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Wales Poetry

My Father-land
Land of the Cymry! thou art still, In rock and valley, str...

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

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

Walter Sele
O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread, Nor step unhallo...

The Fairy's Song
"Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy!"--SHAKSPEARE. ...

The Cuckoo's Tale
Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home; With the...

The Day Of Judgment
was a native of Anglesea, and entered the Welsh Church...

Farewell To Wales
The voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear; Farewell; ...

To The Spring
Oh, come gentle spring, and visit the plain, Far scatte...

The Withered Leaf
Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ...

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

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

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

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

The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of Gothe
There was a king in Mon, {62} A true lover to his grave; ...

The Eisteddfod,
Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be h...

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

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

The Lament Op Llywarch Hen
The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing ...

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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