Howel's Song

Press on, my steed! I hear the swell
Of Valle Crucis’ vesper-bell,
Sweet floating from the holy dell
O’er woods and waters round.
Perchance the maid I love, e’en now,
From Dinas Brân’s majestic brow,
Looks o’er the fairy world below,
And listens to the sound!

I feel her presence on the scene!
The summer air is more serene,
The deep woods wave in richer green,
The wave more gently flows!
O fair as ocean’s curling foam!
Lo! with the balmy hour I come--
The hour that brings the wanderer home,
The weary to repose!

Haste! on each mountain’s darkening crest
The glow hath died, the shadows rest,
The twilight star on Deva’s breast
Gleams tremulously bright;
Speed for Myfanwy’s bower on high!
Though scorn may wound me from her eye,
Oh! better by the sun to die,
Than live in rayless night!