Wales PoetryTranslated By The Rev William Evans
God doth withhold no good from those Who meekly fear him ...
Llywarch Hen's Lament On Cynddylan
Taliesin in the sixth century. He was engaged at the batt...
The Holly Grove
Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ...
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...
Old Morgan And His Wife
Hus.--Jane, tell me have you fed the pigs, Their cry is ...
To The Daisy
Oh, flower meek and modest That blooms of all the soonest,...
The Farmer's Prayer
poems of the "Good Vicar Prichard of Llandovery" would be ...
The Cuckoo's Tale
Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home; With the...
O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread, Nor step unhallo...
The Circling Of The Mead Horns
Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn: Natural is mead...
The Immovable Covenant
the Welsh of Mr. H. Hughes, was a Minister in the Baptist ...
An Address To The Summer
of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ...
Under The Orchard Tree
Under the deep-laden boughs of the orchard Walks a maid...
The Hall Of Cynddylan
The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th...
My Native Cot
The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo...
By The Rev Rees Prichard, Ma
Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be h...
the following and several other poems in this collection. ...
The Lord Of Clas
The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and...
The Withered Leaf
Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ...
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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