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Wales PoetryThe Poor Man's Grave'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound ... The Deluge * * * * * Whether to the east or west You go, wondr... The Lily And The Rose Once I saw two flowers blossom In a garden 'neath the h... The Ewe So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles... The Mountain Galloway My tried and trusty mountain steed, Of Aberteivi's hardy... The Grove Of Broom The girl of nobler loveliness Than countess decked in go... Glan Geirionydd . One time upon a summer day I saunter'd on the shor... The Rose Of The Glen Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c... The Banks Of The Dee One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing O'er... My Native Cot The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo... Roderic's Lament Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet... The Lord Of Clas The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and... Farewell To Wales The voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear; Farewell; ... My Father-land Land of the Cymry! thou art still, In rock and valley, str... A Bridal Song Wilt thou not waken, bride of May, While the flowers are... My Native Land My soul is sad, my spirit fails, And sickness in my he... An Address To The Summer of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ... Twenty Third Psalm My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to... 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... Childe Harold "Oh Gwynedd, fast thy star declineth, Thy name is gone, t... |
An Ode On The Death Of HoelCategory: 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. Next: The Death Of Owain Previous: Ode To Cambria
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