Welsh Journals

Eisteddfodwyr And close investigation has since made it clear that the rest were in that upstairs room at the Crown Hotel. The men of the Eisteddfod invaded even those quaint little Northern snuggeries where the landlord draws his ale. This was permitted to them by a purely temporary suspension of the laws of local etiquette. These snuggeries were most interesting to me, because I had not seen them in any other part. All I had ever known was the convential "Bar," the closed domain of the Canny- medes behind it, to intrude into which was an unpardonable offence. Across the Dyfi, this part of the house is often furnished with seats and is thrown open, not to the public- oh no !-but to a small circle of the elect. When the Eisteddfod was over, the cronies of Corwen- after a week's courteous waiving of their rights-resumed possession. Whatever there is of artist in me was hungry and anxious. In that little room, they turned over the local news and worked out its fine flavour. In that little room, they exchanged the jests of the town. In that little room, they examined and, if necessary, fabricated the So I must give thee up-not with the glow Of those who losing much yet rather gain. But losing all. Did never martyr go Along the bleeding road of useless pain ? Did never one held prisoner by a creed, Obsessed by stern heroic ghosts, made dumb By those who answered duty to his need, With faithless loathing feet to his fate come ? And die with hate in his young tortured eyes ? And mock with sceptical pain-twisted lips His wasted hideous doom ? So mocking dies My god-like flaming joy beneath the whips Of analysing thought. 0 Heart denied Now must thou take what barren thought can give. And thou 0 Body scourged, be satisfied Through miser-fears on fallen crumbs to live. Dorothy Bonarjee. We met by chance-l do not know his name, Whither he went his way or whence he came. He said no word but Courage then again Courage he said, and gripped me by the hands. A moment,-he was vanished in the throng That hurried homeward in the drizzling rain. I wonder if he knows and understands How suddenly the world was full of song Laughter and hope had burst their prison bars, And life had lost its loneliness and pain. My fears were underfoot. I saw the stars The blinding mists had hid this many a day. And clear before me gleamed a great highway, Where yesterday I sought a path in vain. RENUNCIATION. A MEETING. E. Williams David. gossip that blows about all small places. In that little room, was revealed the essence of the spirit of Corwen- the spirit that I had already begun to capture from the pages of Yr Adsain, Dydd Mawrth, Awst 19, 1919. Pris Ceiniog." Of course, I did not aspire to sit in that honourable company. I was a stranger, a "Shwni, from Glamorgan-and I knew my place. But I had not allowed for the kindness of the North. On the evening before my departure, I was invited in Looking back, I see now that there have been three great moments in my life. The first was when, as a boy, I went up to receive the First Prize in the Lower Middle Division of the Baptists' great examination on Nehemiah and His Works." The second was when I made my bow at the Haymarket Theatre at the production of my first play. The third was when I was given the freedom of the Owen Glyndwr and made a Northman by adoption. Ambition itself could look no further. The tide of time had touched high-water mark. (To be continued). MENELAUS' LAMENTING. How strangely move the broken weary days In this blind palace emptied of its light. How strangely moves each maimed reluctant night In these dumb rooms where she no longer strays. Now Lacedaemon stirs and talks of wars. While sick with hate-or love- see her face As with her subtle old familiar grace She wanders down the dusky corridors. So moves she now in Priam's palaces, Or smiles while love-sick Paris longs to kiss Her tragic maddening mouth, or sits apart The pale bewildering queen of each man's heart. Her statues passionate with my lost bliss Mock these dead halls where she no longer is. Dorothy Bonarjee. HAFOD-Y-PWLL, PENFRO. O'r cyfan drud a gollais yn fy nydd Cwsg oedd y drutaf rad yn f'ymchwil flin Am dano cyrchais fro fy mebyd rhydd Ebr hithau Dere di a'i goslef gwin A'i gwen fel parod wên maddeuant Duw. Cymerth fi'n ol, heb ddanod dim, i'w bron. A chasglodd wiail yr hen gerddi hyw Adwaenwn gynt :-sain hwyr y pistyll Hon, Siffrwd yr eiddew aflonydd ar y cwarel, Swn melys drymio'r glaw ar lwyni arel, Crwn gwynt y nos a chw-dihw o'r glyn. Plethodd hwynt erof yn un cawell hud. A buan (gwelaist blufyn ar y llyn) Tawel ddisgynodd Cwsg i'm loes i gyd. Wil If an.