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Wales PoetryTaliesin's Prophecy
A voice from time departed, yet floats thy hills among,...
Cymry, and was much practised in the houses of the Welsh g...
The Fairy's Song
"Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy!"--SHAKSPEARE. ...
The Farmer's Prayer
poems of the "Good Vicar Prichard of Llandovery" would be ...
Translations From Miscellaneous Welsh Hymns
Had I but the wings of a dove, To regions afar I'd repa...
the following and several other poems in this collection. ...
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...
The Praise And Commendation Of A Good Woman
As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit a...
Translated By The Rev William Evans
God doth withhold no good from those Who meekly fear him ...
O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread, Nor step unhallo...
Concerning The Divine Providence
My Native Land
My soul is sad, my spirit fails, And sickness in my he...
To The Lark
"Sentinel of the morning light! Reveller of the...
. One time upon a summer day I saunter'd on the shor...
An Ode To The Thunder
his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1...
The Mother To Her Child After Its Father's Death
My gentle child, thou dost not know Why still on thee ...
May And November
Sweet May, ever welcome! the palace of leaves Thy hand for...
Twenty Third Psalm
My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to...
Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Address To Morfydd After She Married His Rival
Too long I've loved the fickle maid, My love is turned to ...
King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou reares...
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.
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