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Wales Poetry

By The Rev Rees Prichard, Ma
...

The Fairy's Song
"Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy!"--SHAKSPEARE. ...

My Native Land
My soul is sad, my spirit fails, And sickness in my he...

The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of Gothe
There was a king in Mon, {62} A true lover to his grave; ...

Under The Orchard Tree
Under the deep-laden boughs of the orchard Walks a maid...

My Father-land
Land of the Cymry! thou art still, In rock and valley, str...

Translated By The Rev William Evans
God doth withhold no good from those Who meekly fear him ...

Sad Died The Maiden
Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew The anguish s...

The Song Of The Fisherman's Wife
Restless wave! be still and quiet, Do not heed the win...

From The Hymns Of The Rev William Williams, Pantycelyn
he inherited from his ancestors, was born in the parish of...

Gwilym Glyn And Ruth Of Dyffryn
In the depth of yonder valley, Where the fields are bright...

May And November
Sweet May, ever welcome! the palace of leaves Thy hand for...

The Shipwreck
a Welsh Congregationalist Minister, and an eminent poet....

The Day Of Judgment
was a native of Anglesea, and entered the Welsh Church...

Old Morgan And His Wife
Hus.--Jane, tell me have you fed the pigs, Their cry is ...

The Sick Man's Dream
Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste...

The Grove Of Broom
The girl of nobler loveliness Than countess decked in go...

The Banks Of The Dee
One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing O'er...

The Death Of Owain
Lo! the youth, in mind a man, Daring in the battle's v...

The Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd
All my lifetime I have been Bard to Morfydd, "golden m...



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From me has now her heart withdrawn!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



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