POE TRY.
THE VOICE VOICE OF THE GWRYD.
[It Is through the valley of the Gwryd (pronounced "Gooryd ") that the new Snowdouiau Railway is to run.] , O FOR the voice of the Gwryd, Rippling over the stones, In the long gray upland valley Bare to the very bones;
Where only the sound of the water, Or the sedges lightly stirred By the wandering breath of the mountain, At eventide is heard; When the long slopes are flushed faintly With amethyst and rose, And far Eryri spectral A duskier purple shows, Till out of her ample bosom The ghostly shadows creep, And the cloud drops down Siabod, And the valley is locked in sleep: Then the voice of the little Gwryd, Singing along its way, Is more to me than all music, Or poet's roundelay; For it sings of the Earth, the Mother, A song that is never old, Of peace and a great contentment, And things that cannot be told.
C. C. BELL.
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