In the mediaeval stories of no
Latin or Teutonic people does this strike one as in those of the
Welsh. Kilhwch, in the story, already quoted, of Kilhwch and Olwen,
asks help at the hand of Arthur's warriors; a list of these warriors
is given, which fills I know not how many pages of Lady Charlotte
Guest's book; this list is a perfect treasure-house of mysterious
ruins:-
'Teithi Hen, the son of Gwynham--(his domains were swallowed up by
the sea, and he himself hardly escaped, and he came to Arthur, and
his knife had this peculiarity, that from the time that he came there
no haft would ever remain upon it, and owing to this a sickness came
over him, and he pined away during the remainder of his life, and of
this he died).
'Drem, the son of Dremidyd--(when the gnat arose in the morning with
the sun, Drem could see it from Gelli Wic in Cornwall, as far off as
Pen Blathaon in North Britain).
'Kynyr Keinvarvawc--(when he was told he had a son born, he said to
his wife: Damsel, if thy son be mine, his heart will be always cold,
and there will be no warmth in his hands).'
How evident, again, is the slightness of the narrator's hold upon the
Twrch-Trwyth and his strange story! How manifest the mixture of
known and unknown, shadowy and clear, of different layers and orders
of tradition jumbled together, in the story of Bran the Blessed, a
story whose personages touch a comparatively late and historic time.
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