Welsh Journals

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Yet of a noble race was he Who stood repining there Who often murmured to himself In accents of despair. "O for a draught to make the heart Oblivious of its pain, O for the power to conquer Time And live the past again." And musing thus in evil plight He saw Angharad come, The daughter of Bronfoeled's Knight, From her ancestral home. 0 as he watched her fair and young Trip down the flowery mead He thought the fairies welcomed her From many a tuneful reed. Her hair was like the golden broom Her eye like heaven's blue And on her features Innocence Had writ a story true. Her presence broke the evil spell That fettered heart and brain It woke a passion in his soul That long asleep had lain. That passion stronger than despair He instantly obeyed He quits the brake, and on the mead Confronts the noble maid. Like one upon a friendly shore Cast by the angry sea Spared by the grace of God once more So do I feel," said he "So do I feel this crucial hour When heart, and hand and brain, The glory of their former power At sight of thee regain. And I could love thee as the saint Loves purity and peace, Or as the tortured captive loves The moment of release.