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Wales Poetry

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

To The Daisy
Oh, flower meek and modest That blooms of all the soonest,...

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

An Address To The Summer
of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ...

The Mountain Galloway
My tried and trusty mountain steed, Of Aberteivi's hardy...

The Rose Of The Glen
Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c...

The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn
Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl...

Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Address To Morfydd After She Married His Rival
Too long I've loved the fickle maid, My love is turned to ...

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

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

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

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

The Poor Man's Grave
'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound ...

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

Pennillion
Cymry, and was much practised in the houses of the Welsh g...

The Praise And Commendation Of A Good Woman
As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit a...

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

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

Snowdon
King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou reares...

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



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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