Part 13 (1/2)
His coat will rend in creases, His stockings break in holes, His breeches go to pieces, His shoes part from their soles; His hair, like garden carrot, Full soon will want a hat; How soon, indeed I care not,- The devil care for that!
His listeners appreciated his first song so much that all his copies were soon disposed of; so he selected another, before singing which he said: ”Now this, my friends, is about a Welsh boy, who was so foolish as to leave old Cymry and go to London, from which place, I warrant you, he would have been glad enough to return, as they have neither leeks, cheese, nor flummery, nor anything else there fit for a Christian people.”
WHEN a wild rural Welsh boy I ran o'er the hills, And sprang o'er the hedges, the gates, brooks, and rills, The high oak I climb'd for the nest of the kite, And plung'd in the river with ardent delight!
Ah, who then so cheerful, so happy as me, As I skipp'd through the woodlands and meads of Brandee?
How oft have I wander'd through swamp, hedge, or brake, While fearful of nought but the never-seen snake, And gather'd brown nuts from the copses around, While ev'ry bush echoed with harmony's sound!
Oh, gladness then thrill'd me! I bounded as free As a hart o'er the lawn through the meads of Brandee.
Whenever I wander'd to some neighb'ring farm, How kindly was tendered the new milk so warm, O'er her best loaf as b.u.t.ter-or-honey she'd spread, The farm wife so friendly would stroke my white head, And sure that she shortly again would see me Whenever my rambles led forth from Brandee.
How oft have I run with my strawberry wreath To rosy young Gwenny of fair Llwyn-y-neath, And help'd her to drive the white sheep to the pen!
Oh! still I think how joyously sung little Gwen!
The old folks, oft chuckling, vow'd sweet-hearts were we, Then Llwyn-y-neath maiden and boy of Brandee.
At the fair of Devynnock, o'ertaken by night, Returning, I've dreaded the corpse-candle light, The wandering spirit, the hobgoblin fell, Of which cottage hen-wives so fearfully tell: I've ran, with my eyes shut, ghosts dreading to see, Prayed, whistled, or sang as I flew to Brandee.
Pleasure and innocence hand in hand went, My deeds ever blameless, my heart e'er content, Unknown to ambition, and free from all care, A stranger to sorrow, remorse, or despair; Oh bless'd were those days! long departed from me, Far, far's my loved Cambria! far, far is Brandee!
This did not take so well as the first, but Twm, now thoroughly interested in his new vocation, commenced a fresh ditty, which he announced as a sequel to the last.
ROSY GWEN.
Rosy Gwen, Rosy Gwen, Beloved of maids, beloved of men: Aye, dearly loved of grave and gay, In youth's early day-ah, what cheer'd me then?
'Twas her voice so sweet, Her person neat, Her form so sleek, Her spirit meek, And the cherry-merry cheek of Rosy Gwen.
Gentle girl, gentle girl, Coral lipp'd, with teeth of pearl, On either cheek a vivid rose, And raven tresses graced thy brows!
Ah, thou wert my love and playmate then!
Happy la.s.s of smiles, Unvers'd in wiles, Of guileless breast- Of minds the best.
Oh my merry-cheek'd young Rosy Gwen!
Years have flown, years have flown, And Gwenny thour't a woman grown, While Time, that bears for most a sting, Has fann'd thy beauties with his wing; Yet brighter thou canst not be than when O'er the mountain steep Thou drov'st thy sheep, And sang in glee A child with me, Oh my cheery-merry-cheek'd young Rosy Gwen.
As the last was but tolerated, the singer soon found that a merry strain was most congenial to their fancies. He therefore gave them the old and popular duet of ”Hob y deri dando,” rendered more comical by his singing alternately shrill and gruff, for male and female's parts.
HOB Y DERI DANDO. {153}
_Ivor_. The summer storm is on the mountain, Hob y deri dando, my sweet maid!
_Gweno_. And foul the stream, though bright the fountain, Hob y deri dando for the shade.
_Ivor_. Let my mantle love protect thee, Gentle Gweno dear;
_Gweno_. Ivor kind will ne'er neglect me Faithful far and near;