He was also an eminent poet, and one of his poems obtained the
chair prize at a Royal Eisteddfod. It may be remarked that the lamented
poet on his death bed (in answer to an application from the editor)
desired his wife to inform him that he was welcome to publish the
translations of his poems which appear in this collection.]
Oh, pleasant spring-time flowers
That now display their bloom,
The primrose pale, and cowslip,
Which nature's face illume;
The winter bleak appears
When you bedeck the land,
Like age bent down by years,
With a posy in its hand.
Oh, dulcet spring-time flowers
Sweet honey you contain,
And soon the swarming beehive
Your treasure will retain;
The busy bee's low humming
Is heard among your leaves,
Like sound of distant hymning,
Or reaper 'mid the sheaves.
Oh, balmy spring-time flowers,
The crocus bright and rose,
The lily sweet and tulip,
Which bloom within the close:
Anoint the passing breezes
Which sigh along the vale,
And with your dulcet posies
Perfume the evening gale.
Oh, wild-grown spring-time flowers
That grow beside the brook,
How happy once to ramble
Beneath your smiling look,
And of you form gay garlands
To deck the docile lamb,
In wreaths of colour'd neck-bands,
Beside its loving dam.
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