Wales Poetry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By The Rev Rees Prichard, Ma
...

The Mountain Galloway
My tried and trusty mountain steed, Of Aberteivi's hardy...

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

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

Llywarch Hen's Lament On Cynddylan
Taliesin in the sixth century. He was engaged at the batt...

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

Song To Arvon
by the Rev. Evan Evans, a Clergyman of the Church of Eng...

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

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

Gwilym Glyn And Ruth Of Dyffryn
In the depth of yonder valley, Where the fields are bright...

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

The Faithful Maiden

Category: The Sentimental.

At the dawning of day on a morning in May,
When the birds through the forests were skipping so gay;
While crossing the churchyard of a parish remote,
In a district of Cambria, whose name I don't note:

I saw a fair maiden so rich in attire,
Second but to an angel her mien did appear;
Quick were her footsteps in tripping the sand,
And flowers resplendent were borne in her hand.

I fled to concealment that I might best learn
Her object and wish in a place so forlorn,
Without a companion--so early the hour--
For a region so gloomy thus leaving her bower.

Anon she advanced to a new tomb that lay
By the churchyard path, and there kneeling did stay,
While she planted the flowers with hands so clear,
And her looks were replete of meekness and fear.

The tears she would dry from eyelids fair
With a napkin so snow-white its hue and so rare;
And I heard a voice, that sadden'd my mind,
While it smote the breeze with words of this kind:--

"Here lieth in peace and quiet the one
I loved as dear as the soul of my own;
But death did us part to my endless woe,
Just when each to the other his hand would bestow.

Here resteth from turmoil, and sorrow to be,
The whole that in this world was precious to me;
Grow sweetly, ye flowers! and fair on his tomb,
Altho' you'll ne'er rival his beauty and bloom.

He erst received from me gifts that were more dear,
My hand for a promise--and a lock of my hair,
With total concurrence my portion to bear
Of his weal or his woe, whether cloudy or fair.

While sitting beside him how great my content,
In this place where my heart is evermore bent;
If I should e'er travel the wide globe around,
To this as their centre my thoughts would rebound.

Altho' from the earth thou dost welcome nor chide,
Nor smilest as once thou didst smile on thy bride;
And yet my beloved! 'tis comfort to me,
To sit but a moment so near to thee.

Thy eyes bright and tender my mind now doth see,
And remembers thy speech like the honey to me;
Thy grave I'll embrace though the whole world beheld,
That all may attest the love we once held."





Next: The Ewe
Previous: Woman

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