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Wales PoetryRoderic's LamentFarewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet... The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of Gothe There was a king in Mon, {62} A true lover to his grave; ... Glan Geirionydd . One time upon a summer day I saunter'd on the shor... The Farmer's Prayer poems of the "Good Vicar Prichard of Llandovery" would be ... The Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd All my lifetime I have been Bard to Morfydd, "golden m... The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl... The Circling Of The Mead Horns Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn: Natural is mead... Ode To Cambria Cambria, I love thy genius bold; Thy dreadful rites, and... Taliesin's Prophecy A voice from time departed, yet floats thy hills among,... Sad Died The Maiden Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew The anguish s... The Banks Of The Dee One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing O'er... The Shipwreck a Welsh Congregationalist Minister, and an eminent poet.... The Day Of Judgment was a native of Anglesea, and entered the Welsh Church... Dafydd Ap Gwilym To The White Gull Bird that dwellest in the spray, Far from mountain woods a... The Hall Of Cynddylan The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th... To The Daisy Oh, flower meek and modest That blooms of all the soonest,... The Mountain Galloway My tried and trusty mountain steed, Of Aberteivi's hardy... The Swan Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like... The Monarchy Of Britain Sons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time, Ere spoilers h... Childe Harold "Oh Gwynedd, fast thy star declineth, Thy name is gone, t... |
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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