Wales PoetryThe Battle Of Gwenystrad
contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appe...
To The Lark
"Sentinel of the morning light! Reveller of the...
An Address To The Summer
of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ...
The Rose Of Llan Meilen
Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i...
The Poor Man's Grave
'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound ...
Song Of The Foster-son, Love
I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu...
The Fairy's Song
"Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy!"--SHAKSPEARE. ...
The Song Of The Fisherman's Wife
Restless wave! be still and quiet, Do not heed the win...
the following and several other poems in this collection. ...
Dafydd Ap Gwilym To The White Gull
Bird that dwellest in the spray, Far from mountain woods a...
Farewell To Wales
The voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear; Farewell; ...
The Day Of Judgment
was a native of Anglesea, and entered the Welsh Church...
a Welsh Congregationalist Minister, and an eminent poet....
To The Nightingale
river of that name was born at Mold, in Flintshire, in the...
Serjeant Parry, the eminent barrister) says: "The followin...
Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like...
Translations From Miscellaneous Welsh Hymns
Had I but the wings of a dove, To regions afar I'd repa...
Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet...
Under The Orchard Tree
Under the deep-laden boughs of the orchard Walks a maid...
The Circling Of The Mead Horns
Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn: Natural is mead...
The Circling Of The Mead Horns
Category: The Beautiful.
Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn:
Natural is mead in the buffalo horn:
As the cuckoo in spring, as the lark in the morn,
So natural is mead in the buffalo horn.
As the cup of the flower to the bee when he sips,
Is the full cup of mead to the true Briton's lips:
From the flower-cups of summer, on field and on tree,
Our mead cups are filled by the vintager bee.
Seithenyn ap Seithyn, the generous, the bold,
Drinks the wine of the stranger from vessels of gold;
But we from the horn, the blue silver-rimmed horn,
Drink the ale and the mead in our fields that were born.
The ale-froth is white, and the mead sparkles bright;
They both smile apart, and with smiles they unite:
The mead from the flower, and the ale from the corn,
Smile, sparkle, and sing in the buffalo horn.
The horn, the blue horn, cannot stand on its tip;
Its path is right on from the hand to the lip;
Though the bowl and the wine-cup our tables adorn,
More natural the draught from the buffalo horn.
But Seithenyn ap Seithyn, the generous, the bold,
Drinks the bright-flowing wine from the far-gleaming gold,
The wine, in the bowl by his lip that is worn,
Shall be glorious as mead in the buffalo horn.
The horns circle fast, but their fountains will last,
As the stream passes ever, and never is past:
Exhausted so quickly, replenished so soon,
They wax and they wane like the horns of the moon.
Fill high the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn;
Fill high the long silver-rimmed buffalo horn:
While the roof of the hall by our chorus is torn,
Fill, fill to the brim, the deep silver-rimmed horn.
Next: Dafydd Ap Gwilym To The White Gull
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