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Wales PoetryMy Native Cot
The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo...
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...
Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be h...
King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou reares...
The Lord Of Clas
The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and...
The Song Of The Fisherman's Wife
Restless wave! be still and quiet, Do not heed the win...
Old Morgan And His Wife
Hus.--Jane, tell me have you fed the pigs, Their cry is ...
Llywarch Hen's Lament On Cynddylan
Taliesin in the sixth century. He was engaged at the batt...
Concerning The Divine Providence
An Ode On The Death Of Hoel
of the sixth century. He was himself a soldier, and d...
Twenty Third Psalm
My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to...
"Oh Gwynedd, fast thy star declineth, Thy name is gone, t...
The Rose Of Llan Meilen
Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i...
Gwilym Glyn And Ruth Of Dyffryn
In the depth of yonder valley, Where the fields are bright...
Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet...
An Address To The Summer
of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ...
The Sick Man's Dream
Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste...
* * * * * 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...
A voice from time departed, yet floats thy hills among,...
Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Address To Morfydd After She Married His Rival
Category: The Religious.
Too long I've loved the fickle maid,
My love is turned to grief and pain;
In vain delusive hopes I stray'd,
Through days that ne'er will dawn again;
And she, in beauty like the dawn,
From me has now her heart withdrawn!
A constant suitor--on her ear
My sweetest melodies I pour'd;
Where'er she wander'd I was near;
For her whose face my soul ador'd
My wealth I madly spent in wine,
And gorgeous jewels of the mine.
I deck'd her arms with lovely chains,
With bracelets wove of slender gold;
I sang her charms in varied strains,
Her praise to every minstrel told:
The bards of distant Keri know
That she is spotless as the snow.
These proofs of love I hoped might bind
My Morfydd to be ever true:
Alas! to deep despair consign'd,
My bosom's blighted hopes I rue,
And the base craft that gave her charms,
Oh, anguish! to another's arms!
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