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Wales Poetry

The Song Of The Fisherman's Wife
Restless wave! be still and quiet, Do not heed the win...

The Rose Of Llan Meilen
Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i...

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

The Deluge
* * * * * Whether to the east or west You go, wondr...

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

The Ewe
So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles...

My Native Cot
The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo...

From The Hymns Of The Rev William Williams, Pantycelyn
he inherited from his ancestors, was born in the parish of...

Woman
Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Arc...

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...

By The Rev Rees Prichard, Ma
...

An Address To The Summer
of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ...

May And November
Sweet May, ever welcome! the palace of leaves Thy hand for...

Concerning The Divine Providence
...

The Poor Man's Grave
'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound ...

The Banks Of The Dee
One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing O'er...

Sad Died The Maiden
Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew The anguish s...

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

The Shipwreck
a Welsh Congregationalist Minister, and an eminent poet....

Dafydd Ap Gwilym To The White Gull
Bird that dwellest in the spray, Far from mountain woods a...



The Ewe






Category: The Sentimental.

So artless art thou, gentle ewe!
Thy aspect kindles feeling;
And every bosom doth bedew,
Each true affection stealing.

Thou hast no weapon of aught kind
Against thy foes to combat;
No horn or hoof the dog to wound
That worries thee so steadfast.

No, nought hast thou but feeble flight,
Therein thy only refuge;
And every cur within thy sight
Is swifter since the deluge.

And when thy lambkin weak doth fail,
Tho' often called to follow,
Thy best protection to the frail
Wilt give through death or sorrow.

Against the ground her foot will beat,
Devoutly pure her purpose;
Full many a time the sight thus meet
Brought tears to me in billows.

But if wise nature did not give
To her sharp tooth or weapon,
She compensation doth receive
From human aid and reason.

She justly has from man support
'Gainst wounds and tribulation;
And has the means without distort
To yield him retribution.

Yea, of more value is her gift
Than priceless mines of silver
Or gold which from the depth they lift
Through India's distant border.

To man she gives protection strong
From winds and tempests howling,
From pelting rain, and snow-drifts long,
When storms above are beating.

The mantle warm o'er us the night
Throughout the dismal shadows;
What makes our hearts so free and light?
What but the sheep so precious!

Then let us not the Ewe forget
When winter bleak doth hover;
When rains descend--and we safe set--
Let us be grateful to her.

Her cloak to us is comfort great
When by the ditch she trembles;
Let us then give her the best beat
For her abode and rambles.





Next: The Song Of The Fisherman's Wife

Previous: The Faithful Maiden



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