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Wales Poetry

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

A Bridal Song
Wilt thou not waken, bride of May, While the flowers are...

The Monarchy Of Britain
Sons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time, Ere spoilers h...

An Ode To The Thunder
his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1...

Concerning The Divine Providence
...

The Mother To Her Child After Its Father's Death
My gentle child, thou dost not know Why still on thee ...

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

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

To The Lark
"Sentinel of the morning light! Reveller of the...

Pennillion
Cymry, and was much practised in the houses of the Welsh g...

The Death Of Owain
Lo! the youth, in mind a man, Daring in the battle's v...

The Rose Of The Glen
Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c...

The Lily And The Rose
Once I saw two flowers blossom In a garden 'neath the h...

The Vengeance Of Owain {96}
Gruffydd ab Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd, or North Wales, and ...

The Swan
Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like...

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

The World And The Sea: A Comparison
Like the world and its dread changes Is the ocean when it ...

The Flowers Of Spring
beautiful stanzas, from which the following translation ...

Ode To Cambria
Cambria, I love thy genius bold; Thy dreadful rites, and...

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 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

Previous: The Lily And The Rose



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