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| Lady X., after walking in a wood near her house in Ireland, found that she had lost an important key. She dreamed that it was lying at the root of a certain tree, where she found it next day, and her theory is the same as that of Mr. A., the o... Read more of The Lost Key at Scary Stories.ca | Informational.ca Privacy |
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Wales PoetryTranslations From Miscellaneous Welsh HymnsHad I but the wings of a dove, To regions afar I'd repa... Twenty Third Psalm My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to... The Deluge * * * * * Whether to the east or west You go, wondr... May And November Sweet May, ever welcome! the palace of leaves Thy hand for... The Eisteddfod, Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be h... My 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... The Vengeance Of Owain {96} Gruffydd ab Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd, or North Wales, and ... Under The Orchard Tree Under the deep-laden boughs of the orchard Walks a maid... The Cuckoo's Tale Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home; With the... Song To Arvon by the Rev. Evan Evans, a Clergyman of the Church of Eng... Concerning The Divine Providence ... The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl... An Address To The Summer of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ... To The Daisy Oh, flower meek and modest That blooms of all the soonest,... To The Spring Oh, come gentle spring, and visit the plain, Far scatte... Snowdon King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou reares... The Withered Leaf Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ... Translated By The Rev William Evans God doth withhold no good from those Who meekly fear him ... Woman Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Arc... |
Farewell To WalesCategory: The Patriotic. The voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear; Farewell; and a blessing be with thee, Greenland; In thy halls, thy hearths, in thy pure mountain air, On the strings of the harp and the minstrel's free hand; From the love of my soul with my tears it is shed, Whilst I leave thee, O land of my home and my dead. I bless thee; yet not for the beauty which dwells In the heart of thy hills, in the waves of thy shore; And not for the memory set deep in thy dells Of the bard and the warrior, the mighty of yore; And not for thy songs of those proud ages fled, Greenland, Poetland of my home and my dead. I bless thee for all the true bosoms that beat, Where e'er a low hamlet smiles, under thy skies, For thy peasant hearths burping the stranger to greet, For the soul that looks forth from thy children's bright eyes, May the blessing, like sunshine, around thee be spread, Greenland of my childhood, my home and my dead. Next: The Castles Of Wales Previous: The Monarchy Of Britain
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