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ORIGINAL POETRY. SUMMER. 0 woods most green, most beautiful, Where sweetly bird-notes sound, How grand are all thy noble trees, Where'er we look around. The wild flowers clustering at our feet, The blue and sunlit sky, The scent of hay from o'er the fields, The sparkling sea close by. Ah it is good to muse awhile And lift our hearts to Him, Who made this world so very fair For us, whose faith is dim. When, wearied and misunderstood, Our lives seem full of care, How peaceful and how comforting, Nature-and silent prayer. We see God's hand in leaf and flower. His skill in every tree, His voice in wind and wave we hear, In glorious majesty. 0 summer woods, and summer skies, Tell forth thy wondrous lore, Teach us to praise thy Maker's name, And love Him more and more. Cadoxton. A. M. S. THE SMITH." Our readers have doubtless heard, if they have not actually read, Gwilym Hiraetliog's famous awdl" to Peace. The most celebrated passage in it describes a smith, in the days when war will be no more, turning the sword into a ploughshare. The passage is supposed to be one of the finest ever written in the language, and it is a subject of keen regret to all Welshmen that such gems should be unknown to all the world but to Wales. The SOUTH WALES DAILY NEW3 of Tuesday published a very good translation, which we have much pleasure in reproducing. Of course the translation has all the faults of a translation the words are more cold and lifeless than in the original. The words in the original m-ean or suggest more than they express, and the nameless charm of the rhythm and assonance is lost. Take, for instance, the line "Rhed ei fawd ar hyd ei fin," which is well translated by '• Runs a light thumb along the edge," but which sounds sadly too commonplace in English. However, as a translation, we don't think the appended can be excelled Whistling the while a lively air The smith for action see prepare One hand the bellows doth control, The other breaks the crusted coal; First, having trimmed his fire aright, Upon his sot tv altar bright, Baldly a sword he seizes—one That many a deadly deed had done; And plays with it ere work's begun Runs a light thumb along the edge, The temper of the steel to judge; Then, attitudinising, he Affects a warrior bold to be Like some great leader of renown, High he harangues, and with a frown Vows to the foe destruction dire Tken thrusts the weapon in the fire, And vigourously the bellows plies While at each stroke Through wreaths of smoke, A thousand fiery sparks arise. Fierce hissing from the flame anon, He draws the stout old blade, that won Fame on the field in many a fight, On anvil lays it dazzling bright; Then the heavy hammer he 'Blithely sings and lustily; Until at length His giant strength And cunning care Beat out a share Designed to plough the humid plain, Whereon shall grow the golden grain.








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