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Wales PoetryAn Address To The Summer
of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ...
The Immovable Covenant
the Welsh of Mr. H. Hughes, was a Minister in the Baptist ...
The Rose Of The Glen
Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c...
My Native Cot
The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo...
The Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd
All my lifetime I have been Bard to Morfydd, "golden m...
The Monarchy Of Britain
Sons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time, Ere spoilers h...
The Withered Leaf
Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ...
The Faithful Maiden
At the dawning of day on a morning in May, When the bi...
The Praise And Commendation Of A Good Woman
As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit a...
That Had Been Converted Into A May-pole In The Town Of Llanidloes, In Montgomeryshire
Ah! birch tree, with the verdant locks, And reckless min...
Gwilym Glyn And Ruth Of Dyffryn
In the depth of yonder valley, Where the fields are bright...
The Sick Man's Dream
Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste...
May And November
Sweet May, ever welcome! the palace of leaves Thy hand for...
The Fairy's Song
"Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy!"--SHAKSPEARE. ...
a Welsh Congregationalist Minister, and an eminent poet....
Song To Arvon
by the Rev. Evan Evans, a Clergyman of the Church of Eng...
Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like...
Streaking the mantle of deep night The rays of light ...
An Ode To The Thunder
his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1...
. One time upon a summer day I saunter'd on the shor...
An Ode On The Death Of Hoel
Category: The Patriotic.
of the sixth century. He was himself a soldier, and distinguished
himself at the battle of Cattraeth, fought between the Welsh and Saxons,
in or about the year 560, but was disastrous to the former and especially
to the bard, who was there taken prisoner, and kept for several years in
confinement. He composed his principal poem, the Gododin, upon the
battle of Cattraeth. This is the oldest Welsh poem extant, and is full
of boldness, force, and martial fire. It has been translated into
English by the Rev. John Williams, (ab Ithel,) and published by the
Messrs. Rees, of Llandovery. The bard died, according to tradition, from
the blow of an assassin before the close of the sixth century.]
Had I but the torrent's might,
With headlong rage, and wild affright,
Upon Deira's squadrons hurl'd,
To rush and sweep them from the world!
Too, too secure in youthful pride,
By them my friend, my Hoel, dy'd,
Great Cian's son; of Madoc old,
He ask'd no heaps of hoarded gold;
Alone in Nature's wealth array'd
He asked and had the lovely maid.
To Cattraeth's vale, in glitt'ring row,
Twice two hundred warriors go;
Ev'ry warrior's manly neck
Chains of regal honour deck,
Wreath'd in many a golden link:
From the golden cup they drink
Nectar that the bees produce,
Or the grape's ecstatic juice.
Flush'd with mirth and hope they burn,
But none from Cattraeth's vale return,
Save Aeron brave and Conan strong,
(Bursting through the bloody throng,)
And I, the meanest of them all,
That live to weep and sing their fall.
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