The Welsh and Their Literature: from The London Quarterly Review, January 1861, American Edition

In Short

This critical essay explores the history, poetry, and prose of the Welsh people, framed largely through George Borrow’s translation of Elis Wyn’s eighteenth-century moral allegory, The Sleeping Bard. It journeys from ancient migrations led by Hu the Mighty to the golden age of medieval bards and the complex prose of the Mabinogion. Ultimately, it evaluates how Welsh writers preserved their distinct identity, language, and spiritual imagination through centuries of political displacement, culminating in a terrifying visionary descent through the streets of the world, death, and hell.

The Story

The text opens by tracing the origins of the Cymry, the second wave of population moving from Asia into Europe, led westward by their civilizing hero, Hu the Mighty, who crossed the German Ocean in skin boats. After a period of lawlessness, Prydain established early government and laws, followed by the great lawgiver Dyfnwal Moelmud. When the Romans arrived, King Caswallon successfully resisted them for a month before they withdrew. However, subsequent Saxon invasions eventually dispossessed the Britons of most of the island, driving them into the mountainous sanctuary of Wales, where they retained their ancient language.

The narrative then shifts to an extensive survey of Welsh literature, beginning with early poets like Merddin, Aneurin—whose Gododin mourns the disastrous battle of Cattraeth—and Taliesin, the Prince of Bards. It highlights the intricate rules of alliteration and rhyme developed by medieval masters like Dafydd Benfras and Gwalchmai, continuing through the love lyrics of Dafydd ab Gwilym, the revolutionary era of Iolo Goch and Owen Glendower, and the remarkable feats of versification by poets who wrote entire poems using only vowels or single letters.

Turning from verse to prose, the text examines ancient Triads used for history and moral instruction, chronicles by Tysilio and Caradawg, and the legendary Mabinogion, which rivals the Arabian Nights. This historical and literary foundation paves the way for the centerpiece of the review: Elis Wyn’s The Sleeping Bard. Translated by George Borrow, this moral allegory unfolds in three distinct visions.

In the first vision, an angel guides a sleeping bard through a great city divided into the streets of Pride, Pleasure, and Lucre, revealing sordid scenes of human vice, such as a drunken carousal in a cellar. In the second vision, the bard visits the palace of Death, witnessing souls in agony and meeting ancient poets like Taliesin watching a cauldron in Hades, before observing Death judge newly arrived prisoners.

The journey culminates in a descent into extremest hell, where Lucifer and his counselors are cast down into the open throat of Unknown. The angel reveals the ultimate architect of this misery: the monstrous, triple-faced giantess Sin, whose faces torment the heavens, earth, and hell. The vision ends with the angel urging the bard to write down these truths, promising that whoever reads them carefully will never repent. The text concludes with critical notes on these archaic legends and poetic forms.

How It Unfolds

The migration from Asia The narrative begins by following the Cymry on their ancient westward journey from the Crimea, guided across the hazy sea by Hu the Mighty. This foundational migration establishes the ethnic identity and resilience of a people who settled the mountainous refuge of Wales.

The establishment of British law After centuries of internal strife and lawless survival, leaders like Prydain and the wise lawgiver Dyfnwal Moelmud introduced civil order and a constitutional framework. These early institutions allowed the Britons to fiercely resist Roman invaders under Caswallon before being pushed back by Saxon conquerors.

The rise of the ancient bards The text transitions into a rich catalogue of Welsh verse, spotlighting master poets from Aneurin and Taliesin to Dafydd ab Gwilym. It details their extraordinarily complex systems of rhyme and alliteration, showcasing feats where poets composed entire lines or pieces using restricted sounds.

The treasures of Welsh prose Shifting focus, the account explores historical triads, ancient chronicles, and the enchanting romances of the Mabinogion. These prose works bridge the gap between ancient folklore and the sophisticated moral literature that followed.

The visionary tour of human vice The central literary focus emerges through Elis Wyn’s allegory, where an angel escorts a sleeping bard through the corrupt streets of the world. Peering into hidden cellars and chambers, they witness the degrading realities of human drunkenness and unrepentant vice.

The final revelation of sin The journey concludes with a harrowing descent into the depths of hell, where Lucifer falls and the monstrous triple-faced giantess Sin is unmasked. The vision closes with an angelic charge to record these sights for the spiritual instruction of mankind.

The People

Hu the Mighty wants to secure a safe and fertile home for his overpopulated countrymen, driving them westward across the continent despite various obstacles until they reach the sea. He succeeds in founding a lasting migration, though he is later mythologized and deified by the bards. Dyfnwal Moelmud wants to bring order and justice to a fractured, lawless society, overcoming the chaos of the strong through wisdom and virtue to establish a comprehensive legal system. Taliesin, the legendary Prince of Bards, seeks poetic mastery and wisdom, absorbing inspiration from magical cauldrons; he emerges through the centuries not merely as a historic poet, but as a semi-divine visionary figure watching over the underworld. The sleeping bard of Elis Wyn’s allegory wants spiritual understanding, though he is initially naive and overwhelmed by the terrifying sights of human corruption. Guided by an angel through the streets of the world, the palace of Death, and the abyss of hell, he confronts the horrifying reality of human sin. He ends up profoundly transformed, charged with the solemn duty of recording his visions so that readers might awaken to moral truth.

In Its Own Voice

Reflecting the prophetic destiny of the British race, the ancient bard Taliesin writes of his people's enduring spirit:

'Their Lord they shall praise, Their language they shall keep, Their land they shall lose Except wild Wales.'

Describing the fierce clashes between Welsh forces and their enemies, the medieval poet Dafydd Benfras captures the chaos of battle:

'O then were heard resounding o'er the fields The clash of faulchions and the crash of shields!'

Encapsulating the ultimate moral lesson of Elis Wyn’s allegory, the angelic guide delivers a final blessing to the awakened dreamer:

'Write down what thou hast seen, and he who shall read it carefully, shall never have reason to repent.'

What It's Really About

This work is fundamentally concerned with cultural survival, spiritual accountability, and the power of artistic expression to preserve a national soul. It argues that a displaced people maintain their identity not merely through territorial possession, but through the tenacious preservation of an ancient language, intricate poetic traditions, and moral literature. Beneath the historical catalogue and the terrifying machinery of Elis Wyn’s allegory lies a profound meditation on human depravity and redemption. It explores how moral degeneracy eats away at society across all classes—from carousing neighbors to fallen angels—and posits that true awareness requires confronting the terrifying reality of sin head-on rather than turning away in squeamish discomfort.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate literary history, mythological origins, and uncompromising satirical allegory will find this text deeply rewarding. Reading it feels like stepping into a nineteenth-century scholar's study, where ancient bardic mysteries, obscure triads, and fierce national pride come alive through George Borrow’s brisk, muscular prose. Modern readers must navigate certain period attitudes, archaic orthography, and the dense, sometimes baffling theological machinery of seventeenth-century Welsh high-church morality. Yet, the reward is substantial: a rare window into a fiercely independent literary tradition that refuses to fade. What stays with you long after reading is the haunting image of Elis Wyn’s triple-faced giantess, Sin—a universal symbol of human corruption whose staggering scale dwarfs the earth itself. It challenges our modern squeamishness, reminding us that great literature often derives its power from confronting the darker truths of existence with unflinching honesty and unvarnished precision.