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| ISLWYN (The Rev. William Thomas) by W.J. Townsend Collins From the book Monmouthshire Writers - A literary History and Anthology |
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| ISLWYN (The Rev. William Thomas) by W.J. Townsend Collins From the book Monmouthshire Writers - A literary History and Anthology |
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"ISLWYN," POET AND PREACHER,
was born at Ynysddu, April 3, 1832, and died there November 20,
1878. He took his bardic title from the mountain which
towers above his home, Mynyddislwyn; and that title was so
well-known that some people forgot-and others never
knew-that he was the Reverend William Thomas, Calvinis-
tic Methodist minister in his native village. He published
books of poetry in 1854 and 1867 ; and in 1897 a complete
edition of his Welsh poems, edited by Owen M. Edwards,
enabled the world to survey the extent of his output and the
quality of his thought and skill. Islwyn was interested in
other people's poetry. In his day, as now, there were many
who wrote verse and longed for publication; then (more
than now) editors were sympathetic ; and lslw-yn edited
Welsh poetry columns in seven periodicals (including " The
Cardiff Times" and "The Star of Gwent" Newport, now
incorporated in " The South Wales Argus "). The great
poetic work of his life was " The Storm," a philosophical
poem in Welsh which ran to over nine thousand lines. He
has been called " The Welsh Browning," and he had indeed
profundity, mysticism, and perhaps something of the Eng-
lish poet's obscurity. His Welsh poetry, not greatly regarded
while he lived, is now reckoned the finest of the Nineteenth
Century.
Islwyn's English poems have survived only by accident.
His widow allowed a distant relative, Miss Hannah Williams,
LL.A, of Cardiff, to peruse the manuscripts, and she tran-
scribed them-twenty-nine in all. Nearly thirtv years after-
wards, as no trace of the originals had been discovered, she
published them in answer to " the earnest and persistent
solicitations of the many friends and admirers of the Sweet
Bard of Cymru, who felt that all his poems-English as well
as Welsh-should be made accessible to the public." The
following poem speaks for itself :
LIFE
Oh,! mighty overshadowing tree!
Where is the hand that planted thee?
The plant lives on,
The planter gone!
Oh! mighty castle by the sea
Where is the hand that builded thee?
The building stands,
The plant lives on,
The builder and the planter gone!
How dost thou. patriarchal oak,
Defy each storm, each lightning stroke,
When a passing breath
By us called death
The planters strength for ever broke
The wood lives on
The woodman gone!
The warrior from the picture springs,
Valiant and bold;
The painted bell in my ear rings
By genius tolled-
Rings ever on
As if to toll
For the silent soul
Of the Artist gone!
Why should the nobler life decay,
Oh! why should Man pass first away?
Why should the humbler growths live on
Unceasing, when the nobler's gone?
Oh patriarchal Oak, I envy thee!
For thou shalt many an unborn century see;
Thee, funerals of ages shall pass by,
While I
May ere to-morrow die.
The world is very happy. I would fain
Among such joys for ages yet remain:
Thou shalt remain, tho' void of love or heart,
But I, the soul of love, must soon depart.
There must be yet, a happier future state :
If not, Creation is a blunder. Fate
Is kinder to a senseless forest tree,
Far kinder than to me.
Oh! why were,such affections given me,
Affections that could clasp eternity?
Why build a godship for so small a stake,
So small a lake?
Islwyn " was destined-and probably felt himself
doomed-to early death; and as he loved life it is not sur-
prising that the questioning note is heard in his poetry. And
he could be critical of the social order. Here is a poem with
a modern touch:
OUT ON STRIKE
I scarcely could believe
Those starving sons of toil,
When I saw them yester'eve-
As I looked at the hungry men
I thought of the Upper Ten,
Whose hounds are richly fed
While these repine for bread;
Whose mansions flow with wine
While these for bread repine:
These people only resent
A reduction of ten per cent!
It is but a small affair
When we think of the masters' share.
For the titled millionaire
Himself worked in his stall
Twenty years ago, that's all!
Who pays his first class fare?
Whence came that carriage and pair?
From what noble enterprise
Did yon stately mansions rise?
Who made that capital
In twenty yeairs? That's all!
The day of the masses dawns,
The day of the working men;
The abyss of Destruction yawns
At the feet of the Upper Ten.
"Islwyn" had the passion and the faith of the social re-
former. He died at 46: had he lived twice as long he would
still have been waiting for the fulfilment of his prophecy!
In many of his poems there is-as there naturally should be
-an expressiion of confident faith in an eternity of reunion,
fulfilment, completion: if in the pulpit he was known as "the
poet-preacher " in his books he was unmistakably" the
preacher poet." This proves it :
EARLY AND LATE TRAINS
Traveller of a single day,
Only wait a later train!
Mortal, why should'st thou complain
When beloved ones go away?
Travelling,in a later train,
Thou shalt join thy friends again.
When beloved friends depart
Why should sorrow plough thy heart?
They've but had the start of thee
Travelling to Eternity.
They have left this world of pain
Only by an earlier train.
We shall soon all pass away:
Life is but a Winter's day.
We may well afford to wait,
For the last shall not be late.
Some at glaring noontide leave,
Others tarry till the eve;
Some go early, some go late,
But the last may gladly wait.
For 'tis but a little way,
But a curve or two again,
Ere we reach the eternal plain
By the dim-lit midnight train.
Brighter shall the eternal day
Shine, benighted,ones, on ye;
And the longer the delay
Greater shall the welcome be.
Thou shalt join the happy band,
Thou shalt meet thy friends again
in the ever-blooming land,
Only by a later train.
Thou shalt realise above
All was but the work of love;
Thou shalt call each death again
Leaving by an earlier train.