VIEW THE MOBILE VERSION of www.storiespoetry.com Informational Site Network Informational
Privacy
Home - Collection of Stories - Famous Stories - Short Stories - Wales Poetry - Yiddish Tales

Wales Poetry

To May
the following and several other poems in this collection. ...

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...

Childe Harold
"Oh Gwynedd, fast thy star declineth, Thy name is gone, t...

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

Twenty Third Psalm
My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to...

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

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

Llywarch Hen's Lament On Cynddylan
Taliesin in the sixth century. He was engaged at the batt...

Ode To Cambria
Cambria, I love thy genius bold; Thy dreadful rites, and...

Under The Orchard Tree
Under the deep-laden boughs of the orchard Walks a maid...

Dafydd Ap Gwilym To The White Gull
Bird that dwellest in the spray, Far from mountain woods a...

The Rose Of The Glen
Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c...

The Monarchy Of Britain
Sons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time, Ere spoilers h...

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

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

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

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

Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Invocation To The Summer To Visit Glamorganshire,
Where he spent many happy years at the hospitable mansion o...

The Lament Op Llywarch Hen
The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing ...



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



Add to del.icio.us Add to Reddit Add to Digg Add to Del.icio.us Add to Google Add to Twitter Add to Stumble Upon
Add to Informational Site Network
Report
Privacy
SHAREADD TO EBOOK


Viewed 3547


Untitled Document