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Wales PoetryFarewell To WalesThe voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear; Farewell; ... The Lily And The Rose Once I saw two flowers blossom In a garden 'neath the h... Sad Died The Maiden Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew The anguish s... The Poor Man's Grave 'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound ... Twenty Third Psalm My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to... An Address To The Summer of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ... An Ode On The Death Of Hoel of the sixth century. He was himself a soldier, and d... The Hall Of Cynddylan The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th... The Monarchy Of Britain Sons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time, Ere spoilers h... 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... My Father-land Land of the Cymry! thou art still, In rock and valley, str... Song To Arvon by the Rev. Evan Evans, a Clergyman of the Church of Eng... Short Is The Life Of Man Man's life, like any weaver's shuttle, flies, Or, like a t... Snowdon King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou reares... Taliesin's Prophecy A voice from time departed, yet floats thy hills among,... From The Hymns Of The Rev William Williams, Pantycelyn he inherited from his ancestors, was born in the parish of... The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl... The Song Of The Fisherman's Wife Restless wave! be still and quiet, Do not heed the win... The Ewe So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles... Glan Geirionydd . One time upon a summer day I saunter'd on the shor... |
The Lament Op Llywarch HenCategory: The Patriotic. 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 music resounding, Which cannot awake ye, my lovely, my brave? Why smile the waste flow'rs, my sad footsteps surrounding? My sons! they but clothe the green turf of your grave! Fair were ye, my sons! and all kingly your bearing, As on to the fields of your glory you trod! Each prince of my race the bright golden chain wearing, Each eye glancing fire, shrouded now by the sod! I weep when the blast of the trumpet is sounding, Which rouses ye not, oh, my lovely, my brave! When warriors and chiefs to their proud steeds are bounding, I turn from heav'n's light, for it smiles on your grave! Next: The Hall Of Cynddylan Previous: Llywarch Hen's Lament On Cynddylan
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