She looked down to blush, from the gaze of her lover,
Her snowy lids veiling her heaven-blue eyes;
More sweet was her breath than the dew-sprinkled clover,
When morning first breaks through the gates of the skies.
The land-breeze sprang up, and my bark tripp’d her anchor,
Ah me, how we started to feel that fair wind,
“Remember,” she cried, “the dear dale of the Hazel
And poor mountain Mary left weeping behind.”
Far, far did I wander in climes hotly burning,
Till fortune repaid me with wealth in good store;
Then swift as a bird’s flight o’er high waves returning,
Our vessel was wafted to Abermaw’s shore.
With the speed of the roe-buck I flew to my Mary,
Joy’s tears from her eyes fell like midsummer rain;
And now in Dolgelley by wedlock united,
The world and its wealth shall ne’er part us again.
[240] See appendix.
[250] The Blue Well, one of the pools in the recesses of the great mountain, which discharges its waters into Llynn Gwynant.
[266] See appendix.
[304] DAFYDD AP SHENKIN. (For Three Voices.) Arranged by W. Forde.
Oh! Shenkin was a noble fellow,
As ever rov’d in Conway vale;
He drank till he was mellow, drank till he was mellow,
He drank till he was mellow,
And fought till his foes turn’d pale.
Well did he strike for merry freedom,
And England fear’d his great renown,
For laws—himself decreed ’em,
And gallantly held his own.
Then drink boys to the outlaw’d ranger,
And let us seek old Dafydd’s cave,
Where oft he cheer’d the stranger,
And dug for his foes a grave.