re fed!
Above the dingle's rugged streams,
Intensely white thy raiment gleams;
Thy shirt like crystal tissue seems;
Thy doublet, and thy waistcoat bright,
Like thousand lilies meet the sight;
Thy jacket is of the white rose,
Thy gown the woodbine's flow'rs compose, {142}
Thou glory of the birds of air,
Thou bird of heav'n, oh, hear my pray'r!
And visit in her dwelling place
The lady of illustrious race:
Haste on an embassy to her,
My kind white-bosomed messenger--
Upon the waves thy course begin,
And then at Cemaes take to shore;
And there through all the land explore,
For the bright maid of Talyllyn,
The lady fair as the moon's flame,
And call her "Paragon" by name;
The chamber of the beauty seek,
And mount with footsteps slow and meek;
Salute her, and to her reveal
The cares and agonies I feel--
And in return bring to my ear
Message of hope, my heart to cheer!
Oh, may no danger hover near
(Bird of majestic head) thy flight!
Thy service I will well requite!

MAY AND NOVEMBER.

BY DAFYDD AP GWILYM.

Sweet May, ever welcome! the palace of leaves
Thy hand for thy wild band of choristers weaves;
Proud knight, that subduest with glory and power,
Each glen into verdure, to joy every bower;
That makest the wilderness laugh and rejoice,
In the chains of thy love, in thy cuckoo's shrill voice;
That fillest the heart of the lover with glee,
And bringest my Morfydd's dear image to me.

Alas! that dark Winter thy mansions should blight,
With his chill mottled show'rs, and his flickering light,
His moon that gleams wanly through snows falling fast,
His pale mist that floats on the wings of the blast:
With the voice of each river more fearfully loud--
Every torrent all foam, and the heaven all cloud!
Alas! that stern Winter has power to divide
Each lover from hope--from the poet his bride.

THE CUCKOO'S TALE.

BY DAFYDD AP GWILYM.

Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home;
With the tidings of summer thy bright pinions roam--
The summer that thickens with foliage the glade,
And lures to the woodland the poet and maid.
Sweet as "sack," gentle bird, is thy beautiful voice,
In thy accents the lover must ever rejoice:
Oh! tell me at once, in thy musical lay,
Where tarries the girl whose behest I obey.

"Poor bard," said the cuckoo, "what anguish and pain
Hast thou stored for thyself, all thy cares are in vain,
All hopes of the maid thou awaitest resign,
She has wedded another, and ne'er