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Wales PoetryThe Poor Man's Grave'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound ... The Hall Of Cynddylan The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th... Translations From Miscellaneous Welsh Hymns Had I but the wings of a dove, To regions afar I'd repa... The Faithful Maiden At the dawning of day on a morning in May, When the bi... Old Morgan And His Wife Hus.--Jane, tell me have you fed the pigs, Their cry is ... The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of Gothe There was a king in Mon, {62} A true lover to his grave; ... Roderic's Lament Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet... The Dawn Streaking the mantle of deep night The rays of light ... The Cuckoo's Tale Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home; With the... Farewell To Wales The voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear; Farewell; ... The Rose Of Llan Meilen Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i... An Ode To The Thunder his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1... My Native Cot The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo... The Ewe So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles... The Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd All my lifetime I have been Bard to Morfydd, "golden m... The Praise And Commendation Of A Good Woman As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit a... The Eisteddfod, Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be h... The Banks Of The Dee One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing O'er... The Rose Of The Glen Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c... To The Spring Oh, come gentle spring, and visit the plain, Far scatte... |
The Banks Of The DeeCategory: 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." Next: Gwilym Glyn And Ruth Of Dyffryn Previous: Under The Orchard Tree
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