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| with each dark and passing night as the moon doth wane away keep me in the lady's sight and take this baleful pain away banish all that wish me harm keep me free of pain and well may your blessings be the charm tha... Read more of A SPELL FOR HEALING at White Magic.ca | Informational.ca Privacy |
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Wales PoetryAn Ode On The Death Of Hoelof the sixth century. He was himself a soldier, and d... Pennillion Cymry, and was much practised in the houses of the Welsh g... The Ewe So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles... The Day Of Judgment was a native of Anglesea, and entered the Welsh Church... Concerning The Divine Providence ... Under The Orchard Tree Under the deep-laden boughs of the orchard Walks a maid... The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of Gothe There was a king in Mon, {62} A true lover to his grave; ... Childe Harold "Oh Gwynedd, fast thy star declineth, Thy name is gone, t... The Holly Grove Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ... The World And The Sea: A Comparison Like the world and its dread changes Is the ocean when it ... The Immovable Covenant the Welsh of Mr. H. Hughes, was a Minister in the Baptist ... Roderic's Lament Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet... The Dawn Streaking the mantle of deep night The rays of light ... My Father-land Land of the Cymry! thou art still, In rock and valley, str... Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Invocation To The Summer To Visit Glamorganshire, Where he spent many happy years at the hospitable mansion o... The Cuckoo's Tale Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home; With the... The Deluge * * * * * Whether to the east or west You go, wondr... Walter Sele O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread, Nor step unhallo... The Battle Of Gwenystrad contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appe... Farewell To Wales The voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear; Farewell; ... |
Old Morgan And His WifeCategory: The Humorous. Hus.--Jane, tell me have you fed the pigs, Their cry is not so fine: And if you have not, don't delay, 'Tis nearly half-past nine. Wife.--There, now your noisy din begins, Ding, ding, and endless ding, I do believe your scolding voice Me to the grave will bring. H.--Were you to drop in there to-day, This day would end my sorrow. W.--But I shall not to please you, Mog, To-day, nor yet to-morrow. H.--Oh! were you, Jane, to leave this world, W.--And you to beg and borrow, H.--Stop, Jane, talk not so silly, Jane, W.--Not at your bidding, never; I'd talk as long as I thought fit, Were I to live for ever. H.--Your voice if raised a little more, Would rouse the very dead, A pretty noise, because I ask'd If you the pigs had fed. W.--I'll raise my voice, Mog, louder still, As sure as you were born, Why should you ask "How many loaves Came from the peck of corn?" H.--Should not the master of the house Know every undertaking? W.--And wear his wife's own crinoline, And try his hand at baking! H.--The breeches you would like to wear! W.--What vulgar jests you're making! H.--Stop Jane, stop Jane, don't speak so loud, Your noise will stun the cattle! W.--The only noise that could do that Is your continued rattle. H.--As sounds a bee upon her back, So does this wasp I've got, And all because I ask'd if she Had fed the pigs or not. W.--Your peevish growling, Mog, is worse, Yes, ten times worse and more, Still asking, "How this churning gave Less than the one before?" H.--You know the butter pays our rent, And many another matter. W.--I know that if the cows are starved They won't get any fatter! H.--I give the cows enough to eat. W.--Well do, and hold your clatter. H.--Stop Jane, stop Jane, confound your noise, 'Twould shame a barrel organ. W.--If I were half as loud as you, I think it would, Old Morgan! H.--Your temper, Jane, will drive me soon To share a soldier's lot, To march with gun and martial tune 'Midst powder, smoke, and shot. W.--What! you a soldier? never, Mog! Your heart is coward too, You'll fight with no one but with me, You've then enough to do! H.--I'll go and fight the mighty Czar, To aid the Turkish nation. W.--Then go, a greater Turk than you Breathes not within creation! H.--For shame, to call your husband Turk. W.--Such is my pledg'd relation. H.--Stop Jane, stop Jane, let's now shake hands And we'll be henceforth friends. W.--No, not till you have stopp'd will I, Be still, or make amends. Next: Song Of The Foster-son, Love Previous: Childe Harold
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