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Wales Poetry

Concerning The Divine Providence
...

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

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

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

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

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

May And November
Sweet May, ever welcome! the palace of leaves Thy hand for...

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

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

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

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

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 Ewe
So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles...

My Native Land
My soul is sad, my spirit fails, And sickness in my he...

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

The Rose Of Llan Meilen
Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i...

The Flowers Of Spring
beautiful stanzas, from which the following translation ...

The Hall Of Cynddylan
The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th...

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

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



The Mother To Her Child After Its Father's Death






Category: The Sentimental.

My gentle child, thou dost not know
Why still on thee I am gazing so,
And trace in meditation deep
Thy features fair in silent sleep.

Thy mien, my babe, so full of grace,
Reminds me of thy father's face;
Although he rests beneath the tree,
His features all survive in thee.

Thou knowest not, my gentle child,
The deep remorse that makes me wild,
Nor why sometimes I can't bestow
A smile for smile when thine doth glow.

Thy father, babe, lies in the clay,
Lock'd in the tomb, his prison gray;
And yet methinks he still doth live,
When on thy face a glance I give.

And dost thou smile, my baby fair,
Before my face so pale with care?
What for the world and its deceit,
With myriad snares for youthful feet?

These are before thee, while the aid
Of father's counsel is deep laid;
And soon thy mother wan may find
A last home there--and thou behind.

Thy sad condition then will be
Like some lone flower upon the lea,
Without a cover from the wind,
Or winter's hail and snow unkind.

But smile thou on--in heaven above
Thy father lives, and He is love;
He knows thy lot, and well doth care
For all, and for thee will prepare.

If through His help, Jehovah good!
Thou smilest now in blissful mood;
May I not think, safe in His hand
Thou mayest travel through this land?

Smile on, my child, for thou wilt find
In Him a friend and father kind;
He'll guide the orphan on his way,
Nor ever will his trust betray.

At last in the eternal land
We all shall meet a joyous band,
Without ought danger more to part,
Or tear or sigh to heave the heart.





Next: Woman

Previous: Glan Geirionydd



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