Richard Davies was born at Llanbrynmair, January 10th, 1833, and was brought up as a farmer, but latterly, at any rate, devoted himself almost entirely to literary and eisteddfodic pursuits. He published in 1866 “Caneuon Mynyddog,” in 1870 “Yr Ail Gynnyg,” and in 1877 “Y Trydydd Cynnyg,” which may be obtained separately or in one volume from Messrs. Hughes & Son, Wrexham. He died at Cemmaes, July 14th, 1877.

When comes my Gwen.

When comes my Gwen,
More glorious then
The sun in heaven appeareth;
And summer’s self
To meet this elf
A smile more radiant weareth.

When comes my love,
The moon above
Shines bright and ever brighter;
And all the black
And sullen wrack
Grows in a moment lighter.

When comes my queen,
The treetops green
Bow down to earth to greet her;
And tempests high
That rend the sky
Disperse, ashamed to meet her.

When comes my sweet
Her love to greet,
My cares and sorrows vanish;
For on her face
Rests heavenly grace,
Which troubles all doth banish.

When comes my dear,
The darkness drear
’Twixt God and me is riven;
Her loving eyes
Reveal the skies
And point the way to heaven.

A Nocturne.

The mournful eve, a weary moan upraising,
Low lays her head adown in honeyed sleep;
And flame-enshrouded all the hills are praising
The God who ward o’er man doth keep:
On high the cloudwrack sailing
Its golden skirts is trailing;
Floats sound of summer song the evening airs along:
Says the light
Breeze, “Good night.”

The tiny flowers, with silvery dewdrops dripping,
Before the queen of night bow one and all,
Who shod with feathery sandals satin-soft comes tripping
To hide the world beneath her shadowy pall;
From many a quiet hearth
Over the darkling earth
Is borne along the sound of song:
Says the light
Breeze, “Good night.”

Come to the Boat, Love.

Come to the boat, love,
Come let us row,
So all the day, love,
Floating we’ll go.
Low sinks the sun, love,
Crimson the sky,
See the pale moon, love,
Rises on high.

Now through the sky, love,
Stars of the night,
O’er thy fair head, love,
Smiling shine bright.
But they are dim, love,
By the true light,
Which in thine eyes, love,
Burns day and night.

Deep in the wood, love,
Curtained with shade,
Birds to the sun, love,
Sing serenade.
Faint is their song, love,
Nought to mine ear,
When from thy lips, love,
Sweet words I hear.

Gaze on the tide, love,
Sleeping at rest,
Mirrored thy face, love,
See on its breast.
So in my heart, love,
Carved is thy mien,
Where thou shalt reign, love,
Throned as my queen.

At the foot of the Stairs.

Maidenlike, love’s question waiving,
Nought she said,
While I stood my answer craving,
Half afraid.
Coldly she with hand extended,
Said, “Good night,”
And ere well the words were ended,
Took to flight
Past me, deep obeisance making.
Well she knew
She with her my heart was taking
Torn in two.

At the stairway’s foot half dreaming
Still I stayed;
From my heart my love poured streaming
Towards the maid.
For one blissful moment standing
Paused she there;
Fell the lamplight from the landing
On her hair,
And her eyes, like starlight sparkling,
Clear were seen,
But, alas! the staircase darkling
Lay between.

Down the staircase through the gloaming,
Smiled she then,
As though heaven itself were coming
Down to men!
Raised her hand and from her tresses
Plucked a rose
Which amid her locks’ caresses,
Found repose,
Breathed upon it love’s own dower,
Kisses sweet,
And for answer dropped the flower
At my feet.