The impressive scene would rather tend
To nurse reflection deep,
Than cast the gay and sprightly fly
Beneath the rocky steep;
'Twould fill my spirit now subdued
With sober earnest thought,
Of other days, and other things,
My youthful hands had wrought;
The tears would spring into my eyes,
My heart with heaving fill,
To think of all that I had been,
And all that I am still.
* * * * *
The sober stillness would beget
Thoughts of departed friends,
Who not long since companions were
Upon the river's bends;
And soon will come the sombre day
When I shall meet their doom,
And 'stead of fishing by the lake,
I shall be in the tomb.
Some brother bard may chance to stray
And ask for Ieuan E'an?--
"Geirionydd lake is still the same,
But here no Ieuan's seen."
THE MOTHER TO HER CHILD AFTER ITS FATHER'S DEATH.
BY THE REV. DANIEL EVANS, B.D.
My gentle child, thou dost not know
Why still on thee I am gazing so,
And trace in meditation deep
Thy features fair in silent sleep.
Thy mien, my babe, so full of grace,
Reminds me of thy father's face;
Although he rests beneath the tree,
His features all survive in thee.
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