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Wales Poetry

The Eisteddfod,
Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be h...

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

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

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

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

The Deluge
* * * * * Whether to the east or west You go, wondr...

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

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

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

Song Of The Foster-son, Love
I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu...

By The Rev Rees Prichard, Ma
...

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

Dafydd Ap Gwilym To The White Gull
Bird that dwellest in the spray, Far from mountain woods a...

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

Llywarch Hen's Lament On Cynddylan
Taliesin in the sixth century. He was engaged at the batt...

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

The Circling Of The Mead Horns
Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn: Natural is mead...

The World And The Sea: A Comparison
Like the world and its dread changes Is the ocean when it ...



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



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