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Wales Poetry

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

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

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

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

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

Translated By The Rev William Evans
God doth withhold no good from those Who meekly fear him ...

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

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

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

Under The Orchard Tree
Under the deep-laden boughs of the orchard Walks a maid...

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

The Holly Grove
Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ...

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

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

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

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

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

Woman
Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Arc...

To The Nightingale
river of that name was born at Mold, in Flintshire, in the...



Glan Geirionydd






Category: The Sentimental.

.

One time upon a summer day
I saunter'd on the shore
Of swift Geirionydd's waters blue,
Where oft I walked before
In youth's bright season gone,
And spent life's happiest morn
In drawing from its crystal waves
The trout beneath the thorn,
When every thought within my breast
Was light as solar ray,
Enjoying every pastime dear
Throughout the livelong day.

The breeze would soften on the lake,
Unruffled be its deep,
And all surrounding nature be
As calm as silent sleep,
Except the raven's dismal shriek
Upon the lofty spray,
And bleat of sheep beside the bush
Where light their lambkins play,
And noise made by the busy mill
Upon the river shore,
With cuckoo's song perch'd in the ash
To show that winter's o'er.

The impressive scene would rather tend
To nurse reflection deep,
Than cast the gay and sprightly fly
Beneath the rocky steep;
'Twould fill my spirit now subdued
With sober earnest thought,
Of other days, and other things,
My youthful hands had wrought;
The tears would spring into my eyes,
My heart with heaving fill,
To think of all that I had been,
And all that I am still.

* * * * *

The sober stillness would beget
Thoughts of departed friends,
Who not long since companions were
Upon the river's bends;
And soon will come the sombre day
When I shall meet their doom,
And 'stead of fishing by the lake,
I shall be in the tomb.
Some brother bard may chance to stray
And ask for Ieuan E'an?--
"Geirionydd lake is still the same,
But here no Ieuan's seen."





Next: The Mother To Her Child After Its Father's Death
Previous: The Mountain Galloway


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