Informational Site NetworkInformational Site Network
Privacy
 
Home - Collection of Stories - Famous Stories - Short Stories - Wales Poetry - Yiddish Tales

Wales Poetry

An Ode On The Death Of Hoel
of the sixth century. He was himself a soldier, and d...

My Native Cot
The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo...

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

A Bridal Song
Wilt thou not waken, bride of May, While the flowers are...

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

The Lord Of Clas
The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and...

Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Invocation To The Summer To Visit Glamorganshire,
Where he spent many happy years at the hospitable mansion o...

To The Spring
Oh, come gentle spring, and visit the plain, Far scatte...

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

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

To The Lark
"Sentinel of the morning light! Reveller of the...

Farewell To Wales
The voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear; Farewell; ...

The Rose Of Llan Meilen
Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i...

The Hall Of Cynddylan
The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th...

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

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

Childe Harold
"Oh Gwynedd, fast thy star declineth, Thy name is gone, t...

Taliesin's Prophecy
A voice from time departed, yet floats thy hills among,...

Ode To Cambria
Cambria, I love thy genius bold; Thy dreadful rites, and...

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 ...



Farewell To Wales






Category: 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



Add to del.icio.us Add to Reddit Add to Digg Add to Del.icio.us Add to Google Add to Twitter Add to Stumble Upon
Add to Informational Site Network
Report
Privacy
SHAREADD TO EBOOK


Viewed 3130


Untitled Document