Wales PoetryThe Rose Of The Glen
Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c...
The Day Of Judgment
was a native of Anglesea, and entered the Welsh Church...
The Praise And Commendation Of A Good Woman
As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit a...
The Lord Of Clas
The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and...
An Ode To The Thunder
his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1...
Song To Arvon
by the Rev. Evan Evans, a Clergyman of the Church of Eng...
The Castles Of Wales
Ye fortresses grey and gigantic I see on the hills of...
Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like...
To The Spring
Oh, come gentle spring, and visit the plain, Far scatte...
O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread, Nor step unhallo...
The Poor Man's Grave
'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound ...
Short Is The Life Of Man
Man's life, like any weaver's shuttle, flies, Or, like a t...
The Monarchy Of Britain
Sons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time, Ere spoilers h...
Translations From Miscellaneous Welsh Hymns
Had I but the wings of a dove, To regions afar I'd repa...
Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be h...
Serjeant Parry, the eminent barrister) says: "The followin...
The Rose Of Llan Meilen
Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i...
The Death Of Owain
Lo! the youth, in mind a man, Daring in the battle's v...
The Immovable Covenant
the Welsh of Mr. H. Hughes, was a Minister in the Baptist ...
"Oh Gwynedd, fast thy star declineth, Thy name is gone, t...
My Native Cot
Category: The Sentimental.
The white cot where I spent my youth
Is on yon lofty mountain side,
The stream which flowed beside the door
Adown the mossy slope doth glide;
The holly tree that hid one end
Is shaken by the moaning wind,
Like as it was in days of yore
When 'neath its boughs I shade did find.
Clear is the sky of morning tide,
Bright is the season time of youth,
Before the mid-day clouds appear,
And fell deceit obliterates truth;
Black tempest in the evening lowers,
The rain descends with whirlwind force,
And long ere midnight's hour nears
Full is the heart of deep remorse.
Where are my old companions dear,
Who in those days with me did play?
The green graves in the parish yard
Will soon the mournful answer say:
Farewell therefore ye pleasures light,
Which in my youth I did enjoy,
Dark evening's come with all its trials,
And these the bliss of life destroy.
Next: Under The Orchard Tree
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