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Wales Poetry

By The Rev Rees Prichard, Ma
...

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

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

Song Of The Foster-son, Love
I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu...

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

Pennillion
Cymry, and was much practised in the houses of the Welsh g...

The Lily And The Rose
Once I saw two flowers blossom In a garden 'neath the h...

Old Morgan And His Wife
Hus.--Jane, tell me have you fed the pigs, Their cry is ...

The Banks Of The Dee
One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing O'er...

Tribanau
Serjeant Parry, the eminent barrister) says: "The followin...

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...

The World And The Sea: A Comparison
Like the world and its dread changes Is the ocean when it ...

To The Nightingale
river of that name was born at Mold, in Flintshire, in the...

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

The Swan
Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like...

To The Daisy
Oh, flower meek and modest That blooms of all the soonest,...

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

Short Is The Life Of Man
Man's life, like any weaver's shuttle, flies, Or, like a t...

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

The Withered Leaf
Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ...



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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