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Wales PoetryLlywarch Hen's Lament On CynddylanTaliesin in the sixth century. He was engaged at the batt... The Lord Of Clas The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and... The Poor Man's Grave 'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound ... An Address To The Summer of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ... Walter Sele O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread, Nor step unhallo... Tribanau Serjeant Parry, the eminent barrister) says: "The followin... An Ode To The Thunder his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1... Roderic's Lament Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet... The Holly Grove Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ... The Battle Of Gwenystrad contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appe... The Death Of Owain Lo! the youth, in mind a man, Daring in the battle's v... Snowdon King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou reares... The Mountain Galloway My tried and trusty mountain steed, Of Aberteivi's hardy... By The Rev Rees Prichard, Ma ... The Grove Of Broom The girl of nobler loveliness Than countess decked in go... Farewell To Wales The voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear; Farewell; ... Pennillion Cymry, and was much practised in the houses of the Welsh g... 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... Song To Arvon by the Rev. Evan Evans, a Clergyman of the Church of Eng... |
The Song Of The Fisherman's WifeCategory: The Sentimental. Restless wave! be still and quiet, Do not heed the wind and freshet, Nature wide is now fast sleeping, Why art thou so live and stirring? All commotion now is ending, Why not thou thy constant rolling? Rest thou sea! upon thy bosom Is one from whom my thoughts are seldom, Not his lot it is to idle, But to work while he is able; Be kind to him, ocean billow! Sleep upon thy sandy pillow! Wherefore should'st thou still be swelling? Why not cease thy restless heaving? There's no wind to stir the bushes, And all still the mountain breezes: Be thou calm until the morning When he'll shelter in the offing. * * * * * Deaf art thou to my entreaty, Ocean vast! and without mercy. I will turn to Him who rules thee, And can still thy fiercest eddy: Take Thou him to Thy protection Keep him from the wave's destruction! Next: The Withered Leaf Previous: The Ewe
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