There’s one, and only one to cheer my soul,
To heal my anguish, and my grief control;
’Tis she who did the foster-boy impart
To nestle deeply in my restless heart.
And if, indeed, the fair one will not pay
For time and nurture, anguish and delay,
Unless a guerdon in her smiles I see
Then must I from her arms for ever flee.
PENNILLION.
[Pennillion singing formed quite a feature in the eisteddfodau of the Cymry, and was much practised in the houses of the Welsh gentry. The pennillion were sung by one voice to the harp, and followed a quaint air which was not only interesting, but owing to its peculiarity, it set forth in a striking manner the humour of the verse. This practice, which was quite a Welsh institution, is fast dying out, and is not now much in use except at eisteddfodau.]
Many an apple will you find
In hue and bloom so cheating,
That, search what grows beneath its rind,
It is not worth your eating.
Ere closes summer’s sultry hour,
This fruit will be the first to sour.
* * * * * *
Those wild birds see, how bless’d are they!
Where’er their pleasure leads they roam,
O’er seas and mountains far away,
Nor chidings fear when they come home.
* * * * *
Thou dearest little Gwen, kindest maiden of all,
With cheeks fair and ruddy, and teeth white and small,
With thy blue sparkling eyes, and thy eye-brows so bright,
Ah, how I would love thee, sweet girl, if I might!
* * * * *