This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1893. Excerpt: ... Remote from towns that drown the sun's pale rays, With dull gray walls and fever-laden air; And murmuring throngs that beat along the ways, With thin pale faces gnawed by hungry care. Far from the marts where commerce counts her gold, And watches with keen eyes for fortune's tide; Where war displays her crimson colour bold, And fashion's trains sweep by in silken pride. A stranger he to poisoned pleasure's guiles, Her luring devious path that downward dips; Her ruby cups, her music, and her smiles, Her soft enchantments and deceiving lips. Among the hills a lowly, simple child, He lived, and loved their rugged, cold gray bens, Nursed on the glories of Glamorgan's wild, Stream-loving, ancient, story-haunted glens. From infancy among the meads he grew, His ears attuned to every low and bleat; Among the morning and the evening dew, Ere he could lisp he dipt his rosy feet. Light as a roe, and lithe, his steps he bent, Along the mountain sides among the rocks; In boyhood through the glebe the plough he sent, And drove the kine and watched the fleecy flocks. Like a wild flower he loved the summer sun, And tinged his blood with crimson feeding air; Pure as the rills which round the homestead run, And like a red-lipped rose bloomed fresh and fair. And much he loved the murmurs soft that came, From honey-seeking bees among the flowers; And silken wings with blue and gold aflame, That beat their music through the summer hours. The merry dancing blooms soon caught his eye, In garden, lane, in woodland, pasture, dell; He carried fadeless every tint and dye, That on his heart from sun-born splendours fell. Knew every wing that beat against the sky, Or nestled deep in green-embowered wood; Or sought the tarns that in the mountains lie, Or nourished 'neath the cottage e...