Welsh Journals

a young fellow named Ifan, who was a shepherd, and as the custom of caru'r nos was practised in those days-and is still, I believe-Iran used to come secretly by night to tap gently at the kitchen window of Tyn y Maes, and then a short, sweet and secret lovers' meeting would ensue. Now it chanced that one evening-old Dafydd having gone to bed earlier than usual- Maggie brought Ifan into the house, and together they sat on the oak settle, whispering softly together, and seeing in the glowing shapes of the fire pictures of their future life. But their happiness and peace was soon disturbed by the gruff tones of Dafydd as he shouted to his daugh- ter- 'Maggie, why don't you go to bed? Who is with you?' 'Nobody,' replied his loving daughter. And for five more minutes the lovers talked together, soon to be disturbed again by the relentless old man, who repeated his former question, only to be answered a second time in like wise by his loving daughter. 'Nobody,' she replied. Then squeezing No- body's hand, Maggie stole a few more minutes' happiness. By this time the old man had grown exceed- ingly suspicious, and decided to investigate things for himself. Fortunately, the lovers had due warning of his intentions from the heavy thud which accompanied his descent from bed. Reviews Poems of the Welsh Border. By John Wiilwyn. T. Owen and Son, Library Printing Works, Oswestry. Mr. Willwyn's verses, whilst not confessedly macaronic, are evidently not meant to be serious mental travadlings. However, if the aim has been to produce poetry, Austin Dobson's lines come to mind: "I intended an Ode, And it turned out a Sonnet, It began a la mode, I intended an Ode; But Rose crossed the road In her latest new bonnet, I intended an Ode, And it turned out a Sonnet." Poetic trifles and even licenses are not uncommon where the poet is fortunately accompanied by "Agnes and Muriel and Betty and Flo," who cer- tainly would and should have some little say in the matter. Any criticism of Hudibrastic verse would be gratuitous, a.nd yet "Cader Berwyn in Winter" is very promising but for such combinations as "darkling light." "prehistoric ancient," "purple- prank" and such words as "awesome." Verse four is worthy of revision. The printing and general "get-up" are alike admirable. J.T.L. The Oxford Book of French Verse. Chosen by St. John Lucas. Oxford University Press. 8s. 6d. fndia pa.per. 10s. "The Oxford Book of French Verse" has already established for itself a place in the front rank of anthologies, and its present revised and enlarged Hurriedly, Maggie bundled Ifan into the settle. and prepared herself for the encounter with her father. And so it came about that Maggie was sent, unwillingly, to bed, while Dafydd, an inveterate smoker, decided to have a smoke before return- ing to bed himself. He lit his pipe, and was soon sitting on the settle, puffing peacefully. Meanwhile, Ifan slept, and Dafydd smoked on contentedly. In his slumber Ifan had a dream. He dreams that he and Maggie are married and living happily together in a little grey house on the hill. Then a baby son is born to them, whom they name Ifan after his father. As the years pass, Ifan, junior, becomes of great help to his father in watching the flocks on the hillside. But one night the hill tops become shrouded in mist, and little Ifan is lost, lost in the mist. The dis- tracted father goes out to seek his child, and calls IFAN, IFAN, IFAN.' At this point, Ifan is not content to dream in silence, but shouts with all his might, IFAN, IFAN, IFAN,' thereby causing old Dafydd to leap from the settle with the triumphant exclama- tion At last I have found this Nobody who causes all the breakages in my house, and even presumes to steal my daughter.' Laughing heartily, Mari y Post returns to her shop to retail to her customers the story wh/ch the good minister has told her. form will undoubtedly enhance its popularity. The five hundred pages of text contain the choicest flowers of French lyrical poetry from the thirteenth to the twentieth century. The selection is therefore comprehensive enough to enable the reader to form a very clear idea of the progress of the lyric throughout its course. Though French 'poetry does not often stir our deeper spiritual emotions as English poetry does, it possesses certain qualities- such ae, for instance, the note of regret and sadness which pervades es- pecially the more modern lyrics, and the emphasis laid on form and strudure-which will particularly appeal to a Welshman. And as the present an- thology contains a considerable number of lyrics by poets of Breton origin, it would be an interesting investigation to examine to what extent these lyrics reflect characteristics specially associated with Welsh poetrv. The introductory essay by the editor is a masterly and illuminating sketch of the evolution of this type of literature in France. The writer tells us how at an ea.rly period in its career the Frenlch lyric was nearly devitalised by the hard-and-fast rules of the ballade — which, like the Welsh "awdl." was employed "without the least discrimination for any kind of subject": how. again, after its emergence from these shackles the lyric underwent another adverse influence (similar to that which has so detrimentally affected certain forms of Welsh poetry) — the attempt to enrich the language arti- ficially by grafting on it both obsolete words and ne- ologisms; and how lastly it nearly expired when the French Academy well-nigh succeeded in "making literature a social and impersonal art" — which sug- gests a point of view worthy of consideration by the advocates of a "Welsh Academy."