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Wales PoetryMy Native LandMy 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 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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