Wales Poetry

The Holly Grove
Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ...

Twenty Third Psalm
My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to...

To May
the following and several other poems in this collection. ...

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

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

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

The Sick Man's Dream
Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste...

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

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

Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Invocation To The Summer To Visit Glamorganshire,
Where he spent many happy years at the hospitable mansion o...

To The Daisy
Oh, flower meek and modest That blooms of all the soonest,...

Song Of The Foster-son, Love
I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu...

Tribanau
Serjeant Parry, the eminent barrister) says: "The followin...

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

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

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

Roderic's Lament
Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet...

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

Concerning The Divine Providence
...

The Circling Of The Mead Horns
Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn: Natural is mead...

The Fairy's Song

Category: The Beautiful.

"Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy!"--SHAKSPEARE.

I am a wand'rer o'er earth and sea,
The trackless air has a path for me;
Ye may trace my steps on the heather green,
By the emerald ring, where my foot hath been;
Ye may hear my voice in the night wind's sigh,
Or the wood's low moan when a storm is nigh.

My task is to brighten the rainbow's hue,
To sprinkle the flowers with glit'ring dew,
To steep in crimson the evening cloud,
And wrap the hills in their misty shroud;
To track the course of a wandering star,
And marshal it back to its home afar.

I am no child of the murky night,
But a being of music, and joy, and light;
If the fair moon sleep in her bower o'er long,
I break on her rest with my mirthful song;
And when she is shining o'er hill and heath,
I dance in the revels of Gwyn ab Nudd. {65}

Few are the mortals whose favoured feet
May tread unscathed where the fairies meet;
Wo to the tuneless tongue and ear,
And the craven heart, that has throbbed with fear,
If I meet them at night, on the lonely heath,
As I haste to the banquet of Gwyn ab Nudd.

But joy to the minstrel, whose deathless song
On the breeze of the mountain is borne along,
And joy to the warrior, whose heart and hand
Are strong in the cause of his native land;
For them we are twining our fairest wreath,
They are welcome as moonlight to Gwyn ab Nudd!





Next: Walter Sele
Previous: The Sick Man's Dream

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