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Wales Poetry

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

Sad Died The Maiden
Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew The anguish s...

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

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

Concerning The Divine Providence
...

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

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

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

The Castles Of Wales
Ye fortresses grey and gigantic I see on the hills of...

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

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

Roderic's Lament
Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet...

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

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

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

The Fairy's Song
"Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy!"--SHAKSPEARE. ...

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

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

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

Twenty Third Psalm
My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me 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



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