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Wales Poetry

The Banks Of The Dee
One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing O'er...

The World And The Sea: A Comparison
Like the world and its dread changes Is the ocean when it ...

To The Lark
"Sentinel of the morning light! Reveller of the...

The Day Of Judgment
was a native of Anglesea, and entered the Welsh Church...

The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of Gothe
There was a king in Mon, {62} A true lover to his grave; ...

Song Of The Foster-son, Love
I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu...

Translations From Miscellaneous Welsh Hymns
Had I but the wings of a dove, To regions afar I'd repa...

By The Rev Rees Prichard, Ma
...

Walter Sele
O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread, Nor step unhallo...

That Had Been Converted Into A May-pole In The Town Of Llanidloes, In Montgomeryshire
Ah! birch tree, with the verdant locks, And reckless min...

The Sick Man's Dream
Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste...

The Swan
Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like...

Farewell To Wales
The voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear; Farewell; ...

The Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd
All my lifetime I have been Bard to Morfydd, "golden m...

The Immovable Covenant
the Welsh of Mr. H. Hughes, was a Minister in the Baptist ...

To The Spring
Oh, come gentle spring, and visit the plain, Far scatte...

Taliesin's Prophecy
A voice from time departed, yet floats thy hills among,...

The Battle Of Gwenystrad
contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appe...

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 ...



Pennillion






Category: The Humorous.

Cymry, and was much practised in the houses of the Welsh gentry. The
pennillion were sung by one voice to the harp, and followed a quaint air
which was not only interesting, but owing to its peculiarity, it set
forth in a striking manner the humour of the verse. This practice, which
was quite a Welsh institution, is fast dying out, and is not now much in
use except at eisteddfodau.]

Many an apple will you find
In hue and bloom so cheating,
That, search what grows beneath its rind,
It is not worth your eating.
Ere closes summer's sultry hour,
This fruit will be the first to sour.

* * * * * *

Those wild birds see, how bless'd are they!
Where'er their pleasure leads they roam,
O'er seas and mountains far away,
Nor chidings fear when they come home.

* * * * *

Thou dearest little Gwen, kindest maiden of all,
With cheeks fair and ruddy, and teeth white and small,
With thy blue sparkling eyes, and thy eye-brows so bright,
Ah, how I would love thee, sweet girl, if I might!

* * * * *

Place on my breast, if still you doubt,
Your hand, but no rough pressure making,
And, if you listen, you'll find out,
How throbs a little heart when breaking.

* * * * *

Both old maids and young ones, the witless and wise
Gain husbands at pleasure, while none will me prize;
Ah! why should the swains think so meanly of me,
And I full as comely as any they see!

* * * * *

From this world all in time must move,
'Tis known to every simple swain;
And 'twere as well to die of love
As any other mortal pain.

* * * * *

'Tis noised abroad, where'er one goes,
And I am fain to hear,
That no one in the country knows
The girl to me most dear:
And, 'tis so true, that scarce I wot,
If I know well myself or not.

* * * * *

What noise and scandal fill my ear,
One half the world to censure prone!
Of all the faults that thus I hear,
None yet have told me of their own.

* * * * *

Varied the stars, when nights are clear,
Varied are the flowers of May,
Varied th' attire that women wear,
Truly varied too are they.

* * * * *

To rest to-night I'll not repair,
The one I love reclines not here:
I'll lay me on the stone apart,
If break thou wilt, then break my heart.

* * * * *

In praise or blame no truth is found,
Whilst specious lies do so abound;
Sooner expect a tuneful crow,
Than man with double face to know.

* * * * *

My speech until this very day,
Was ne'er so like to run astray:
But now I find, when going wrong,
My teeth of use to atop my tongue.





Next: Tribanau

Previous: Song Of The Foster-son, Love



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