The Poetry of Wales Part 15

THE ROSE OF THE GLEN.

Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or cottage wherein I may live, Altho' I can't boast of high blood or degree, Than all these my sweet Rose is dearer to me.

The lambs on the mountain are frisky and gay, The birds in the forest are restless with play, The maidens rejoice at the advent of spring, Yet my fair Rose to me more enjoyment can bring.

THE MOUNTAIN GALLOWAY.

BY MADOC MERVYN.

My tried and trusty mountain steed, Of Aberteivi's hardy breed, Elate of spirit, low of flesh, That sham'st thy kind of vallies fresh; And three score miles and twelve a day Hast sped, my gallant galloway.

Like a sea-boat, firm and tight, Dancing on the ocean, light, That the spirit of the wind Actuates to heart and mind Elastic, buoyant, proud, and gay, Art thou, my mountain galloway.

Thou'st borne me, like a billow's sweep, O'er mountains high and vallies deep, Oft drank at lake and waterfall, Pa.s.s'd sunless gulfs whose glooms appall, And shudder'd oft at ocean's spray, Where breakers roar'd, destruction lay.

And thou hast snuff'd sulphureous fumes 'Mid rural nature's charnel tombs; Thou hast sped with eye unscar'd Where Merthyr's fields of fire flar'd; And thou wert dauntless on thy way, My faithful mountain galloway.

There is a vale, 'tis far away, But we must reach that vale to-day; There is a mansion in that vale, Its white walls well the eye regale!

And there's a hand more white they say, Shall pat my gallant galloway.

And she is young, and she is fair, The lovely one who sojourns there; Oh, truly dear is she to me!

As thou art mine, she'll welcome thee: Then off we go, at break of day, On, on! my gallant galloway.

GLAN GEIRIONYDD.

FROM THE REV. EVAN EVANS.

One time upon a summer day I saunter'd on the sh.o.r.e Of swift Geirionydd's waters blue, Where oft I walked before In youth's bright season gone, And spent life's happiest morn In drawing from its crystal waves The trout beneath the thorn, When every thought within my breast Was light as solar ray, Enjoying every pastime dear Throughout the livelong day.

The breeze would soften on the lake, Unruffled be its deep, And all surrounding nature be As calm as silent sleep, Except the raven's dismal shriek Upon the lofty spray, And bleat of sheep beside the bush Where light their lambkins play, And noise made by the busy mill Upon the river sh.o.r.e, With cuckoo's song perch'd in the ash To show that winter's o'er.

The impressive scene would rather tend To nurse reflection deep, Than cast the gay and sprightly fly Beneath the rocky steep; 'Twould fill my spirit now subdued With sober earnest thought, Of other days, and other things, My youthful hands had wrought; The tears would spring into my eyes, My heart with heaving fill, To think of all that I had been, And all that I am still.

The sober stillness would beget Thoughts of departed friends, Who not long since companions were Upon the river's bends; And soon will come the sombre day When I shall meet their doom, And 'stead of fishing by the lake, I shall be in the tomb.

Some brother bard may chance to stray And ask for Ieuan E'an?-- "Geirionydd lake is still the same, But here no Ieuan's seen."

THE MOTHER TO HER CHILD AFTER ITS FATHER'S DEATH.

BY THE REV. DANIEL EVANS, B.D.

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.

WOMAN.

BY REV. DANIEL EVANS, B.D.

Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Architect; Pearl and beauty of creation, Rose of earth by all confession.

Myriad times thy smiles are sweeter Than the morning sun doth scatter, All the loveliness of Nature Into thee almost doth enter.

The rose's hues and of the lily, Verdant spring in all its beauty, Brighter yet among the flowers Is fair woman in her bowers.

As the water fills the river, Full of feeling is her temper, And her love, once it doth settle, Truer than the steel its mettle.

Full of tenderness her bosom, Deep affection there doth blossom, Gentle Woman! who can wonder After thee man's heart doth wander?

I have seen without emotion Fields of blood and desolation, But I never saw the tear On woman's eye and mine not water.

From her lips a word of soothing Will disarm all angry feeling, On her tongue a balm of comfort, Great its virtue, strong its support.

Pleasant is it for the traveller On his way to meet with succour, Sweeter far when at his own home, To receive fair woman's welcome.