The Poetry of Wales

by Unknown

TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

By the Rev. John Blackwell, B.A.

[The Rev. John Blackwell, B.A., whose bardic name was Alun, from the river of that name was born at Mold, in Flintshire, in the year 1797, and died in 1840, in the parish of Manordeivi, Pembrokeshire, of which he was Rector. He participated much in the Eisteddfodau of that period, and his poems gained many of their prizes. He also edited the “Gwladgarwr,” or the Patriot, a monthly magazine, and afterwards the “Cylchgrawn,” or Circle of Grapes, another magazine, under the auspices of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. The subjects of this poet’s compositions were patriotic, sentimental and religious, and his poems are characterised by deep pathos, and great sweetness of diction.]

When night o’erspreads each hill and dale
Beneath its darksome wing
Are heard thy sweet and mellow notes
Through the lone midnight ring;
And if a pang within thy breast
Should cause thy heart to bleed,
Thou wilt not hush until the dawn
Shall drive thee from the mead.

* * * * *

Altho’ thy heart beneath the pang
Should falter in its throes
Thou wilt not grieve thy nestlings young,
Thy song thou wilt not close.
When all the chorus of the bush
By night and sleep are still,
Thou then dost chant thy merriest lays,
And heaven with music fill.

THE FLOWERS OF SPRING.

By the Rev. J. Emlyn Jones, M.A., LL.D.

[The Rev. John Emlyn Jones, M.A., LL.D., the lamented author of the 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 poet 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.

TO MAY

By the Rev. Daniel Evans, B.D.

[The Rev. Daniel Evans, B.D., Fellow of Jesus College, Oxford, composed the following and several other poems in this collection. He was a native of Cardiganshire, and, following the example of his countrymen, he assumed the bardic name of Daniel Ddu. He was born in 1792, and died in 1846. His compositions were very miscellaneous, and appeared separately, but the whole were afterwards published in one volume by Mr. W. Rees, of Llandovery, in 1831. This poet’s writings are distinguished by great pathos, and a truthful description of nature.]

How fair and fragrant art thou, May!
Replete with leaf and verdure,
How sweet the blossom of the thorn
Which so enriches nature,
The bird now sings upon the bush,
Or soars through fields of azure.

The earth absorbs the genial rays
Which vivify the summer,
The busy bee hums on his way
Exhausting every flower,
Returning to its earthen nest
Laden with honied treasure.

How cheerful are the signs of May,
The lily sweet and briar,
Perfuming every shady way
Beside the warbling river;
And thou, gay cuckoo! hast returned
To usher in the summer.

How pleasant is the cuckoo’s song
Which floats along the meadow,
How rich the sight of woodland green,
And pastures white and yellow,
The lark now soars into the heights
And pours her notes so mellow.

To welcome May, let thousands hie
At the sweet dawn of morning,
The winter cold has left the sky,
The sun is mildly beaming,
The dew bright sparkles on the grass,
All nature is rejoicing.

Let May be crown’d the best of months
Of all the passing year,
Let her be deck’d with floral wreaths,
And fed with juice and nectar,
Let old and young forsake the town
And shout a welcome to her.