Welsh Journals

FAIRY GLEN. I know a place where every wind Moves softer than a sigh, Where rivers turn their murmurings Into a lullaby, And fluted songs, like silver clouds Drift slowly, sweetly by- Where nightingales have hushed their notes To listen breathlessly. When, like a lantern, glows the moon Upon night's high roof-tree, When dusk has closed the eyes of June And sleep is on the bee, If you go gently through the dell And hide in dewy grass- Maybe you'll hear the fairy-bell And see the fairies pass. They come on music light as air To revel in the glade, And hedgerows bend their blossoms there To hear the serenade The night is full of hidden things And leaves are dimly stirred By silken whispers like soft wings, Like heart-beats of a bird. You wonder how the violet grows, How blooms the daffodil, These secret things the mavis knows And tells the dawn-athrill They grow beneath the magic spell Of folk in green and brown- Who dance around a golden bell With songs like thistledown. A. G. Prys-Jones. GAIR MWYS. A mi 'n rhoi cusan heno I 'ngeneth yn fy sêl Wei, peidiwch," meddai Gweno, Mae yn fan yna veil." F anwylaf, meddwn innau, Mae hynny 'n wir di-gel Mi wyddwn ers blynyddau Fod yn fan yna fêl." Glan yr Iorddonen, Y DDRAIG GOCH. When Henry from Armorica Essayed for London Town, He steered his way to Milford Bay, A King without a crown Said he As I am Welsh of Wales, So from hillside and valley, Will Welshmen all, obey my call, And round my Standard rally. There by the tide, stood Walia's pride, The doughty Rhys ap Thomas, Cried Henry then, My countrymen, Nought is withholden from us With Rhys of Wales, my cause prevails, I want no better omen By all the spires of all the shires, I shall subdue my foemen." When Henry from Armorica Embarked for Bosworth Field, He clove his way and fixed his sway, With Welshmen mailed and steeled Welsh was his breed, and Welsh his deed, And Welsh the sons he sired, To keep the throne he made his own, And fan the flame he fired. King Henry from Heaven's parapets Still watches o'er his sons Welsh bayonets achieved Mametz, And took the Pilkem guns Now all discern what wage they earn, And should in loyal manner Ask George the King this gracious thing- The Dragon on his Banner. Oliver Davies. Rhosyr.