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Wales Poetry

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

The Circling Of The Mead Horns
Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn: Natural is mead...

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

The Vengeance Of Owain {96}
Gruffydd ab Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd, or North Wales, and ...

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Farewell To Wales
The voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear; Farewell; ...

Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Address To Morfydd After She Married His Rival
Too long I've loved the fickle maid, My love is turned to ...

The Immovable Covenant
the Welsh of Mr. H. Hughes, was a Minister in the Baptist ...

Concerning The Divine Providence

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

The Monarchy Of Britain

Category: The Patriotic.

Sons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time,
Ere spoilers had breath'd the free air of your clime!
All that its eagles beheld in their flight
Was yours from the deep to each storm-mantled height!
Though from your race that proud birthright be torn,
Unquench'd is the spirit for monarchy born.
Darkly though clouds may hang o'er us awhile,
The crown shall not pass from the Beautiful Isle! {88}
Ages may roll ere your children regain
The land for which heroes have perish'd in vain.
Yet in the sound of your names shall be pow'r,
Around her still gath'ring, till glory's full hour.
Strong in the fame of the mighty that sleep,
Your Britain shall sit on the throne of the deep.
Then shall their spirits rejoice in her smile,
Who died for the crown of the Beautiful Isle!

Next: Farewell To Wales

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