Here's to her who wore
The myrtle-wreath that bound me;
Here's to her who bore
The twine of bay that crowned me: —
O, had not her light
So brightly shone upon me,
Still the cloud of night
Had darkly brooded on me;
There was in her eye
A spirit that inspired me;
Still to do or die,
The electric sparkle fired me;
And though the ice of death
Should chill the heart within me,
The music of her breath
Back to life again would win me;
So here's to her who wore
The myrtle-wreath that bound me;
The girl who kindly bore

The autumn wind blows drearily,
The breath of heaven is cold
Flower and leaf fall fluttering down,
Dew turns to frost.
All the swallows cry farewell,
The snow-geese wing off south.
I think of you journeying far from home,
And brooding breaks my heart
Dissatisfied, you think of coming back,
Longing for your old home.
So why then do you tarry there,
Lingering in that strange land?
You have left me here in solitude,
Keeping these empty rooms
I am plunged in grief when I think of you,
Yet never dare forget.

O frivolous mind of man,
Light ignorance, and hurrying, unsure thoughts!
Though man bewails you not,
How I bewail you!

Little in your prosperity
Do you seek counsel of the Gods.
Proud, ignorant, self-adored, you live alone.
In profound silence stern,
Among their savage gorges and cold springs,
Unvisited remain
The great oracular shrines.

Thither in your adversity
Do you betake yourselves for light,
But strangely misinterpret all you hear.
For you will not put on
New hearts with the enquirer's holy robe,

Ah thou Brave Herse who in youths young years,
Bravely advanced art amongst the Peers.
Rareplant of Veres true stock, oh may you have,
Active young Spark, a time to grow up Brave ,
Heare what the Muses wish you, oh Brave Sir .

Vertue as a Brave Vere , do you prefer,
Each one that knows you then, will daily crave
Rare Earle, that after you have here been Brave ,
Eternall joyes in Heav'n that you may have.

It is up from out the alleys, from the alleys dark and vile —
It is up from out the alleys I have struggled for a while —
Just to breathe the breath of Heaven ere my devil drags me down,
And to sing a song of pity for the women of the town.

Johnnies in the private bar room, weak and silly, vain and blind —
Even they would shrink and shudder if they knew the hell behind,
And the meanest wouldn't grumble when he's bilked of half-a-crown
If he knew as much as I do of the women of the town.

For I see the end too plainly of the golden-headed star

The Chorus

Well hath he done who hath seized happiness!
For little do the all-containing hours,
Though opulent, freely give.
Who, weighing that life well
Fortune presents unpray'd,
Declines her ministry, and carves his own;
And, justice not infringed,
Makes his own welfare his unswerved-from law.

He does well too, who keeps that clue the mild
Birth-Goddess and the austere Fates first gave.
For from the day when these
Bring him, a weeping child,
First to the light, and mark
A country for him, kinsfolk, and a home,

Though furled be the banner of blood on the plain,
And rusted the sabre once crimsoned with gore;
Though hushed be the ravens that croaked o'er the slain,
And calmed into silence the battle's loud roar;
Though Peace with her rosy smile gladden the vales,
And Commerce unshackled dance over the wave;
Though music and song may enliven the gales,
And Joy crown with roses and myrtle the brave;
Like spirits that start from the sleep of the dead,
Our heroes shall rouse, when the larum shall blow;
Then Freedom's broad flag on the wind shall be spread,

In the bare midst of Anglesey they show
Two springs which close by one another play;
And, " Thirteen hundred years agone," they say,
" Two saints met often where those waters flow.

" One came from Penmon westward, and a glow
Whiten'd his face from the sun's fronting ray;
Eastward the other, from the dying day,
And he with unsunn'd face did always go."

Seiriol the Bright, Kybi the Dark ! men said.
The seir from the East was then in light,
The seir from the West was then in shade.

A Star remain you in our Firmament,
Newly sprung forth, having the luster lent,
Neatly wherewith your excellence doth shine,
(Ah still increase you) from that Sol of thine.

Star doth your birth denote you, and your youth;
Truly averreth you NU Star in truth:
Very much likewise doth your little brow
Actively set you forth Aneat Star now;
Reflecting then upon your Excellence,
That shews your radiant and sweet influence,
Each one doth grant you Anuneat Star hence.

Drums of all that's right and wrong — of love and hate and scorn,
And the new-born baby hears them and it wails when it is born.
Drums of all that is to be, and all that has gone by,
And we hear them when we're dreaming, and we hear them while we die.

Drums of martyred innocence and drums of driven guilt
Beating backward from the future when the first rude town was built;
Beating louder through the slave days and the dark and hungry nights,
While the hovels filled the valleys and the castles crowned the heights;