Classic Poem

Fair blooms the spring, in vernal honours gay,
The thick'ning groves their warbling tenants shade,
Where each, extatic, swells th' harmonious lay,
And kens with rapt'rous eye the verdant glade.

Smooth'd is the bosom of the perilous deep,
Even the wide foaming billows are at peace;
Gently the varying tides a cadence keep,
And the rude winds their blust'ring fury cease.

But ah! my griefs what season can remove,
Stronger than blowing winds, or dashing wave?
Nor Spring, nor Summer, can abate my love,
Or, of one pious drop, defraud the grave.

O! pray'r divine, thy potent balm impart,
'Tis thine, alone, misfortune's wounds to heal;
Thy sacred armour may secure my heart,
And teach me how to suffer, though I feel.

But I must speak! my grief will force its way,
Keen is my sorrow, loudly let me mourn;
For sad remembrance treasures still the day,
That saw thee, lovely Neest! to earth return.

By Teivis mournful stream I pensive stray;
I hear th' affrighted waves terrific roar,
To Beli's confines, sad, the tale convey,
That Neest, the gentle maiden, is no more.

Bright were thy charms, tho' now, alas! no more,
Theme fit for Bards, the pride of British lyre;
Each Bard for thee, exhausted fancy's store,
For like Elivri's could thine eyes inspire.

But now my pensive heart, Oh! sad reverse,
O'ercharg'd with woe thy elegy prepares;
Thou! ever present, yes I'll strew thy hearse,
And on thy stony dwelling shower my tears.

O! Cadvan's brightest star, how didst thou shine
In silken garments beautifully gay;
How did thy rays Dusunni's banks refine,
Enliv'ning nature like the orb of day!

Consummate prudence crown'd thy bloom of youth,
Blest with a heart unknown to base disguise,
A constant vot'ry at the shrine of truth,
Whose sacred precepts made thee truly wise.

But now, for ever gone, in silence laid
In the cold tomb which ruddy earth confines,
Torn from my ravisht eye, the peerless maid,
Lovely in death, the grief of Bards, reclines.

Each Bard, each Druid, mourn'd her timeless fate,
For she to Bard and Druid still was dear;
Eternal honours round her tomb shall wait,
There still shall flow the verse, shall drop the tear.

Bright as the eagle's was her piercing eye,
Her long descent from royal line proclaim'd,
Of Venedotia she, the pride, the joy,
For fairest virtue, as for beauty fam'd.

Friend to the Bard, with princely hand she gave,
Still generous the mind where goodness reigns;
And is that goodness sunk into the grave?
Now Death thy sting I feel, its sharpest pains.

Nor can aught heal the pungent wound it made,
Undone for ever by the fatal blow;
Now equal to my eye the light or shade,
Still bleeds my heart, nor cease my eyes to flow.

And though all grieve, yet none like me can mourn,
For she was dearer far to me than light;
Yes, Neest is gone, ah! never to return,
And with her light-wing'd Pleasure took its flight.

But cruel Death relentless sees my woe,
Nor tears, nor pray'rs, his rigid heart can move;
All must submit to his resistless blow,
He bursts the bonds of nature and of love.

O! gen'rous Neest, in earth's cold bosom laid,
Safe in thy lone retreat thy ashes rest;
Strong as Pryderi's was my grief display'd,
Fresh sorrow's hoarding in my pensive breast.

For never can my sorrows cease to flow,
Ne'er can the current of my woes be dry;
Still, still I'll tend thee, round thy tomb I'll go,
Not Death can hide thee from a lover's eye.

I see his dreary veil around thee spread,
Even o'er that face which shone like pearly dew,
Fair as the virgin snow on Eiry's head,
And form'd of beauty all I ever knew.

O! thou great Maker of the earth and sky,
Whose gracious ears ne'er close to humble prayer,
Grant mine may mount, as winged spirits fly,
Safe to thy throne, and find acceptance there.

O! grant that beauteous maid, who shone below,
Glittering like pearls with virtues given by thee,
May now in beauties more celestial glow,
From sin by Dewi's intercession free.

Let thy bright-beaming mercy round her shine,
May she with saints and martyrs chaunt thy praise,
With holy Mary join the song divine,
And to thy name her loud Hosanna's raise.

Boundless my love, it mounts, it soars on high,
May good Saint Peter ever be her guard;
My God, behold her with a gracious eye,
And grant thy heav'n may be her great reward!