The Grove Of Broom
The girl of nobler loveliness
Than countess decked in golden dress,
No longer dares to give her plight
To meet the bard at dawn or night!
To the blythe moon he may not bear
The maid, whose cheeks the daylight wear--
She fears to answer to his call
At midnight, underneath yon wall--
Nor can he find a birchen bower
To screen her in the morning hour;
And thus the summer
Away, without the lovers meeting!
But stay! my eyes a bower behold,
Where maid and poet yet may meet,
Its branches are arrayed in gold,
Its boughs the sight in winter greet
With hues as bright, with leaves as green,
As summer scatters o'er the scene.
(To lure the maiden) from that brake,
For her a vesture I will make,
Bright as the ship of glass of yore,
That Merddin o'er the ocean bore;
O'er Dyfed's hills there was a veil
In ancient days--(so runs the tale);
And such a canopy to me
This court, among the woods, shall be;
Where she, my heart adores, shall reign,
The princess of the fair domain.
To her, and to her poet's eyes,
This arbour seems a paradise;
Its every branch is deftly strung
With twigs and foliage lithe and young,
And when May comes upon the trees
To paint her verdant liveries,
Gold on each threadlike sprig will glow,
To honour her who reigns below.
Green is that arbour to behold,
And on its withes thick showers of gold!
Joy to the poet and the maid,
Whose paradise is yonder shade!
Oh! flowers of noblest splendour, these
Are summer's frost-work on the trees!
A field the lovers now possess,
With saffron o'er its verdure roll'd,
A house of passing loveliness,
A fabric of Arabia's gold--
Bright golden tissue, glorious tent,
Of him who rules the firmament,
With roof of various colours blent!
An angel, 'mid the woods of May,
Embroidered it with radiance gay--
That gossamer with gold bedight--
Those fires of God--those gems of light!
'Tis sweet those magic bowers to find,
With the fair vineyards intertwined;
Amid the wood their jewels rise,
Like gleams of starlight o'er the skies--
Like golden bullion, glorious prize!
How sweet the flowers which deck that floor,
In one unbroken glory blended--
Those glittering branches hovering o'er--
Veil by an angel's hand extended.
Oh! if my love will come, her bard
Will, with his case, her footsteps guard,
There, where no stranger dares to pry,
Beneath yon Broom's green canopy!
More
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Glan Geirionydd
. One time upon a summer day I saunter'd on the shore Of swift Geirionydd's waters blue, Where oft I walked before In youth's bright season gone, And spent life's happiest morn In drawing from its crystal waves The trout beneath... Gwilym Glyn And Ruth Of Dyffryn
In the depth of yonder valley, Where the fields are bright and sunny, Ruth was nurtured fair and slender Neath a mother's eye so tender. Listening to the thrush's carols. Was her pleasure in her gambols, And ere she grew up a maiden Gwilym's... Llywarch Hen's Lament On Cynddylan
Taliesin in the sixth century. He was engaged at the battle of Cattraeth, where he witnessed the fall of three of his sons, and in the endless wars of that period. He had twenty four sons, all of whom were slain in battle in the bard's lifetime... May And November
Sweet May, ever welcome! the palace of leaves Thy hand for thy wild band of choristers weaves; Proud knight, that subduest with glory and power, Each glen into verdure, to joy every bower; That makest the wilderness laugh and rejoice, In the cha... My Father-land
Land of the Cymry! thou art still, In rock and valley, stream and hill, As wild and grand; As thou hast been in days of yore, As thou hast ever been before, As thou shalt be for evermore, My Father-land! Where are the bards, like thine... My Native Cot
The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mountain side, The stream which flowed beside the door Adown the mossy slope doth glide; The holly tree that hid one end Is shaken by the moaning wind, Like as it was in days of yore... My Native Land
My soul is sad, my spirit fails, And sickness in my heart prevails, Whilst chill'd with grief, it mourns and wails For my old Native Land. Gold and wine have power to please, And Summer's pure and gentle breeze,-- But ye are dearer far... Ode To Cambria
Cambria, I love thy genius bold; Thy dreadful rites, and Druids old; Thy bards who struck the sounding strings, And wak'd the warlike souls of kings; Those kings who, prodigal of breath, Rush'd furious to the fields of death; Thy maids for pe... Old Morgan And His Wife
Hus.--Jane, tell me have you fed the pigs, Their cry is not so fine: And if you have not, don't delay, 'Tis nearly half-past nine. Wife.--There, now your noisy din begins, Ding, ding, and endless ding, I do believe your scolding voice Me t... Pennillion
Cymry, and was much practised in the houses of the Welsh gentry. The pennillion were sung by one voice to the harp, and followed a quaint air which was not only interesting, but owing to its peculiarity, it set forth in a striking manner the hum... Roderic's Lament
Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet and fountain Pelucid and clear; Glad halls of my father, From banquets ne'er freed, Where chieftains would gather To quaff the bright mead, Each valley and woodland Whose ... Sad Died The Maiden
Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew The anguish she felt in expiring, The moonbeams were weeping the evening dew When the life of the Maiden was sinking. Sad died the Maiden! beside the fast door, With her head resting low on th... Short Is The Life Of Man
Man's life, like any weaver's shuttle, flies, Or, like a tender flow'ret, droops and dies, Or, like a race, it ends without delay, Or, like a vapour, vanishes away, Or, like a candle, in each moment wastes, Or, like a packet under sail, it has... Snowdon
King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou rearest in the clouds, as if to mock The littleness of human things below; The tempest cannot harm thee, and the shock Of the deep thunder falls upon thy head As the light footfalls of an in... Song Of The Foster-son, Love
I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endued with beauty from above. To bring him up with fond and _tender_ care-- Was an obligation from my fair.-- And for the guileless, beaming star's sweet sake Him to my bosom did I kindly ... Song To Arvon
by the Rev. Evan Evans, a Clergyman of the Church of England, better known by his bardic name of _Ieuan Glan Geirionydd_. He was born in 1795 at a freehold of his father, situate on the banks of the river Geirionydd, in Carnarvonshire, and die... Taliesin's Prophecy
A voice from time departed, yet floats thy hills among, O Cambria! thus thy prophet bard, thy Taliesin sung, The path of unborn ages is trac'd upon my soul, The clouds, which mantle things unseen, away before me roll. A light, the depths re... That Had Been Converted Into A May-pole In The Town Of Llanidloes, In Montgomeryshire
Ah! birch tree, with the verdant locks, And reckless mind--long hast thou been A wand'rer from thy native rocks; With canopy of tissue green, And stem that 'mid the sylvan scene A sceptre of the forest stood-- Thou art a traitress to the wood... The Banks Of The Dee
One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing O'er Dee's pleasant tide with a ripple and swell, A shepherdess tended her flock that was feeding Upon the green meadows that lay in the dell, Her blue eye she raised, and she looked all ar... The Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd
All my lifetime I have been Bard to Morfydd, "golden mien!" I have loved beyond belief, Many a day to love and grief For her sake have been a prey, Who has on the moon's array! Pledged my truth from youth will now To the girl of glossy bro... The Battle Of Gwenystrad
contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appears to have been a native of Cardiganshire, for we find him at an early age living at the court of Gwyddno, a petty king of Cantre y Gwaelod, who appointed him his chief bard and tutor to ... The Castles Of Wales
Ye fortresses grey and gigantic I see on the hills of my land, To my mind ye appear terrific, When I muse on your ruins so grand; Your walls were a shelter the strongest From the enemies' countless array, When they spilt with the blo... The Circling Of The Mead Horns
Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn: Natural is mead in the buffalo horn: As the cuckoo in spring, as the lark in the morn, So natural is mead in the buffalo horn. As the cup of the flower to the bee when he sips, Is the full cup of mead... The Cuckoo's Tale
Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home; With the tidings of summer thy bright pinions roam-- The summer that thickens with foliage the glade, And lures to the woodland the poet and maid. Sweet as "sack," gentle bird, is thy beautiful vo... The Dawn
Streaking the mantle of deep night The rays of light arise, Delightful day--shed by the sun-- Breaks forth from eastern skies, He--in his course o'er oceans vast And distant lands--returns Firm to his purpose, true his way, He na... The Day Of Judgment
was a native of Anglesea, and entered the Welsh Church, but removed to Donington in Shropshire, where he officiated as Curate for several years. There the following poem was composed and afterwards translated by the poet. The poem has been c... The Death Of Owain
Lo! the youth, in mind a man, Daring in the battle's van; See the splendid warrior's speed On his fleet and thick-maned steed, As his buckler, beaming wide, Decks the courser's slender side, With his steel of spotless mould, Ermined vest a... The Deluge
* * * * * Whether to the east or west You go, wondrous through all Are the myriad clouds; Dense and grim they appear-- Black and fierce the firmament, Dark and horrid is all. A ray of light's not seen, But light'ning white and flashy, ... The Eisteddfod,
Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be heard this day In music's witching strain! Wide let her ancient "soul of song," The echo of its notes prolong, O'er valley, hill, and plain! Minstrels! awake your harps aloud, Bid ... The Ewe
So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles feeling; And every bosom doth bedew, Each true affection stealing. Thou hast no weapon of aught kind Against thy foes to combat; No horn or hoof the dog to wound That worrie... The Fairy's Song
"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 Faithful Maiden
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, ... The Farmer's Prayer
poems of the "Good Vicar Prichard of Llandovery" would be incomplete. This excellent man was born at Llandovery, in Carmarthenshire, in the year 1579, and died there in 1644. After a collegiate course in Oxford he was inducted to the Vicarage of... The Flowers Of Spring
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 seve... The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of Gothe
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. ... The Grove Of Broom
The girl of nobler loveliness Than countess decked in golden dress, No longer dares to give her plight To meet the bard at dawn or night! To the blythe moon he may not bear The maid, whose cheeks the daylight wear-- She fears to answer to his... The Hall Of Cynddylan
The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for the grave has extinguished its light; The beam of its lamp from the summit is o'er, The blaze of its hearth shall give welcome no more! The Hall of Cynddylan is voiceless and still, The s... The Holly Grove
Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed bower! In front of all the forest Thy coral-loaded branches tower. Thou shrine of love, whose depth defies The axe--the tempest of the skies; Whose boughs in winter's frost display The ... The Immovable Covenant
the Welsh of Mr. H. Hughes, was a Minister in the Baptist Church, and was possessed of extensive learning, and a highly critical taste. After officiating as Minister at a Church in Swansea and other places, he finally settled at Builth, where he... The Lament Op Llywarch Hen
The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing With song, and the hills are all mantled with bloom; But fairer than aught which the summer is bringing, The beauty and youth gone to people the tomb! Oh! why should I live to hear mu... The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn
Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battle, against the Saxons, and his three sisters came down here to meet him; and, when they heard him coming, they said, "It is Trwst Llywelyn," (the sound of Llywelyn,) and the place has been... The Lily And The Rose
Once I saw two flowers blossom In a garden 'neath the hill, One a lily fair and handsome, And one a rose with crimson frill; Erect the rose would lift its pennon And survey the garden round, While the lily--lovely minion! Meekly re... The Lord Of Clas
The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and sedgy moor; The glare of his bridle bit has shone On the heights of wild Benmore. Why does he stay away from hound? Nor urge the fervid chase? Where is the shrill blast of his b... The Monarchy Of Britain
Sons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time, Ere spoilers had breath'd the free air of your clime! All that its eagles beheld in their flight Was yours from the deep to each storm-mantled height! Though from your race that proud birthright be torn... The Mother To Her Child After Its Father's Death
My gentle child, thou dost not know Why still on thee I am gazing so, And trace in meditation deep Thy features fair in silent sleep. Thy mien, my babe, so full of grace, Reminds me of thy father's face; Although he rests beneath the tree... The Mountain Galloway
My tried and trusty mountain steed, Of Aberteivi's hardy breed, Elate of spirit, low of flesh, That sham'st thy kind of vallies fresh; And three score miles and twelve a day Hast sped, my gallant galloway. Like a sea-boat, firm and tight, ... The Poor Man's Grave
'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound its verdant head, As if to receive the riches Which the dew of heaven doth spread; Many a foot doth inconsiderate Tread upon the humble pile, And doth crush the turf so ornate:-- ... The Praise And Commendation Of A Good Woman
As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit and selfishness is full-- As a good name exceeds the best perfume, And richest balms that from the Indies come. A virtuous, cheerful, and obliging wife Is better far than all the pomp of... The Rose Of Llan Meilen
Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever in moments of pleasure we met; You bid me remember no longer a name The muse hath already companioned with fame; And future ap Gwilyms, fresh wreaths who compose, Shall twine with th... The Rose Of The Glen
Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or cottage wherein I may live, Altho' I can't boast of high blood or degree, Than all these my sweet Rose is dearer to me. The lambs on the mountain are frisky and gay, The birds in the for... The Shipwreck
a Welsh Congregationalist Minister, and an eminent poet. His Ode on the wreck of the ship Rothsay Castle, off Anglesea, is a very graphic and forcible Poem, and won the chief prize at an Eisteddfod held at Beaumaris in 1839, which was honoured... The Sick Man's Dream
Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux tristement, Languissait un pauvre malade, D'un long mal qui va consumant.--MILLEVOYE. It was a dream, a pleasant dream, that o'er my spirit came, When faint beneath the lime-trees' shad... The Song Of The Fisherman's Wife
Restless wave! be still and quiet, Do not heed the wind and freshet, Nature wide is now fast sleeping, Why art thou so live and stirring? All commotion now is ending, Why not thou thy constant rolling? Rest thou sea! upon thy bosom Is on... The Swan
Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like abbot white! Bird of the spray, to whom is giv'n The raiment of the men of heav'n; Bird of broad hand, in youth's proud age, Syvaddon was thy heritage! Two gifts in thee, fair bird, uni... The Vengeance Of Owain {96}
Gruffydd ab Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd, or North Wales, and he succeeded his father on his death in 1137. Father and son were illustrious warriors and patriotic rulers. They were also celebrated for their munificent protection of the Welsh Bards.... The Withered Leaf
Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into the bramble, But the mind receives a lesson From the leaf when it has fallen. Once it flourished in deep verdure, Bright its aspect in the arbour, Beside myriad of companions, Once it... The World And The Sea: A Comparison
Like the world and its dread changes Is the ocean when it rages, Sometimes full and sometimes shallow, Sometimes green and sometimes yellow. Salt the sea to all who drink it, Bitter is the world in spirit, Deep the sea to all who fathom, Dee... To May
the following and several other poems in this collection. He was a native of Cardiganshire, and, following the example of his countrymen, he assumed the bardic name of _Daniel Ddu_. He was born in 1792, and died in 1846. His compositions were ... To The Daisy
Oh, flower meek and modest That blooms of all the soonest, Some great delight possesses me When thy soft crystal bud I see. Thou art the first of the year To break the bonds of winter, And for thy gallant enterprise I'll welcome thee and sin... To The Lark
"Sentinel of the morning light! Reveller of the spring! How sweetly, nobly wild thy flight, Thy boundless journeying: Far from thy brethren of the woods, alone A hermit chorister before God's throne! "Oh! wilt thou clim... To The Nightingale
river of that name was born at Mold, in Flintshire, in the year 1797, and died in 1840, in the parish of Manordeivi, Pembrokeshire, of which he was Rector. He participated much in the Eisteddfodau of that period, and his poems gained many of the... To The Spring
Oh, come gentle spring, and visit the plain, Far scatter the frost from our border, All nature cries loud for the sunshine and rain, For the howl of the winter is over. Approach gentle spring, and show the white snow Thou cans't melt ... Translated By The Rev William Evans
God doth withhold no good from those Who meekly fear him here below; On them he grace and fame bestows, Nor loss, nor cross they e'er shall know. Cast thou on him thy troubles all, And he will thee with plenty feed; He will not let the... Translations From Miscellaneous Welsh Hymns
Had I but the wings of a dove, To regions afar I'd repair, To Nebo's high summit would rove, And look on a country more fair; My eyes gazing over the flood, I'd spend the remainder of life Beholding the Saviour so good, Who for sin... Tribanau
Serjeant Parry, the eminent barrister) says: "The following translations will serve to give the English reader a faint, though perhaps, but a faint idea of the Welsh _Tribanau_, which are most of them, like these, remarkable for their quaintness,... Twenty Third Psalm
My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to rove; In Him I'll trust, he is so good, He'll never let me want for food. To pastures green and flow'ry meads, His happy flock he gently leads, Where water in abundance flows, And wh... Under The Orchard Tree
Under the deep-laden boughs of the orchard Walks a maid that is fairer than all its rich fruit, And little I doubt if I stood beneath them, To which of the objects I'd offer my suit. 'Twas little I thought when I was a stripling While g... Walter Sele
O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread, Nor step unhallow'd roam; For here the grave hath found a grave, The wanderer a home. This little mound encircles round A heart that once could feel; For none possess'd a warmer heart Than gal... Woman
Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Architect; Pearl and beauty of creation, Rose of earth by all confession. Myriad times thy smiles are sweeter Than the morning sun doth scatter, All the loveliness of Nature Into thee al...