Welsh Journals

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Nay for other things I trow, Over mead and stubble field Eastward looks the maid, as though On some object half concealed. From his post the Warder old Reads aright that anxious look, For the Warder is her friend Sworn by candle, bell, and book. See Angharad gazing still On the pass of Carreg-ddu Whence a mail clad horseman now Rideth forward steadily. 'Tis her chosen lover rides Boldly from the dark defile And the little birds of hope In her bosom sing the while. Ah but what is stirring now Yonder on the castle mead ? 'Tis an armed band, I trow Riding to some evil deed. Dafydd loud she cries beware Danger is approaching thee, Draw the bridle, shun the snare, Quick my hero, turn and flee But the distant traveller Heareth not the warning cry Soon Bronfoeled's men of war Fiercely bid him stand or die. Gruffydd fair Angharad's Sire And his comrades in the chase Close the ring round Daffydd now Hatred stamped on every face. Son of my worst enemy Baron Gruffydd cries at last Yonder stands the gallows-tree Comrades bind the villain fast."