That much has been so destroyed is a melancholy fact, which cannot be denied; but that a great and valuable portion of our early literature has survived, is also equally incontrovertible. In the present part of this work, a few of these preserved relics are laid before the readers; and should they have the effect of awakening the attention of my fellow countrymen to the remainder of those neglected remnants of national antiquity, I shall esteem myself amply rewarded for the time and labour bestowed on this undertaking.
Torna Eigeas, or the learned, the author of the present ode, was one of the last of our Pagan Bards, though he has been, by some, supposed to have been a Christian. He flourished
appeared, to undertake or patronise any pervasive measure for the restoration of the ancient literature and poetry of his native country.—Not so in the patriotic Principality of Wales. There, an individual, Owen Jones, "The Thames Street Furrier," or, according to his well deserved and more enviable appellation, "the Cambrian Mecænas," has done more for the literary honor and character of his native land, than all that the sons of Erin have been able to achieve for theirs, for the last 200 years. In 1774, this excellent man, whose life was dedicated to the preservation of the literary treasures of his country, founded the Gwyneddigion Society, and collected, printed and published, at his sole expence, that noble monument of Cymric literature, the Archaiology of Wales. With a perseverance as ardent as it was inflexible, he employed his time and his purse in the collection of all the ancient manuscripts relating to the history, the poetry, and the antiquities of Wales; and, in addition to these of which the Archaiology consists, he succeeded in obtaining nearly one hundred quarto volumes of Welch poetry, which have been lately published by the Cymmrodorion Society.—See that valuable publication, the Retrospective Review, vol. xi. p. 68. In vain do we seek in Ireland for any such example of genuine patriotism. Neither collectively nor individually is the like to be found. The venerable literary remains of former days, (and no country could produce them in greater number, or of higher value,) are rapidly decaying. but no generous spirit, like that of the noble-minded Welchman, appears, to rescue them from destruction. The sons of the Gaël—the ancient Milesian race, have seldom required stimulants in the career of glory, even when decorating with laurels the proud brows of their oppressors. Here then an achievement awaits them, worthy their piety and patriotism, to rescue from the destroying hand of time those ancient monuments on which depends so much of the fame and glory of their country and ancestors.
