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Wales PoetryAn Ode On The Death Of Hoelof the sixth century. He was himself a soldier, and d... The Ewe So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles... To May the following and several other poems in this collection. ... The Sick Man's Dream Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste... Farewell To Wales The voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear; Farewell; ... The Grove Of Broom The girl of nobler loveliness Than countess decked in go... Gwilym Glyn And Ruth Of Dyffryn In the depth of yonder valley, Where the fields are bright... My Native Cot The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo... The Mother To Her Child After Its Father's Death My gentle child, thou dost not know Why still on thee ... 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 Rose Of Llan Meilen Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i... The Death Of Owain Lo! the youth, in mind a man, Daring in the battle's v... The Hall Of Cynddylan The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th... The Monarchy Of Britain Sons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time, Ere spoilers h... May And November Sweet May, ever welcome! the palace of leaves Thy hand for... Concerning The Divine Providence ... The World And The Sea: A Comparison Like the world and its dread changes Is the ocean when it ... The Shipwreck a Welsh Congregationalist Minister, and an eminent poet.... The Praise And Commendation Of A Good Woman As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit a... Short Is The Life Of Man Man's life, like any weaver's shuttle, flies, Or, like a t... |
The Cuckoo's TaleCategory: The Sentimental. Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home; With the tidings of summer thy bright pinions roam-- The summer that thickens with foliage the glade, And lures to the woodland the poet and maid. Sweet as "sack," gentle bird, is thy beautiful voice, In thy accents the lover must ever rejoice: Oh! tell me at once, in thy musical lay, Where tarries the girl whose behest I obey. "Poor bard," said the cuckoo, "what anguish and pain Hast thou stored for thyself, all thy cares are in vain, All hopes of the maid thou awaitest resign, She has wedded another, and ne'er can be thine." "For the tale thou hast told"--to the cuckoo I cried, "For thus singing to me of my beautiful bride These strains of thy malice--may winter appear And dim the sun's light--stay the summer's career; With frost all the leaves of the forest boughs fill, And wither the woods with his desolate chill, And with cold in the midst of thy own forest spray, Take thy life and thy song, foolish cuckoo, away!" Next: Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Address To Morfydd After She Married His Rival Previous: May And November
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