Welsh Lyrics of the Nineteenth Century | Page 5

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Let not my faithlessness appear,?Nor think upon my failings great,
Forget them--for I love thee, dear.?But if of good I aught have done,
Oh that with eyes of kindness mark,?And let it shine--as when the sun
Spreads wings of gold to chase the dark.
Thou rulest all my phantasy
With thy fair face and eyes divine,?The form, which in my sleep I see
Mid dreamland's mazy fields, is thine.?Oh if thy sweet companionship
I may not win, nor call thee wife--?Then all my future let me sleep,
And one long dream be all my life.
Baby.
His cradle's his castle, and dainty his fare,?And all the world crowds just to see him lie there.?Whole volumes of rapture around him are heard,?But he keeps his counsel and says not a word.
His mother while hushing her baby to rest?Foretells for him all that can make a man blest.?But still he lies silent--his pride is not stirred?For all her fond visions, he says not a word.
His father feigns anger and swears that his son?Is cross and ill-tempered, and scolds him in fun?But though he speaks loud and demands to be heard?For threats as for praises, he says not a word.
A glance at the strange world around him he throws--?Whence came he? He knows not--nor whither he goes.?Vague memories of angels within him are stirred,?Too deep for mere speech--so he says not a word.
Yet answer there comes and as clear as can be,?In his eyes bright and sparkling his soul you can see.?To all that is said of him, all that is heard?He looks his reply, though he says not a word.
CALEDFRYN.
William Williams was born at Denbigh February 6th, 1801. A weaver by trade, he showed signs of fitness for the ministry, was sent to Rotherham College, and was ordained minister of the Independent body at Llanerchymedd in 1829. He died at Groeswen, Glamorganshire, March 29, 1869. He published a volume of his poems in 1856, "Caniadau Caledfryn."
The Cuckoo.
Dear playmate of the verdant spring,
We greet thee and rejoice,?Nature with leaves thy pathway decks,
The woodlands need thy voice.
No sooner come the daisies fair
To fleck the meadows green,?Than thy untrammelled notes are heard
Rising the brakes between.
Hast thou some star in yonder heights
To guide thee on thy way,?And warn thee of the changing years
And seasons, day by day?
Fair visitant, the time of flowers,
We welcome now with thee,?When all the birds' unnumbered choir
Warbles from every tree.
The schoolboy on his truant quest
For flowers, wandering by,?Leaps as he hears thy welcome note
And echoes back thy cry.
To visit other lands afar
Thou soon wilt flying be;?Thou hast another spring than ours
To cheerly welcome thee.
For thee the hedgerows aye are green,
Thy skies are always clear,?There is no sorrow in thy song,
Nor winter in thy year!
GWILYM MARLES.
William Thomas was born in Carmarthenshire, 1834. After graduating at the University of Glasgow, he entered the Unitarian ministry. He died December 11th, 1879. He seems to have published one volume of poetry in 1859, but most of his works are still in MS. Judging from the specimens given in the "Llenor" No. 3 (July, 1895), their publication would be a real service to Welsh literature.
New Year Thoughts.
As to the dying year I bade farewell,?Within my hands she left a mantle dark,
Whereon mine eyes did mark?Loved names I scarce for blinding tears could read;?But from its folds fresh blushing flow'rets fell?Of that fair spring-tide I had mourned as dead.
And now her youngest sister draweth nigh,?'Neath modest starlight and with noiseless feet,
Whom thousands flock to greet--?Thousands of every age, who fain would know,?As in her face each peereth wistfully,?What fate she bringeth--happiness or woe?
She answereth not, but pointeth silently?To where far off the hidden future lies,
All dark to mortal eyes,?Save where, from out the gloom, faint stars appear.?She will not linger--haste and thou shalt see?From chaos order as thou drawest near.
Who in this new God's acre?
Who in this new God's acre first shall rest??Or gallant youth, or baby from the breast??Or age, beneath it's crown of snow-white hair??Or queen of smiles and charms, some maiden fair??Time only can the answer give--and God,?Who first shall lie beneath the upturned sod.
It matters not; whom e'er death first may reap?Here in a Father's arms shall quiet sleep,?The tender flowers shall grow above his head?And drink the dews that fall upon his bed.?The silent grave is safe from foolish sneer?And persecutor's rage is baffled here.
Who first shall rest here? Ah! the days soon come,?When all the love of many a village home?Shall centre round this spot, where kith and kin?Are laid to rest, this virgin soil within.?From far and near men by the graves shall stand?Of friends who rest within the Better Land.
Who first shall rest here? God o'er all doth reign,?The life He gave us we must give again.?Our chiefest duty here to work and strive?To His great glory while we are alive,?And He some resting place will then provide,?Or far from