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"Few were the numbers she could boast,
But every freeman was a host,

And felt as though himself where he
On whose sole arm hung victory."

THE picturesque scene represented in our Engraving is thoroughly characteristic of the County of Glamorgan. "There are few regions," says Roscoe, "present more of the sublime and beautiful features of Nature, within the same compass, than are to be found among the mountains, hills, and valleys of Glamorganshire." We may also remark, that there are few districts in Wales more intimately associated with the early struggles of the ancient people against their invaders. Sir Walter Scott's famous "Norman Horse Shoe," has reference to this part of the country, and is set to the well-known air of the War Song of the Men of Glamorgan. He tells us that the Welsh inhabiting a mountainous country, and possessing only an inferior breed of horses, were usually unable to encounter the shock of the Anglo-Norman cavalry. Occasionally, however, they were successful in repelling the invaders; and the following verses are supposed to celebrate a defeat of Clare, Earl of Striguil and Pembroke, and of Neville, baron of Chepstow :

Red glows the forge in Striguil's bounds,

And hammers din, and anvil sounds,

And armourers, with iron toil,

Barb many a steed for battle's broil.

Foul fall the hand which bends the steel

Around the courser's thund'ring heel,

That e'er shall dint a sable wound

On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground!

From Chepstow's tow'rs, ere dawn of morn,

Was heard afar the bugle horn;

And forth, in banded prompt and pride,

Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride.

They swore, their banners broad should gleam,

In crimson light, on Rymny's stream;

They vow'd Caerphili's sod should feel
The Norman charger's spurning heel.

And sooth they swore-the sun arose,
And Rymny's wave with crimson glows;
For Clare's red banner, floating wide,
Roll'd down the stream to Severn's tide!



And sooth they vow'd-the trampled green
Show'd where hot Neville's charge had been:
In every sable hoof-tramp stood

A Norman horseman's curdling blood!

Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil,
That arm'd stout Clare for Cambrian broil;
Their orphans long the art may rue,
For Neville's war-horse forg'd the shoe.
No more the stamp of armed steed
Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet mead;
Nor trace be there, in early spring,

Save of the Fairies emerald ring.

Berw has a good colliery, and other mining operations are conducted in its neighbourhood, so that the sons of those warlike fathers have found more peaceful employment than that of which the poet sings. The neighbourhood is picturesque, and well repays the visitor; always supposing that the visitor has in him something of the enthusiasm of Dr. Syntax.

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