THE HISTORY OF TALIESIN.
George Borrow translation
From The Ancient British.
Taliesin was a foundling, discovered in his infancy lying in a coracle, on a salmon-weir, in the domain of Elphin, a prince of North Wales, who became his patron. During his life he arrogated to himself a supernatural descent and understanding, and for at least a thousand years after his death he was regarded by the descendants of the ancient Britons in the character of a prophet or something more. The poems which he produced procured for him the title of “Bardic King;” they display much that is vigorous and original, but are disfigured by mysticism and extravagant metaphor; one of the most spirited of them is the following, which the author calls his “Hanes” or history.
The head Bard’s place I hold To Elphin, chieftain bold; The country of my birth Was the Cherubs’ land of mirth; I from the prophet John The name of Merddin won; And now the Monarchs all Me Taliesin call.
I with my Lord and God On the highest places trod, When Lucifer down fell With his army into hell. I know each little star Which twinkles near and far; And I know the Milky Way Where I tarried many a day.
My inspiration’s [54a] flame From Cridwen’s cauldron came; Nine months was I in gloom In Sorceress Cridwen’s womb; Though late a child—I’m now The Bard of splendid brow; [54b] When roar’d the deluge dark, I with Noah trod the Ark.
By the sleeping man I stood When the rib grew flesh and blood. To Moses strength I gave Through Jordan’s holy wave; The thrilling tongue was I To Enoch and Elie; I hung the cross upon, Where died the . . . (only son)
A chair of little rest ’Bove the Zodiac I prest, Which doth ever, in a sphere, Through three elements career; I’ve sojourn’d in Gwynfryn, In the halls of Cynfelyn; To the King the harp I play’d, Who Lochlyn’s sceptre sway’d.
With the Israelites of yore I endur’d a hunger sore; In Africa I stray’d Ere was Rome’s foundation laid; Now hither I have hied With the race of Troy to bide; In the firmament I’ve been With Mary Magdalen.
I work’d as mason-lord When Nimrod’s pile up-soar’d; I mark’d the dread rebound When its ruins struck the ground; When stroke to victory on The men of Macedon, The bloody flag before The heroic King I bore.
I saw the end with horror Of Sodom and Gomorrah! And with this very eye Have seen the . . . (end of Troy;) I till the judgment day Upon the earth shall stray: None knows for certainty Whether fish or flesh I be.