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Wales PoetryThe Holly GroveSweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ... A Bridal Song Wilt thou not waken, bride of May, While the flowers are... The Ewe So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles... The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of Gothe There was a king in Mon, {62} A true lover to his grave; ... To The Spring Oh, come gentle spring, and visit the plain, Far scatte... Ode To Cambria Cambria, I love thy genius bold; Thy dreadful rites, and... From The Hymns Of The Rev William Williams, Pantycelyn he inherited from his ancestors, was born in the parish of... Glan Geirionydd . One time upon a summer day I saunter'd on the shor... Concerning The Divine Providence ... The Circling Of The Mead Horns Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn: Natural is mead... Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Invocation To The Summer To Visit Glamorganshire, Where he spent many happy years at the hospitable mansion o... The World And The Sea: A Comparison Like the world and its dread changes Is the ocean when it ... 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 ... The Poor Man's Grave 'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound ... Twenty Third Psalm My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to... The Lord Of Clas The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and... Pennillion Cymry, and was much practised in the houses of the Welsh g... To The Lark "Sentinel of the morning light! Reveller of the... The Banks Of The Dee One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing O'er... The Eisteddfod, Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be h... |
The Circling Of The Mead HornsCategory: 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 Previous: The Lily And The Rose
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