Thy fragrant breezes wander through the maze
Of all their songs as through a woodland reach:
Their odes drop sweetness like the ripening peach
In laden orchards on late summer days.
Their work is Nature's own--not theirs the praise
By culture won which midnight studies teach.
Sounds the loud cataract in their sonorous speech,
And strikes the keynote of their tuneful lays.
As to remotest ages in the past
We trace thy joyous story, more and more
Bards won high honour mid thy hills and vales.
So, Cymru, while this world of ours shall last,
And Ocean echoing beat upon thy shore,
May poets never cease to sing for Wales!
The Lighthouse.
When night first spread her curtain o'er the deep,
Firm based beneath the waves the lighthouse tower
Rose to the clouds, and mariners once more
Blest the bright gleam that o'er them ward would keep.
When rose the moon, the sea lay all asleep,
It's dreaming waves enfolded by the shore:
And founded on the rock, of iron its door,
The beacon flashed its light across the deep.
Then rose the storm and lashed the waves until
They roared like wounded lions, and there raved
The elemental forces, shock on shock:
And all the great sea's batteries worked their will
That never more should ship through it be saved.
The rising sun looked out and saw--the Rock.