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Wales Poetry

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

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

To The Spring
Oh, come gentle spring, and visit the plain, Far scatte...

The Grove Of Broom
The girl of nobler loveliness Than countess decked in go...

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

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

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

The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of Gothe
There was a king in Mon, {62} A true lover to his grave; ...

The Eisteddfod,
Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be h...

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

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

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

Song Of The Foster-son, Love
I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu...

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

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

To The Daisy
Oh, flower meek and modest That blooms of all the soonest,...

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

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

The Hall Of Cynddylan
The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th...

The Withered Leaf
Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ...



The Castles Of Wales






Category: The Patriotic.

Ye fortresses grey and gigantic
I see on the hills of my land,
To my mind ye appear terrific,
When I muse on your ruins so grand;
Your walls were a shelter the strongest
From the enemies' countless array,
When they spilt with the blood of the bravest,
Your sides in our ancestors' day.

Around you the war-horse was neighing,
And pranced his rich trappings to feel,
While through you were frightfully gleaming
Bright lances and spears of steel;
The fruits of the rich-laden harvest,
Were ruthlessly trod by the foe,
And the thunder of battle was loudest,
To herald its message of woe.

While viewing your dilapidation,
My memory kindles with joy,
To think that the foes of our nation,
No longer these valleys destroy;
By sowing his fields in the winter,
In hope of a rich harvest-home,
The husbandman now feels no terror
Of war with its havoc to come.

When I look at the sheep as they shelter
In safety beneath your rude walls,
Where erst the dread agents of slaughter
Fell'd thousands, nor heeded their calls;
The hillock where crossed the sharp spears
Now shadows the ewe and its lamb,
While seeing the peace of these years,
My heart is with gratitude warm.

Ye towers that saw the wild ravens,
And the eagles with hunger impell'd,
Exultingly gorge 'mid your ruins.
On corpses of men which they held;
How sweet for you now 'tis to hear
The shepherd, so peaceful and meek,
Tune his reed with a melody clear,
While his flock in you shelter do seek.

Upon your battlements sitting,
To view the bright landscape below,
My heart becomes sad when remembering
That silent in death is the foe,
And the friends who bravely did combat,
And raised your grey towers so steep,
Declaring their life-blood should stagnate,
Ere ever in chains they would weep.

When I think of their purpose so pure,
The tear must fast trickle from me,
Their hearts did Providence allure
To their country, and her did they free;
We now live beneath a meek power,
And feel the full blessings of peace,
While on us abundantly shower,
The mercies of Heaven with increase.





Next: The Eisteddfod,

Previous: Farewell To Wales



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