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The German _Sehnsucht_ itself is a wistful, soft,
tearful longing, rather than a struggling, fierce, passionate one. But
the Celtic melancholy is struggling, fierce, passionate; to catch its
note, listen to Llywarch Hen in old age, addressing his crutch:--
"O my crutch! is it not autumn, when the fern is red, the water-flag
yellow? Have I not hated that which I love?
O my crutch! is it not winter-time now, when men talk together after
that they have drunken? Is not the side of my bed left desolate?
O my crutch! is it not spring, when the cuckoo passes through the air,
when the foam sparkles on the sea? The young maidens no longer love me.
O my crutch! is it not the first day of May? The furrows, are they not
shining; the young corn, is it not springing? Ah! the sight of thy
handle makes me wroth.
O my crutch! stand straight, thou wilt support me the better; it is very
long since I was Llywarch.
Behold old age, which makes sport of me, from the hair of my head to my
teeth, to my eyes, which women loved.


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