The wives of the savage chief questioned the wife of the missionary: "And you never let your husband beat you?" "Certainly not," the Christian lady replied. "Why, he wouldn't dare to try such a thing!" The oldest wife nodded understandin... Read more of Monogamy at Free Jokes.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Wales Poetry

Woman
Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Arc...

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

The Grove Of Broom
The girl of nobler loveliness Than countess decked in go...

The Farmer's Prayer
poems of the "Good Vicar Prichard of Llandovery" would be ...

Roderic's Lament
Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet...

Taliesin's Prophecy
A voice from time departed, yet floats thy hills among,...

An Ode On The Death Of Hoel
of the sixth century. He was himself a soldier, and d...

Snowdon
King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou reares...

Song To Arvon
by the Rev. Evan Evans, a Clergyman of the Church of Eng...

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

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

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

The Dawn
Streaking the mantle of deep night The rays of light ...

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

The Mountain Galloway
My tried and trusty mountain steed, Of Aberteivi's hardy...

The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn
Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl...

The Fairy's Song
"Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy!"--SHAKSPEARE. ...

The Deluge
* * * * * Whether to the east or west You go, wondr...

The Castles Of Wales
Ye fortresses grey and gigantic I see on the hills of...

My Father-land
Land of the Cymry! thou art still, In rock and valley, str...



The Lord Of Clas






Category: 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



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