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Wales PoetryShort Is The Life Of ManMan's life, like any weaver's shuttle, flies, Or, like a t... Twenty Third Psalm My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to... Walter Sele O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread, Nor step unhallo... From The Hymns Of The Rev William Williams, Pantycelyn he inherited from his ancestors, was born in the parish of... The Faithful Maiden At the dawning of day on a morning in May, When the bi... The Praise And Commendation Of A Good Woman As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit a... Concerning The Divine Providence ... The Hall Of Cynddylan The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th... The Rose Of The Glen Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c... The Rose Of Llan Meilen Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i... Snowdon King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou reares... Song Of The Foster-son, Love I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu... The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl... By The Rev Rees Prichard, Ma ... The Ewe So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles... Sad Died The Maiden Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew The anguish s... The Mother To Her Child After Its Father's Death My gentle child, thou dost not know Why still on thee ... The Holly Grove Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ... The Swan Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like... The Lily And The Rose Once I saw two flowers blossom In a garden 'neath the h... |
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
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