Part 5 (1/2)
BY DAFYDD AP GWILYM.
”Sentinel of the morning light!
Reveller of the spring!
How sweetly, n.o.bly wild thy flight, Thy boundless journeying: Far from thy brethren of the woods, alone A hermit chorister before G.o.d's throne!
”Oh! wilt thou climb yon heav'ns for me, Yon rampart's starry height, Thou interlude of melody 'Twixt darkness and the light, And seek, with heav'n's first dawn upon thy crest, My lady love, the moonbeam of the west?
”No woodland caroller art thou; Far from the archer's eye, Thy course is o'er the mountain's brow, Thy music in the sky: Then fearless float thy path of cloud along, Thou earthly denizen of angel song.”
DAFYDD AP GWILYM'S INVOCATION TO THE SUMMER TO VISIT GLAMORGANs.h.i.+RE,
Where he spent many happy years at the hospitable mansion of Ivor Hael.
The bard, speaking from the land of Wild Gwynedd, or North Wales, thus invokes the summer to visit the sweet pastoral county of Glamorgan with all its blessings:
”And wilt thou, at the bard's desire, Thus in thy G.o.dlike robes of fire, His envoy deign to be?
Hence from Wild Gwynedd's mountain land, To fair Morganwg Druid strand, Sweet margin of the sea.
Oh! may for me thy burning feet With peace, and wealth, and glory greet, My own dear southern home; Land of the baron's, halls of snow!
Land of the harp! the vineyards glow, Green bulwark of the foam.
She is the refuge of distress; Her never-failing stores Have cheer'd the famish'd wilderness, Have gladden'd distant sh.o.r.es.
Oh! leave no little plot of sod 'Mid all her cl.u.s.t'ring vales untrod; But all thy varying gifts unfold In one mad emba.s.sy of gold: O'er all the land of beauty fling Bright records of thy elfin wing.”
From this scene of ecstacy, he makes a beautiful transition to the memory of Ivor, his early benefactor: still addressing the summer, he says,
”Then will I, too, thy steps pursuing, From wood and cave, And flowers the mountain-mists are dewing, The loveliest save; From all thy wild rejoicings borrow One utterance from a heart of sorrow; The beauties of thy court shall grace My own lost Ivor's dwelling-place.”
A BRIDAL SONG.
BY A WELSH HARPER.
Wilt thou not waken, bride of May, While the flowers are fresh, and the sweet bells chime?
Listen, and learn from my roundelay, How all life's pilot-boats sailed one day, A match with time.
Love sat on a lotus leaf afloat, And saw old time in his loaded boat; Slowly he crossed life's narrow tide, While love sat clapping his wings and cried, ”Who will pa.s.s time?”
Patience came first, but soon was gone With helm and sail to help time on; Care and grief could not lend an oar, And prudence said while he staid on sh.o.r.e, ”I will wait for time.”
Hope filled with flowers her cork tree bark, And lighted its helm with a glow worm spark; Then love, when he saw her bark fly fast, Said, ”Lingering time will soon be pa.s.sed, Hope outspeeds time.”
Wit, next nearest old time to pa.s.s, With his diamond oar, and his boat of gla.s.s; A feathery dart from his store he drew, And shouted, while far and swift it flew, ”O mirth kills time.”