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| Far, far in the forest there were two little huts, and in each of them lived a man who was a famous hunter, his wife, and three or four children. Now the children were forbidden to play more than a short distance from the door, as it was know... Read more of Ball-carrier And The Bad One at Children Stories.ca | Informational Privacy |
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Wales PoetryThe EweSo artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles... An Ode On The Death Of Hoel of the sixth century. He was himself a soldier, and d... Snowdon King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou reares... My Native Land My soul is sad, my spirit fails, And sickness in my he... An Address To The Summer of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ... The Praise And Commendation Of A Good Woman As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit a... The Banks Of The Dee One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing O'er... The Fairy's Song "Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy!"--SHAKSPEARE. ... The Rose Of The Glen Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c... The Lord Of Clas The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and... The Withered Leaf Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ... From The Hymns Of The Rev William Williams, Pantycelyn he inherited from his ancestors, was born in the parish of... Woman Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Arc... My Native Cot The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo... The Deluge * * * * * Whether to the east or west You go, wondr... The Sick Man's Dream Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste... The Cuckoo's Tale Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home; With the... Taliesin's Prophecy A voice from time departed, yet floats thy hills among,... The Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd All my lifetime I have been Bard to Morfydd, "golden m... The Lament Op Llywarch Hen The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing ... |
Under The Orchard TreeCategory: The Sentimental. Under the deep-laden boughs of the orchard Walks a maid that is fairer than all its rich fruit, And little I doubt if I stood beneath them, To which of the objects I'd offer my suit. 'Twas little I thought when I was a stripling While gazing upon the apples so sweet, I ever should see beneath the green branches An object which yet I much sooner would greet. Thy father was careful about his rich orchard, To fence well and strong lest the neighbours should stray, For now there doth, wander amid its green arbours A maiden more lovely than aught in the way; Its fruit I would leave to the one who may wish it, But her, who moves so majestic between, I'd steal from the orchard without a misgiving, And never would touch its apples so green. Next: The Banks Of The Dee Previous: My Native Cot
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