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Wales Poetry

A Bridal Song
Wilt thou not waken, bride of May, While the flowers are...

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

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

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

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

The Battle Of Gwenystrad
contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appe...

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

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

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

Roderic's Lament
Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet...

The Mother To Her Child After Its Father's Death
My gentle child, thou dost not know Why still on thee ...

An Ode To The Thunder
his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1...

An Ode On The Death Of Hoel
of the sixth century. He was himself a soldier, and d...

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

Walter Sele
O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread, Nor step unhallo...

Glan Geirionydd
. One time upon a summer day I saunter'd on the shor...

Concerning The Divine Providence
...

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

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

My Native Cot
The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo...



The Song Of The Fisherman's Wife






Category: 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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