Far, far from home, in wandering error,
A dim rocky dome beshrouding his mirror.

But hark! a voice thrills the traveller erring;
In the heart of the hills its sea-call is stirring:

And home, ever home, to its passionate pleading,
One whirl of white foam, with the ebb he is speeding.





"ORA PRO NOBIS"

(After Eifion Win, 1867- . He lies as a poet between Elfed and the "New
Bards")


A sudden shower lashes
The darkening pane;
The voice of the tempest
Is lifted again.
The centuried oaks
To their very roots rock;
And crying, for shelter
Course cattle and flock.
Our Father, forget not
The nestless bird now;