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A Holiday at
Gwerndovennant
Irregular Stanzas
Gwerndovennant
Irregular Stanzas
You’re here for one long vernal day,
We’ll give it all to social play.
Though forty years have roll’d away
Since we were young as you!
Then welcome to our spacious Hall!
Tom, Bessy, Mary; welcome all!
Though remov’d from busy men,
Yea, lonesome as the fox’s den
‘Tis a place for joyance fit,
For frolic games & inborn wit.
‘Twas Nature built this Hall of ours
She shap’d the banks, she framed the bowers
That close it all around;
From her we hold our precious right,
And here through live-long day & night
She rules with mildest sway
Our carpet is her verdant sod;
A richer one was never trod
In princes’ proud saloon;
Purple & gold, & spotless white,
And quivering shade & sunny light
Blend with the emerald green
She open’d for the mountain brook
A gentle winding, pebbly way
Into this placid secret nook,
Its bell-like tinkling – list! – you hear,
– ‘Tis never loud, yet it is always clear
As linnet’s sing in May.
And we have other music here,
A thousand songsters through the year,
Dwell in these happy groves;
And in this season of their loves
They join their voices with the Doves’
To raise a perfect harmony.
Thus spake I, while with sober pace
We slipp’d into that chosen place,
And from the centre of our Hall
The Young Ones gaz’d around;
Then, like a flock of vigorous lambs,
That quit their grave & slow-paced dams
To gambol o’er the mead,
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That innocent, fraternal Troop,
(Erewhile a steady listening groupe)
Off starting – Girl and Boy –
In gamesome race with agile Bound
Beat o’er and o’er the grassy ground,
As if in motion perfect joy.
So vanishes my idle scheme
That we through this long vernal day
Associates in their youthful play
With them might travel in one stream.
Ah! how should we whose heads are grey?
- Light was my heart, my spirits gay,
And fondly did I dream.
But now, recall’d to consciousness
With weight of years of changed estate,
Thought is not needed to repress
Those shapeless fancies of delight
That flash’d before my dazzled sight
Upon this joy-devoted morn.
Gladly we seek the stillest nook
Whence we may read as in a book
A history of years gone by,
Recall’d to faded memory’s eye
By bright reflexion from the mirth
Of youthful hearts, a transient second birth
Of our own childish days.
Pleasure unbidden is their Guide –
Their Leader, - faithful to their side –
Prompting each wayward feat of strength,
The ambitious leap, the emulous race,
The startling shout, the mimic chace
The simple half-disguiséd wile
Detected through the fluttering smile
A truce to this unbridled course
Doth intervene – no need of force –
We spread upon the flowery grass
The noon-tide meal – each Lad & Lass
Obeys the call; we form a Round
And all are seated on the ground.
The sun’s meridian hour is pass’d
- Again begins the emulous race,
Again succeeds the sportive chace,
And thus was spent that vernal day
Till twilight check’d the noisy play;
Then did they feel a languor spread
Over their limbs – the beating head
Was still’d, the busy throbbing heart,
And silently we all depart.
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The shelter of our rustic Cot
Receives us, & we envy not
The palace or the stately dome,
But wish that all had such a home.
Each child repeats his nightly prayer
That God may bless their parents’ care
To guide them in the way of truth
Through helpless childhood, giddy youth.
The closing hymn of chearful praise
Doth yet again their spirits raise,
And ‘tis not now a thoughtless joy;
For tender parents, loving friends,
And all the gifts God’s bounty sends
Feelingly do they bless his name
That homage paid, the Young retire
With no unsatisfied desire;
Theirs is one long, one steady sleep,
Till the sun, tip toe on the Steep
In front of our beloved Cot
Casts on the walls his brightest beams.
Within a startling lustre streams;
They all awaken suddenly
As at the touch of magic spell,
Or as the pilgrim at the bell
That summons him to matin prayer.
And is it sorrow that they feel?
(Nay – call it not by such a name)
The stroke of sadness that doth steal
With rapid motion through their hearts
When comes the thought that yesterday
With all its joys is pass’d away
The long-expected happy day!
An instant – and all the sadness goes,
Nor brighter looks the half-blown rose
Than does the countenance of each Child
Whether the ardent soul or mild;
The hour was fix’d – they are prepared,
And homeward now they must depart,
And, after many a brisk adieu,
On ponies trim, & fleet of limb
Their bustling journey they pursue
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The fair-hair’d, gentle, quiet Maid,
And She who is of daring mood,
The valiant, & the timid Boy
Alike are rouz’d to hardihood
And where so e’er the Troop appear
They scatter smiles, a heart cheer
Comes from both Old & Young,
And blessings fall from many a tongue,
They reach the dear paternal roof,
Nor dread a cold or stern reproof
While they pour forth the history
Of three days’ mirth and revelry.
Ah Children! happy is your lot,
Still bound together in one knot
Beneath your tender Mother’s eye!
––Too soon these blessed days shall fly
And Brothers shall from Sisters part.
And trust me, whatsoe’er your doom,
Whate’er betide through years to come,
The punctual pleasure of your home
Shall linger in your thoughts thoughts –
Dearer than any future hope,
Though fancy take her freest scope.
For Oh! too soon your hearts shall own
The past is all that is your own.
And every day of Festival festival
Gratefully shall ye recal,
Less for their own sakes than for this
That each shall be a resting-place
For memory, & divide the race
Of childhood’s smooth & happy years,
Thus lengthening out that term of life
Which, govern’d by your Parents’ care
Is free from sorrow & from strife.
⟨Finis – and again I say
tune up your musical pipes & put on
your accommodating ears – be in good
humour & forgive – bad metre, bad rhymes –
no rhymes – identical rhymes & all
that – is lawless – As to dullness I leave
that to take care of itself⟩
