The Flowers Of Spring

beautiful stanzas, from which the following translation is made, was an

eloquent minister of the Baptist Church in Wales, and died on the 20th

day of January, 1873, at the age of 54 years, at Beaufort, in

Monmouthshire, leaving a widow and seven children to mourn their great

loss. He was also an eminent poet, and one of his poems obtained the

chair prize at a Royal Eisteddfod. It may be remarked that the lamented

poe on his death bed (in answer to an application from the editor)

desired his wife to inform him that he was welcome to publish the

translations of his poems which appear in this collection.]



Oh, pleasant spring-time flowers

That now display their bloom,

The primrose pale, and cowslip,

Which nature's face illume;

The winter bleak appears

When you bedeck the land,

Like age bent down by years,

With a posy in its hand.



Oh, dulcet spring-time flowers

Sweet honey you contain,

And soon the swarming beehive

Your treasure will retain;

The busy bee's low humming

Is heard among your leaves,

Like sound of distant hymning,

Or reaper 'mid the sheaves.



Oh, balmy spring-time flowers,

The crocus bright and rose,

The lily sweet and tulip,

Which bloom within the close:

Anoint the passing breezes

Which sigh along the vale,

And with your dulcet posies

Perfume the evening gale.



Oh, wild-grown spring-time flowers

That grow beside the brook,

How happy once to ramble

Beneath your smiling look,

And of you form gay garlands

To deck the docile lamb,

In wreaths of colour'd neck-bands,

Beside its loving dam.



Oh, pretty spring-time flowers

None look so blithe and gay,

While dancing in the breezes

Upon the lap of May,

Your fragrant petals open

Beneath the balmy dew,

You're nature's rich heave-offering

On winter's grave anew.



Oh, wondrous spring-time flowers

Tho' death stalk all around,

Another spring will quicken

Your bloom upon the ground,

Speak hopeful, as you ripen,

Of yet another spring,

Where flowers never deaden

And seasons have no wing.