Welsh Journals

any hill-side sceptic doubt these things, let him consult Green's History, where all this lore is adequately set out. Romance has thrown a shimmering haze over Caer- leon as the high city of our past. The London Welsh would take nothing from its pensive dignity. But they remember that, before Caerleon and before Londinium, there was a City of King Lud. The good folk of the Principality must be wary when they challenge us. To ask what we do so far from the home of the race is to invite a crushing answer. It is not we who have wan- dered. but the others-the Cardiffians and the Carnar- vonites. the hypochondriacs of Llandrindod and the pale ecclesiastics of Bangor. We are where our people dwelt in the beginning. We do not budge for Roman, for Saxon, or for the lords of Normandy. We abide by the hearth. A heritage has been renounced; but not by us. A tradition has been broken. And by whom ? "Their land .they will lose, except wild Wales," sang Taliessin. But the London Welsh have refused to fulfil the prophesy. Let others retire to the moun- tains, if they will. They may be content to take what the invaders have left them. Not so the London Welsh The great army has drawn off-but a garri- son still holds out stubbornly for old King Lud. (To be continued.) POPI. Fel popi unig yn y llafur gwyn A'i ben yn codi rhwng twysenau llawn, Yn goch fel gwaed au grawd, neu ddafn o win Gollwyd gan law ddiofal-heb na ffrwyth na rhin Ond tan ei liw, ynghanol mor o rawn, Yn fflaenio allan dros yr erwan syn. Felly 'rwyt tilhau, heb na dysg y doeth Na chrefydd fyw na dawn nac unrhyw rodd I dlodi'r ddaear ond dy digwch noeth A than dy gariad-felly rhyngodd bodd I Roddwr y talentau-unig nod Dy fywyd diwasanaeth ydyw bod. I mi mae'r popi coch yn fwy na'r yd, A'th swyn disylwidd di na doniau hardda'r byd. W. D. Davies. Y Graig, Bangor. AUTUMN. 0 for that dark dim Autumn night When all the hills were hid from sight, With mist's white mantle over all, And through the mist my lover's call, As I replied and you came down The broken track above the town. There at the foot of the shadowy hill You held me fast, my heart stood still, Stopped its breathing, forgot its sighs- Ah me! I think and all my being cries. I feel your hands wind through my hair, And hear you call it Lover's Snare. Your breath lies close upon my cheek; I find the life that now I seek Alone by valley, hill and creek. 0 for that dark dim Autumn night When all the hills were hid from sight M. 1. Lewis-fames.