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Wales PoetryA Bridal Song
Wilt thou not waken, bride of May, While the flowers are...
The Rose Of The Glen
Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c...
Concerning The Divine Providence
The Lord Of Clas
The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and...
So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles...
Llywarch Hen's Lament On Cynddylan
Taliesin in the sixth century. He was engaged at the batt...
Gwilym Glyn And Ruth Of Dyffryn
In the depth of yonder valley, Where the fields are bright...
The Day Of Judgment
was a native of Anglesea, and entered the Welsh Church...
The Cuckoo's Tale
Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home; With the...
The Flowers Of Spring
beautiful stanzas, from which the following translation ...
The Battle Of Gwenystrad
contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appe...
The Immovable Covenant
the Welsh of Mr. H. Hughes, was a Minister in the Baptist ...
The Fairy's Song
"Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy!"--SHAKSPEARE. ...
Sad Died The Maiden
Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew The anguish s...
a Welsh Congregationalist Minister, and an eminent poet....
The Grove Of Broom
The girl of nobler loveliness Than countess decked in go...
The Sick Man's Dream
Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste...
Short Is The Life Of Man
Man's life, like any weaver's shuttle, flies, Or, like a t...
Ode To Cambria
Cambria, I love thy genius bold; Thy dreadful rites, and...
A voice from time departed, yet floats thy hills among,...
The Banks Of The Dee
Category: The Sentimental.
One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing
O'er Dee's pleasant tide with a ripple and swell,
A shepherdess tended her flock that was feeding
Upon the green meadows that lay in the dell,
Her blue eye she raised, and she looked all around her,
As if she'd fain see some one far on the lea,
And spite of its brightness, I saw the salt tear
For one who was far from the banks of the Dee.
The maiden I thought was preparing to solace
Her stay with a song amid the fair scene,
Nor long was I left in suspense of her object,
Before she broke forth with a melody clean;
The tears she would wipe away with her napkin,
While often a sigh would escape from her breast,
And as she sent forth the notes of her mourning,
I could find that to love the lay was address'd:
"Four summers have pass'd since I lost my sweet William,
And from this fair valley he mournful did go;
Four autumns have shower'd their leaves on the meadows
Since he on these eyelids a smile did bestow;
Four winters have sped with their snowflakes and tempest
Since he by my side did sing a light glee;
But many more springs will be sown for the harvest
Ere William revisit the banks of the Dee."
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