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| The Marquis de Rambouillet, eldest brother of the Duchess of Montauzier, and the Marquis de Precy, eldest son of the family of Nantouillet, both of them between twenty and thirty, were intimate friends, and went to the wars, as in France d... Read more of The Marquis De Rambouillet at Scary Stories.ca | Informational.ca Privacy |
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Wales PoetryThe Faithful MaidenAt the dawning of day on a morning in May, When the bi... My Father-land Land of the Cymry! thou art still, In rock and valley, str... The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl... The Banks Of The Dee One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing O'er... Translated By The Rev William Evans God doth withhold no good from those Who meekly fear him ... The Holly Grove Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ... The Eisteddfod, Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be h... Pennillion Cymry, and was much practised in the houses of the Welsh g... My Native Cot The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo... Concerning The Divine Providence ... The Poor Man's Grave 'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound ... The Circling Of The Mead Horns Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn: Natural is mead... The Mother To Her Child After Its Father's Death My gentle child, thou dost not know Why still on thee ... The Sick Man's Dream Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste... The Dawn Streaking the mantle of deep night The rays of light ... Short Is The Life Of Man Man's life, like any weaver's shuttle, flies, Or, like a t... Roderic's Lament Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet... The Death Of Owain Lo! the youth, in mind a man, Daring in the battle's v... Sad Died The Maiden Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew The anguish s... The Lord Of Clas The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and... |
Glan GeirionyddCategory: 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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