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Wales PoetryThe DawnStreaking the mantle of deep night The rays of light ... The Rose Of Llan Meilen Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i... 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 Immovable Covenant the Welsh of Mr. H. Hughes, was a Minister in the Baptist ... By The Rev Rees Prichard, Ma ... The Poor Man's Grave 'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound ... The World And The Sea: A Comparison Like the world and its dread changes Is the ocean when it ... From The Hymns Of The Rev William Williams, Pantycelyn he inherited from his ancestors, was born in the parish of... The Ewe So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles... The Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd All my lifetime I have been Bard to Morfydd, "golden m... An Address To The Summer of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ... Concerning The Divine Providence ... An Ode To The Thunder his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1... To The Spring Oh, come gentle spring, and visit the plain, Far scatte... To The Nightingale river of that name was born at Mold, in Flintshire, in the... Ode To Cambria Cambria, I love thy genius bold; Thy dreadful rites, and... The Lament Op Llywarch Hen The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing ... An Ode On The Death Of Hoel of the sixth century. He was himself a soldier, and d... The Faithful Maiden At the dawning of day on a morning in May, When the bi... 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 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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