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.caInformational Site Network Informational.ca
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Wales Poetry

The Faithful Maiden
At 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 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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