in the Welsh language. It was a marvel that the bard was enabled to tune his harp at all, especially when, with this pittance, he had to provide for the necessities of a growing family. Walton in Lancashire was his next curacy. Here he was "Passing rich on forty pounds a year." The rector, or patron, as Goronwy styles him, seems to have been a kind, but eccentric person. The picture our poet draws of him and of his primitive mode of life, is as humorous and droll as any we find in Fielding or Smollett. Of the bard's correspondence during these years, that with Lewis Morris, frequent as it was, has unfortunately been lost; and a greater loss Welsh literature has never sustained. That with the brothers, Richard and William, has, we are glad to say, been preserved. It is intensely interesting, varied as its pages are with the light and shade of humour and earnestness. His antiquarian and philological remarks are in advance of his century, and fall freshly on the ear as though they had been uttered but yesterday. In one of his letters he renders a difficult passage from Gwalchmai, a warrior and poet of the 12th century, into the vernacular Welsh of his own day. The beautiful rhapsody shines in its new dress as bravely as when it was first enwrapped in the habiliments of that old century. Let no one fancy that to our modern poets only belong high thought and flowing numbers. The strains sung by the grand old bard of that ancient time, peal occasionally on the ear like the swell of cathedral organs, and again murmur upon it as sweetly as 66 "The lascivious breathings of a lute." Lancashire had but few attractions for Goronwy. His letters from Walton, as well as his poetry, are full of yearnings after Wales. His friends, Lewis Morris and his brothers, did all in their power to obtain for him a small living, but their efforts were fruitless. Some more powerful competitor stepped in and carried away the prize; and Goronwy remained an exile in England. We next find him at Northolt in the neighbourhood |