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To ihe Editor of the Niorth…



THE INUNDATIO. A Fragment from the Welsh* [The original Welsh Poem is supposed to have been written by Taliesin, who lived in the fifth ecnfnry. Seitkenin, to whom the Poem is ad- dressed, and whose fafe it portends, seems to have !> en a Prince of despicable character.— C(infi'f.,r Gwaetod, or the Low-land Canton, extended from the horrlers of Carnarvonshire ?m-l Merio-iethshire, towards the coast of Car- e,ig,ii,ii!iire, &c. The ruins of the several em- bankments, which secured the extensive cham- paign from tlw ha-oc or a wide-wasting allu- vion, are, at times, s'il- vi.,ihle --k consi(lera- ble portion of Canti-e't- Gieaelod has been lately recovered from the set by the i)atri(otic exer- tions of W. A. MADOCKS, Esq. Come forth, Seithenin, now behold The lalHI of warriors -fa"ii'd of old See Gwyddno's plains—the Prince's pride All covered by the rolling fide When wine inflam'd the Guardian's brain, Then inward fhe raffing main; The sea, regardless of his bound, a t once iiie verdant mound: O may that Iforfin, after wine, Be blaste(i by the pow'rs (li%,itie An 1 on the Factiit4 (dread my cill May God's terriifc ju lament fall. When from his post the Keeper fled, Behold the rolling waters spread The current of the azure main O'er-flowed the rich, luxuriant plain: Oil Cantre'r Gwaelod't. sea-worn shore Perennial spring appears no more! Jiti-k liiirk the raging billows roar, Where crowded hamlets stood before; "Vvbere herbs delicious once were found. Marine exuviae now abound Embosom'd in the briny deep, Prhces, warriors, vassals sleep! Mererid struck with hopeless grier, From Gwineu prays for sweet relief; Confusion reigns o'er Ke;!awV> hall; His lofty turret soon shall fall Luxurious pomp forebodes distress; Pale hunger follows vile excess! Tlli, night Haaid's erit's impart Sen.ations painful to my heart; No more the voice of mirth and song Revives my soul, or moves my tongue: Oppression, e're the day he past, Shall meet a fatal fall at lasl Mererid's fate—(a wretch unblest) Assails my peace,—disturbs my rest: Reflecting oil his fate,-how low, How faint my duttVmg spirits flow !— Despatr shall seize the guilty soul; Ambition meets a sure control: Tyrannic pride and tawtess sway Shall end in ruin, shame, dismay. Carnarvon. TWROG.

To the Editor of the North…


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