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Wales Poetry

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

Childe Harold
"Oh Gwynedd, fast thy star declineth, Thy name is gone, t...

My Native Cot
The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo...

An Address To The Summer
of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ...

Pennillion
Cymry, and was much practised in the houses of the Welsh g...

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

Dafydd Ap Gwilym To The White Gull
Bird that dwellest in the spray, Far from mountain woods a...

The Circling Of The Mead Horns
Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn: Natural is mead...

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

My Father-land
Land of the Cymry! thou art still, In rock and valley, str...

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

The Poor Man's Grave
'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound ...

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

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

An Ode To The Thunder
his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1...

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

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

Roderic's Lament
Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet...

The Shipwreck
a Welsh Congregationalist Minister, and an eminent poet....

The Death Of Owain
Lo! the youth, in mind a man, Daring in the battle's v...



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.





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Previous: Song Of The Foster-son, Love



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