Informational.ca| Informational.ca | Privacy |
| Home - Collection of Stories - Famous Stories - Short Stories - Wales Poetry |
Wales PoetryFrom The Hymns Of The Rev William Williams, Pantycelynhe inherited from his ancestors, was born in the parish of... Dafydd Ap Gwilym To The White Gull Bird that dwellest in the spray, Far from mountain woods a... Concerning The Divine Providence ... Sad Died The Maiden Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew The anguish s... To The Nightingale river of that name was born at Mold, in Flintshire, in the... My Native Land My soul is sad, my spirit fails, And sickness in my he... Snowdon King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou reares... The Sick Man's Dream Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste... The Dawn Streaking the mantle of deep night The rays of light ... The Fairy's Song "Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy!"--SHAKSPEARE. ... The Ewe So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles... 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... To May the following and several other poems in this collection. ... An Ode To The Thunder his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1... The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl... Gwilym Glyn And Ruth Of Dyffryn In the depth of yonder valley, Where the fields are bright... The Battle Of Gwenystrad contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appe... The Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd All my lifetime I have been Bard to Morfydd, "golden m... The Circling Of The Mead Horns Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn: Natural is mead... Woman Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Arc... |
The Lord Of ClasCategory: The Sentimental. 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 bugle sound? And the bloom of his radiant face? The Lord of Clas has found other game Than the buck and timid roe; His heart is warm'd by other flame, His eyes with love-light glow. On the mountain side a damsel he met Collecting flowers wild; Her eyes like diamonds were set, And modest as a child. Fair was her face, and lovely to see Her form of slender mould, Her dark hair waved in tresses free On shoulders arch and bold. The Lord of Clas did blush and sigh When the lovely maid he saw; He stoutly tried to pass her by; His bridle rein did draw. But his heart quick flutter'd in his breast, The rein fell from his hand, In accents weak the maid address'd, While trembling did he stand. "Fair lady, may I ask your name? And what your purpose here? From what bright homestead far you came? And is your guardian near?" Answer'd the maid with haughty mien, That show'd her high estate: "I know not, sir, why you should glean Such knowledge as you prate. I ask'd not your name, or whence you came? Nor on you deign'd a look; Wherefore should you my wrath inflame, By taking me to book?" The chieftain high was now subdu'd, And lower'd was his crest; With deep humility imbued The maid he thus address'd: "My lady fair, your beauteous mien My heart has deep impress'd; Altho' I hear the chase so keen, My thoughts with you do rest. I did essay to pass your charms, And spurr'd my steed to flight, But your dazzling beauty numb'd my arms, And chain'd me to your sight. If I may humbly crave your love, I'll tell you my degree: I am the Lord of yonder grove And of this mountain free. These broad lands will your dowry be, If you my suit receive, And ye shall urge the chase with me From morn to winter eve." The maid's reply was firm, yet bland, And in a calmer mood: "I thank you, sir, for your offer'd hand, With dowry large and good. I thank you for all your praises fair, And for your gallant grace; Had we but met an earlier year I might be Lady Clas. Behold this ring on my finger worn-- A token of plighted love; Lo, he who plac'd it there this morn Sits on yon cairn above." The chieftain look'd to the lonely cairn And saw the Knight of Lleyn! Like mountain deer he flew o'er the sarn, And there no more was seen! Next: The Rose Of The Glen Previous: Gwilym Glyn And Ruth Of Dyffryn
Viewed 452 |
||||||||||||||||||||
