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| A lady very well known to myself, and in literary society, lived as a girl with an antiquarian father in an old house dear to an antiquary. It was haunted, among other things, by footsteps. The old oak staircase had two creaking steps, numbers... Read more of The Creaking Stair at Scary Stories.ca | Informational Privacy |
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Wales PoetryThe Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of GotheThere was a king in Mon, {62} A true lover to his grave; ... To The Nightingale river of that name was born at Mold, in Flintshire, in the... My Native Cot The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo... The Eisteddfod, Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be h... The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl... Woman Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Arc... The Lament Op Llywarch Hen The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing ... 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 Holly Grove Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ... The Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd All my lifetime I have been Bard to Morfydd, "golden m... Roderic's Lament Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet... Snowdon King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou reares... Twenty Third Psalm My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to... My Father-land Land of the Cymry! thou art still, In rock and valley, str... From The Hymns Of The Rev William Williams, Pantycelyn he inherited from his ancestors, was born in the parish of... Song Of The Foster-son, Love I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu... The Ewe So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles... The Swan Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like... Llywarch Hen's Lament On Cynddylan Taliesin in the sixth century. He was engaged at the batt... Concerning The Divine Providence ... |
The Mother To Her Child After Its Father's DeathCategory: 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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