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Wales PoetryThe Mountain GallowayMy tried and trusty mountain steed, Of Aberteivi's hardy... Ode To Cambria Cambria, I love thy genius bold; Thy dreadful rites, and... The Fairy's Song "Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy!"--SHAKSPEARE. ... Song To Arvon by the Rev. Evan Evans, a Clergyman of the Church of Eng... The Battle Of Gwenystrad contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appe... The Rose Of The Glen Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c... Childe Harold "Oh Gwynedd, fast thy star declineth, Thy name is gone, t... An Ode To The Thunder his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1... 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... The Grove Of Broom The girl of nobler loveliness Than countess decked in go... The Vengeance Of Owain {96} Gruffydd ab Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd, or North Wales, and ... The Deluge * * * * * Whether to the east or west You go, wondr... The Withered Leaf Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ... Roderic's Lament Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet... 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... Walter Sele O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread, Nor step unhallo... The Holly Grove Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ... The Sick Man's Dream Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste... The Eisteddfod, Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be h... |
The Flowers Of SpringCategory: The Beautiful. beautiful stanzas, from which the following translation is made, was an eloquent minister of the Baptist Church in Wales, and died on the 20th day of January, 1873, at the age of 54 years, at Beaufort, in Monmouthshire, leaving a widow and seven children to mourn their great loss. He was also an eminent poet, and one of his poems obtained the chair prize at a Royal Eisteddfod. It may be remarked that the lamented poet on his death bed (in answer to an application from the editor) desired his wife to inform him that he was welcome to publish the translations of his poems which appear in this collection.] Oh, pleasant spring-time flowers That now display their bloom, The primrose pale, and cowslip, Which nature's face illume; The winter bleak appears When you bedeck the land, Like age bent down by years, With a posy in its hand. Oh, dulcet spring-time flowers Sweet honey you contain, And soon the swarming beehive Your treasure will retain; The busy bee's low humming Is heard among your leaves, Like sound of distant hymning, Or reaper 'mid the sheaves. Oh, balmy spring-time flowers, The crocus bright and rose, The lily sweet and tulip, Which bloom within the close: Anoint the passing breezes Which sigh along the vale, And with your dulcet posies Perfume the evening gale. Oh, wild-grown spring-time flowers That grow beside the brook, How happy once to ramble Beneath your smiling look, And of you form gay garlands To deck the docile lamb, In wreaths of colour'd neck-bands, Beside its loving dam. Oh, pretty spring-time flowers None look so blithe and gay, While dancing in the breezes Upon the lap of May, Your fragrant petals open Beneath the balmy dew, You're nature's rich heave-offering On winter's grave anew. Oh, wondrous spring-time flowers Tho' death stalk all around, Another spring will quicken Your bloom upon the ground, Speak hopeful, as you ripen, Of yet another spring, Where flowers never deaden And seasons have no wing. Next: To May Previous: To The Nightingale
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