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Wales Poetry

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

The Rose Of The Glen
Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c...

The Cuckoo's Tale
Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home; With the...

Llywarch Hen's Lament On Cynddylan
Taliesin in the sixth century. He was engaged at the batt...

Song To Arvon
by the Rev. Evan Evans, a Clergyman of the Church of Eng...

Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Arc...

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

Old Morgan And His Wife
Hus.--Jane, tell me have you fed the pigs, Their cry is ...

The Vengeance Of Owain {96}
Gruffydd ab Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd, or North Wales, and ...

King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou reares...

Under The Orchard Tree
Under the deep-laden boughs of the orchard Walks a maid...

The Holly Grove
Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ...

The Lily And The Rose
Once I saw two flowers blossom In a garden 'neath the h...

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

The Rose Of Llan Meilen
Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i...

May And November
Sweet May, ever welcome! the palace of leaves Thy hand for...

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

Serjeant Parry, the eminent barrister) says: "The followin...

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

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

That Had Been Converted Into A May-pole In The Town Of Llanidloes, In Montgomeryshire

Category: The Sentimental.

Ah! birch tree, with the verdant locks,
And reckless mind--long hast thou been
A wand'rer from thy native rocks;
With canopy of tissue green,
And stem that 'mid the sylvan scene
A sceptre of the forest stood--
Thou art a traitress to the wood!
How oft, in May's short nights of old,
To my love-messenger and me
Thou didst a couch of leaves unfold!
Thou wert a house of melody,--
Proud music soared from every bough;
Ah! those who loved thee sorrow now!
Thy living branches teemed and rang
With every song the woodlands know,
And every woodland flow'ret sprang
To life--thy spreading tent below.
Proud guardian of the public way,
Such wert thou, while thou didst obey
The counsel of my beauteous bride--
And in thy native grove reside!
But now thy stem is mute and dark,
No more by lady's reverence cheered;
Rent from its trunk, torn from its park,
The luckless tree again is reared--
(Small sign of honour or of grace!)
To mark the parish market-place!
Long as St. Idloes' town shall be
A patroness of poesy--
Long as its hospitality
The bard shall freely entertain,
My birch! thy lofty stature shall remain!

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