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Wales Poetry

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

To May
the following and several other poems in this collection. ...

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

The Lament Op Llywarch Hen
The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing ...

Tribanau
Serjeant Parry, the eminent barrister) says: "The followin...

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

Glan Geirionydd
. One time upon a summer day I saunter'd on the shor...

The Holly Grove
Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ...

The Flowers Of Spring
beautiful stanzas, from which the following translation ...

The Immovable Covenant
the Welsh of Mr. H. Hughes, was a Minister in the Baptist ...

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

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

The Battle Of Gwenystrad
contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appe...

The Mother To Her Child After Its Father's Death
My gentle child, thou dost not know Why still on thee ...

An Ode To The Thunder
his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1...

The Monarchy Of Britain
Sons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time, Ere spoilers h...

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

To The Nightingale
river of that name was born at Mold, in Flintshire, in the...

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

Concerning The Divine Providence
...



Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Invocation To The Summer To Visit Glamorganshire,






Category: The Beautiful.

Where he spent many happy years at the hospitable mansion of Ivor Hael.
The bard, speaking from the land of Wild Gwynedd, or North Wales, thus
invokes the summer to visit the sweet pastoral county of Glamorgan with
all its blessings:

"And wilt thou, at the bard's desire,
Thus in thy godlike robes of fire,
His envoy deign to be?
Hence from Wild Gwynedd's mountain land,
To fair Morganwg Druid strand,
Sweet margin of the sea.
Oh! may for me thy burning feet
With peace, and wealth, and glory greet,
My own dear southern home;
Land of the baron's, halls of snow!
Land of the harp! the vineyards glow,
Green bulwark of the foam.
She is the refuge of distress;
Her never-failing stores
Have cheer'd the famish'd wilderness,
Have gladden'd distant shores.
Oh! leave no little plot of sod
'Mid all her clust'ring vales untrod;
But all thy varying gifts unfold
In one mad embassy of gold:
O'er all the land of beauty fling
Bright records of thy elfin wing."

From this scene of ecstacy, he makes a beautiful transition to the memory
of Ivor, his early benefactor: still addressing the summer, he says,

"Then will I, too, thy steps pursuing,
From wood and cave,
And flowers the mountain-mists are dewing,
The loveliest save;
From all thy wild rejoicings borrow
One utterance from a heart of sorrow;
The beauties of thy court shall grace
My own lost Ivor's dwelling-place."





Next: A Bridal Song

Previous: To The Lark



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