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Wales PoetryAn Address To The Summer
of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ...
The Withered Leaf
Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ...
A voice from time departed, yet floats thy hills among,...
The Rose Of Llan Meilen
Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i...
O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread, Nor step unhallo...
The Sick Man's Dream
Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste...
The Lament Op Llywarch Hen
The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing ...
The Holly Grove
Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ...
Song To Arvon
by the Rev. Evan Evans, a Clergyman of the Church of Eng...
The Hall Of Cynddylan
The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th...
The Praise And Commendation Of A Good Woman
As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit a...
. One time upon a summer day I saunter'd on the shor...
Ode To Cambria
Cambria, I love thy genius bold; Thy dreadful rites, and...
Llywarch Hen's Lament On Cynddylan
Taliesin in the sixth century. He was engaged at the batt...
Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet...
The Monarchy Of Britain
Sons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time, Ere spoilers h...
The Banks Of The Dee
One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing O'er...
So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles...
To The Nightingale
river of that name was born at Mold, in Flintshire, in the...
The Grove Of Broom
The girl of nobler loveliness Than countess decked in go...
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.
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