GWILYM GLYN AND RUTH OF DYFFRYN.

In the depth of yonder valley,
Where the fields are bright and sunny,
Ruth was nurtured fair and slender
Neath a mother’s eye so tender.

Listening to the thrush’s carols.
Was her pleasure in her gambols,
And ere she grew up a maiden
Gwilym’s voice was sweet in Dyffryn.

Together did they play in childhood,
Together ramble in the greenwood,
Together dance upon the meadow,
Together pluck the primrose yellow.

Both grew up in youthful beauty
On the lap of peace and plenty,
And before they could discover
Love had linked its silent fetter.

Ruth had riches—not so Gwilym,
Her stern sire grew cold unto him,
And at length forbade him coming
Any more to visit Dyffryn.

Gwilym thence would roam the wild-wood,
Where he wander’d in his childhood,
And would shun his home and hamlet,
Pensive sitting in the thicket.

Ruth would, weeping, walk the garden,
And survey the blank horizon
For a passing glimpse of Gwilym—
But all vain her tears and wailing.

Gwilym said, “I’ll cross the ocean,
And abide among the heathen,
In the hope of getting riches,
Which alone the father pleases.”

But, before he left his country,
Once, by stealth, he met the lady,
And beneath the beech’s shadow
Vow’d undying love in sorrow.

Much the weeping—sad the sighing,
When they parted in the gloaming,
Gwilym for a distant region,
Ruth behind in desolation.

Time flew fast, and many a wooer
Came to Ruth an ardent lover;
But in vain they sought the maiden,
For she held her troth unbroken.

Owain Wynn had wealth in plenty,
Earnest was his deep entreaty,
And tho’ favour’d by the father,
Yet all vain was his endeavour.

Years now pass’d since Ruth saw Gwilym,
But her dreams were always of him,
And tho’ morning undeceived her,
Nightly did she see him near.

One fair evening Ruth was sitting
In the spot of their last parting,
When she thought she saw her Gwilym
Cross the meadows green of Dyffryn.

Was it fact or apparition?
Slow she mov’d to test the vision,
Who was there but her own true love
Come to claim her in the green grove.

Gwilym now possessed abundance,
Gold and pearls displayed their radiance,
Soon the father gave him welcome
To his house and daughter handsome.

Quick the wedding-day was settled,
Ruth to Gwilym then was married,
Long they lived in bliss and plenty,
Pride and envy of the valley.

The Lord of Clâs to his hunting is gone,
Over plain and sedgy moor;
The glare of his bridle bit has shone
On the heights of wild Benmore.

Why does he stay away from hound?
Nor urge the fervid chase?
Where is the shrill blast of his bugle sound?
And the bloom of his radiant face?

The Lord of Clâs has found other game
Than the buck and timid roe;
His heart is warm’d by other flame,
His eyes with love-light glow.

On the mountain side a damsel he met
Collecting flowers wild;
Her eyes like diamonds were set,
And modest as a child.

Fair was her face, and lovely to see
Her form of slender mould,
Her dark hair waved in tresses free
On shoulders arch and bold.

The Lord of Clâs did blush and sigh
When the lovely maid he saw;
He stoutly tried to pass her by;
His bridle rein did draw.

But his heart quick flutter’d in his breast,
The rein fell from his hand,
In accents weak the maid address’d,
While trembling did he stand.

“Fair lady, may I ask your name?
And what your purpose here?
From what bright homestead far you came?
And is your guardian near?”

Answer’d the maid with haughty mien,
That show’d her high estate:
“I know not, sir, why you should glean
Such knowledge as you prate.

I ask’d not your name, or whence you came?
Nor on you deign’d a look;
Wherefore should you my wrath inflame,
By taking me to book?”

The chieftain high was now subdu’d,
And lower’d was his crest;
With deep humility imbued
The maid he thus address’d:

“My lady fair, your beauteous mien
My heart has deep impress’d;
Altho’ I hear the chase so keen,
My thoughts with you do rest.

I did essay to pass your charms,
And spurr’d my steed to flight,
But your dazzling beauty numb’d my arms,
And chain’d me to your sight.

If I may humbly crave your love,
I’ll tell you my degree:
I am the Lord of yonder grove
And of this mountain free.

These broad lands will your dowry be,
If you my suit receive,
And ye shall urge the chase with me
From morn to winter eve.”

The maid’s reply was firm, yet bland,
And in a calmer mood:
“I thank you, sir, for your offer’d hand,
With dowry large and good.

I thank you for all your praises fair,
And for your gallant grace;
Had we but met an earlier year
I might be Lady Clâs.

Behold this ring on my finger worn—
A token of plighted love;
Lo, he who plac’d it there this morn
Sits on yon cairn above.”

The chieftain look’d to the lonely cairn
And saw the Knight of Lleyn!
Like mountain deer he flew o’er the sarn,
And there no more was seen!