Wales PoetryThe Circling Of The Mead Horns
Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn: Natural is mead...
Song Of The Foster-son, Love
I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu...
The Hall Of Cynddylan
The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th...
The Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd
All my lifetime I have been Bard to Morfydd, "golden m...
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...
My Native Land
My soul is sad, my spirit fails, And sickness in my he...
The Praise And Commendation Of A Good Woman
As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit a...
May And November
Sweet May, ever welcome! the palace of leaves Thy hand for...
The Lily And The Rose
Once I saw two flowers blossom In a garden 'neath the h...
The Immovable Covenant
the Welsh of Mr. H. Hughes, was a Minister in the Baptist ...
The Lament Op Llywarch Hen
The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing ...
The Poor Man's Grave
'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound ...
My Native Cot
The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo...
To The Spring
Oh, come gentle spring, and visit the plain, Far scatte...
The Rose Of The Glen
Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c...
The Lord Of Clas
The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and...
Under The Orchard Tree
Under the deep-laden boughs of the orchard Walks a maid...
Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet...
"Oh Gwynedd, fast thy star declineth, Thy name is gone, t...
The Farmer's Prayer
poems of the "Good Vicar Prichard of Llandovery" would be ...
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From me has now her heart withdrawn!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!
Next: From The Hymns Of The Rev William Williams, Pantycelyn
Previous: The Cuckoo's Tale