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Wales Poetry

The Immovable Covenant
the Welsh of Mr. H. Hughes, was a Minister in the Baptist ...

Translated By The Rev William Evans
God doth withhold no good from those Who meekly fear him ...

The Praise And Commendation Of A Good Woman
As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit a...

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

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

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

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

The Lord Of Clas
The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and...

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

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

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

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

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

Translations From Miscellaneous Welsh Hymns
Had I but the wings of a dove, To regions afar I'd repa...

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

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

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

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

The Rose Of The Glen
Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c...

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

The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of Gothe

Category: The Beautiful.

There was a king in Mon, {62}
A true lover to his grave;
To whom in death his lady
A golden goblet gave.

When Christmas bowls were circling,
And all was joy and cheer,
He passed that goblet from him
With a kiss and with a tear.

When death he felt approaching,
To all his barons bold,
He left some fair dominion--
To none, that cup of gold.

He sate at royal banquet,
With all his lordly train,
In the castle of his fathers,
On the rock above the main.

Upstood the tottering monarch,
And drank the cup's last wine;
Then flung the holy goblet,
Deep, deep, into the brine.

He watch'd it, bubbling, sinking,
Far, far, beneath the wave;
And the light sank from his eyelid,
With the cup his lady gave.

Next: The Sick Man's Dream

Previous: The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn

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