FANNY BLOOMING FAIR. From the Welsh of David Nicholas. By William Davies. THIS author flourished in A. D. 1760. He was private tutor in the family of Mr. Aubrey, of Aberpergwm, near Neath. I. WITH Fanny, blooming Fair! Who still unrival'd reigns, What virgin can compare Through all Siluria's plains? Come Cambrian bards, oh weave a chaplet rare, Of sweetest flowers From Pindus' bowers, For Fanny, blooming Fair. II. Sweet lily of the dale, The theme of ev'ry song, Her charms shall still prevail O'er all the youthful throng; Still bright as morning's dawn her lovely face appear; Of life the balm She bears the palm, Dear Fanny, blooming Fair. III. No pleasure can I taste, But from the mournful strain; My tedious hours 1 waste In sorrow, grief, and pain; If you, dear lovely maid, refuse to ease my care, My life I close, Dear Fanny, blooming Fair. IV. Slow Neath shall seek the hills The tow'ring beacon gain; Through high o'er ruling clouds its lofty peak it rear, Whene'er I rove Or cease to love My Fanny, blooming Fair. V. Beneath those polar skies, Where streams forget to flow, Where icy mountains rise, Wrapp'd in eternal snow; Though tempests round me raved, and shook the frigid a With fond desire I'll strike the lyre To Fanny, blooming Fair. VI. In all the blaze of day, On Affric's utmost bound, Though Phoebus' noon-tide ray, Should parch the burning ground, Though sick'ning Nature droop mid scorching deserts ba My song shall be Of love and thee, Dear Fanny, blooming Fair. VII. Thou balmy zephyr mild, Blow on the hawthorn pale, Soft April's modest child That decks the flowery vale; And then each tender sigh perfumed with incense bear, Those sighs that prove Unfeigned love, To Fanny, blooming Fair. VIII. In softest whispers speak Her poet's anxious pain, That faithful heart must break, That long has sigh'd in vain; For soon, without one smile to chase my deep despair, The yew tree's gloom Must shade my tomb, Dear Fanny, Blooming Fair. Y DEWIS, OR THE CHOICE. HYWEL AB OWAIN was one of the sons of Owain Gwynedd, prince of North Wales. Upon his father's death, in 1169, Hywel aspired to the throne, but, after a severe struggle, was defeated by his brother Davydd, and two years afterwards died of his wounds in Ireland. This part of his history is beautifully treated in Southey's Madoc, (vide PRINCE HOEL'S CHILD.) There are eight of Hywel's productions preserved, which are printed in the Archaiology of Wales. The effusions of his muse appear, like this specimen, to have been dedicated to the fair sex. YON lovely maid, of form divine, So slim, so fair, may she be mine, Whose long white shape and graceful mien On woman, when her charms unite, Then choose, my fair, and seal our bliss. SIR GRIFFITH LLWYD. From the Welsh of Gwilym Ddu. By Richard Llwyd. SIR Griffith Llwyd, knight, ab Rhys, ab Griffith, ab Ednyved Vychan, was, in the early part of his life, seneschal to prin ce Llewelyn ab Iorwerth, and served afterwards under his grandson the brave, but unfortunate, Llewelyn ab Griffith. On the sub jugation of Wales, yielding to the force of circumstances, and in obedience to the treaties between the two countries, he considere himself thenceforward as the subject of the English king; accord ingly he was the bearer to him of the first intelligence of the queen' delivery of a son at Caernarvon castle, on which he was knighted by dward. But afterwards, enraged at the oppression endured by his Duntrymen at the hands of the English, he roused the country, and d an insurrection to throw off the yoke of England. On this Ecasion he Latinized the adage "Gwell marw vel dyn, na byw el ci," (Better die like a man than live like a dog,) and that it ■ight be intelligible to his enemies, displayed the words Vincere vel ori upon his shield and banners. Although awhile successful, he as at length defeated, and taken prisoner. From this poem, it is pposed he ended his days a prisoner in Rhuddlan castle. Gwilym du (Black William) Sir Griffith Llwyd's bard, entitled this poem wdl y Misoedd, the Ode of the Months, than which nothing could e more inappropriate, as but two of them are named in it. My days were bright, my hours were gay, How heavy on this suff'ring land, Oh thou, decreed the world to save! * Forbid by foes whose breasts are steel, To pour to heaven the pangs we feel. This aids to prove how severe the censorship was exercised by |