Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne/The Vale of Clwyd
THE VALE OF CLWYD.
INSCRIBED TO MISS FOULKES, OF ERIVIATT.
The lovely vale is Cambria's pride,
Luxuriant garden of the land;
There plenty smiles on every side,
There bright and fertile meads expand.
Array'd in every glowing hue,
How varied all the sylvan view,
With tufted woods, romantic glades,
And spires embosom'd in the shades.
There cultivation decks the scene,
The happy prospect all around;
There pastures bloom for ever green,
The plains with golden sheaves are crown'd.
There cheerful cottages appear,
Beside the river calm and clear;
And fields that wave with bending corn,
The fair extensive vale adorn.
And there the castle still sublime,
With turrets falling fast away,
Remains the monument of time,
The awful emblem of decay.
'Twas near that pile in ages fled,
That warrior's fought, and heroes bled;
While crimson banners wav'd on high,
In all the pomp of victory.
Alas! the lone deserted wall,
A mournful ruin now appears;
Yet still majestic in its fall,
Tho' mouldered by consuming years.
Beside the long-forsaken towers,
O'ergrown with ivy and with flowers,
There at the close of evening gray,
The wandering moralist might stray;
With pensive pleasure there to gaze,
On all the grandeur of the pile;
To meditate on former days,
And muse on fortune's transient smile.
And by those arches long decay'd,
In faded beauty still display'd,
There might the lonely poet hail,
The rural prospect of the vale,
And those by charms of nature fir'd,
May rove amidst this Cambrian scene;
In mossy dells, or groves retir'd,
Beside the lawns of brightest green.
And there by Cynthia's placid beam,
May wander near the winding stream;
To view the fair arcadian vale,
More pleasing in the lustre pale.
Tho' lovely is the dawn of day,
When morning sheds reviving dews;
Yet sweeter is the silver ray,
And dearer to the plaintive muse.
For by the soft and mellow light,
That trembles thro' the clouds of night,
Then all the landscape is array'd,
In pensive grace and blending shade.
The smiling vale is Cambria's pride,
There hospitality remains;
There peace and elegance reside,
And seek the mansions of the plains.
Oh! still may cultivation's hand
Enrich the garden of the land;
May Ceres there her treasures yield,
And ever crown the fertile field.
And there may peace for ever reign;
Ne'er may the cheering harvest fail;
May plenty lead her sportive train,
And with profusion bless the vale.