"
The chieftain look'd to the lonely cairn
And saw the Knight of Lleyn!
Like mountain deer he flew o'er the sarn,
And there no more was seen!
THE ROSE OF THE GLEN.
Although I've no money or treasure to give,
No palace or cottage wherein I may live,
Altho' I can't boast of high blood or degree,
Than all these my sweet Rose is dearer to me.
The lambs on the mountain are frisky and gay,
The birds in the forest are restless with play,
The maidens rejoice at the advent of spring,
Yet my fair Rose to me more enjoyment can bring.
THE MOUNTAIN GALLOWAY.
BY MADOC MERVYN.
My tried and trusty mountain steed,
Of Aberteivi's hardy breed,
Elate of spirit, low of flesh,
That sham'st thy kind of vallies fresh;
And three score miles and twelve a day
Hast sped, my gallant galloway.
Like a sea-boat, firm and tight,
Dancing on the ocean, light,
That the spirit of the wind
Actuates to heart and mind
Elastic, buoyant, proud, and gay,
Art thou, my mountain galloway.
Thou'st borne me, like a billow's sweep,
O'er mountains high and vallies deep,
Oft drank at lake and waterfall,
Pass'd sunless gulfs whose glooms appall,
And shudder'd oft at ocean's spray,
Where breakers roar'd, destruction lay.
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