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subtle, who did not believe in the Pope, was afraid of the Pope. Francis, the most chivalrous of monarchs (pity that he died like Wolsey of the Spanish disorder), who frequently laughed at the Pope, was afraid of the Pope. Henry, who from his early scholastic studies to a certain extent believed in the Pope, was the only monarch in Europe who was not afraid of the Pope. Harry, when roused, was afraid of nothing. In his battle with the Pope he showed more than the courage of a lion. The lion is not the most courageous of animals. He can be cowed and daunted. But there are some animals which cannot be cowed nd daunted. Harry in his battle with the Pope showed the dauntlessness of a wild boar, or rather of a rhinoceros. Another word for Harry Tudor, ere taking leave of him. Of him could be said what could certainly not be said of another monarch of his time--lie was a man of his word. What he pro- mised to do he performed. To use an old North- umbrian expression — he never broke tryste. Now the writer, who is an old-fashioned person, thinks that, which some people would call a mere nega- Poetry and Two Faiths. By Gwilym Peredur Jones. MANY of our grandfathers conceived of the Reformation, simply enough, as the dawn of day. Before it, Papist super- stition during it, Papist cruelty after it, an open Bible and inspired preaching. The antiquaries could not be so easily satisfied. Dewi Wyn, for instance, knew of the saints of early Wales, and Eben Fardd, finest spirit of all the antiquarian school, surrounded though he was by an atmosphere of metrical and theoligical pedantry, achieved in miraculous fashion an understanding of the age of faith. His awdl on Clynnog Church is a rare triumph the historical scholar gifted with imagination, the skilled i ynghaneddwr most effective in simplicity, the artist comprehending the meaning of arch and pillar-all these speak in the poem, and with them the kindly companionable neighbour whose thoughts went bark to hen frodorion gwiwlon eu galwad of past centuries, the silent dust of whom was as much a part of Clynnog as their souls had been of the universal church. Such an idea of the church, the universitas credentium, was rare enough in Eben Fardd's day in ours the idea is coming into its own, translated into politics. Eben Fardd, it is true, seems at the end of his awdl to lose the fine vision, and descends to what is little better than orthodox platitude. Alun also, after his picture of Tintern in ruins, with no requiem heard in it more but the moan of the wind, spoils the whole effect with his Felly tive compliment, the highest praise which can be bestowed upon a man. Compare the conduct of Henry's early confederates towards him with his conduct towards them. They always broke tryste he never. The only person with whom he had to do, who never broke his word to him, was Francis-pity that Francis died of the Spanish disorder. Yet even Francis broke his word in the most shameless manner to Charles, who, it is true, broke his word to everybody. Come, Harry Tudor was the only monarch of his time in whose word perfect reliance could be placed. The bard who sang his dirge was Dafydd Trevor, generally called Sir Dafydd Trevor, who besides being a b'ard was rector of a parish in Anglesey, the country from which the race of Tudor sprang and who, though Henry had roughly handled the Pope, his master, enter- tained an enthusiastic admiration for the mighty monarch. The dirge, which is singularly beauti- ful, 'commences thus :­- 0, rhoed daiar ar Harry." ("Come, fling the earth o;er Harry's bones !") dcrfydd pob coel grefydd. We to-day, though more is known of mediaeval religion, and though the complex of economic, dynastic, and theolo- gical questions called the Reformation has been more profoundly studied, are liable to relapse in the same way, to draw a hard and clear line between the pre-Reformation and post-Reforma- tion period. It is true that religious poetry of the middle ages is read, but read too often in a rather superior fashion. Many would smile at the idea of writing a cywydd to Llwchaiarn Sant, and regard as natural a poem in praise of some defunct local preacher. People shudder at Dominic and his inquisitors who accept the brutal and cowardly pedagogical theories that still poison the happiness of childhood in Wales; people regard Alva as a friend incarnate, who accept a social system beside which the miseries he wrought are paltry they conceive of Loyola as the prototype of intellectual dishonesty, and vote for politicians compared with whom the founder of the Jesuits was unsophisticated innocence. Who would understand Wales past and pre- sent must shake free of such thoughtlessness; he must emphasise not only the break in con- tinuity, but the underlying sameness; he must forget awhile the wrangling of theologians, and get as near as may be to the point of view of the most important individual in the Reformation period and after, the common man. He it was who paid, and heavily, for the new age whose land was stolen and whose bread was made dear he it was also who waited longest for the fruit of the change, and got least of it in the end. He