ill my ear,
One half the world to censure prone!
Of all the faults that thus I hear,
None yet have told me of their own.

* * * * *

Varied the stars, when nights are clear,
Varied are the flowers of May,
Varied th' attire that women wear,
Truly varied too are they.

* * * * *

To rest to-night I'll not repair,
The one I love reclines not here:
I'll lay me on the stone apart,
If break thou wilt, then break my heart.

* * * * *

In praise or blame no truth is found,
Whilst specious lies do so abound;
Sooner expect a tuneful crow,
Than man with double face to know.

* * * * *

My speech until this very day,
Was ne'er so like to run astray:
But now I find, when going wrong,
My teeth of use to atop my tongue.

TRIBANAU.

[The editor of the "Cambro Briton" (J. H. Parry, Esq., father of Mr.
Serjeant Parry, the eminent barrister) says: "The following translations
will serve to give the English reader a faint, though perhaps, but a
faint idea of the Welsh _Tribanau_, which are most of them, like these,
remarkable for their quaintness, as well as for the epigrammatic point in
which they terminate."]

No cheat is it to cheat the cheater,
No treason to betray the traitor,
Nor is it theft, I'm not deceiving,
To thieve from him who lives by thieving.

* * * * *

Three things there are that ne'er stand still;
A pig upon a high-topt hill,
A snail the naked stones among,
And Tom the Miller's rattling tongue.

* * * * *

Three things 'tis difficult to scan;
The day, an aged oak, and man:
The day is long, the oak is hollow,
And man--he is a two fac'd fellow.

PART V. THE SENTIMENTAL.

THE ROSE OF LLAN MEILEN.

BY DAFYDD AB GWILYM.

Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget
That ever in moments of pleasure we met;
You bid me remember no longer a name
The muse hath already companioned with fame;
And future ap Gwilyms, fresh wreaths who compose,
Shall twine with the chaplet of song for the brows
Of each fair Morvida, Llan Meilen's sweet Rose.

Had the love I had loved been inconstant or gay,
Enduring at most but a long summer's day,
Growing cold when the splendour of noontide hath set,
I might have forgotten that ever we met.
But long as Eryri its peak shall expose
To the sunshine of summer, or winter's cold snows,
My love will endure for Llan Meilen's sweet Rose.

Then bid me not, maiden, remember no more
A name which affection and love must ad