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Wales PoetryThe Holly Grove
Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ...
An Ode To The Thunder
his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1...
Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be h...
My Native Land
My soul is sad, my spirit fails, And sickness in my he...
The Monarchy Of Britain
Sons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time, Ere spoilers h...
The Song Of The Fisherman's Wife
Restless wave! be still and quiet, Do not heed the win...
The Withered Leaf
Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ...
So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles...
The Lily And The Rose
Once I saw two flowers blossom In a garden 'neath the h...
The Faithful Maiden
At the dawning of day on a morning in May, When the bi...
An Address To The Summer
of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ...
To The Lark
"Sentinel of the morning light! Reveller of the...
Old Morgan And His Wife
Hus.--Jane, tell me have you fed the pigs, Their cry is ...
Serjeant Parry, the eminent barrister) says: "The followin...
King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou reares...
the following and several other poems in this collection. ...
Sad Died The Maiden
Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew The anguish s...
Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like...
The Farmer's Prayer
poems of the "Good Vicar Prichard of Llandovery" would be ...
A Bridal Song
Wilt thou not waken, bride of May, While the flowers are...
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."
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