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Wales PoetryAn Address To The Summerof Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ... Roderic's Lament Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet... The Deluge * * * * * Whether to the east or west You go, wondr... The Fairy's Song "Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy!"--SHAKSPEARE. ... The Death Of Owain Lo! the youth, in mind a man, Daring in the battle's v... The Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd All my lifetime I have been Bard to Morfydd, "golden m... The Eisteddfod, Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be h... The Farmer's Prayer poems of the "Good Vicar Prichard of Llandovery" would be ... To The Lark "Sentinel of the morning light! Reveller of the... The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl... The Vengeance Of Owain {96} Gruffydd ab Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd, or North Wales, and ... The Cuckoo's Tale Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home; With the... Sad Died The Maiden Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew The anguish s... My Native Land My soul is sad, my spirit fails, And sickness in my he... Short Is The Life Of Man Man's life, like any weaver's shuttle, flies, Or, like a t... Translated By The Rev William Evans God doth withhold no good from those Who meekly fear him ... Walter Sele O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread, Nor step unhallo... The Shipwreck a Welsh Congregationalist Minister, and an eminent poet.... The Ewe So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles... The Holly Grove Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ... |
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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