Gwen Wynn

Hail to thee, Wye-famed river of Siluria! Well deserving fame, worthy of warmest salutation! From thy fountain-head on Plinlimmon's far slope, where thou leapest forth, gay as a girl on her skip-rope, through the rugged rocks of Brecon and Radnor, that like rude men would detain thee, snatching but a kiss for their pains-on, as woman grown, with statelier step, amid the wooded hills of Herefordshire, which treat thee with more courtly consideration-still on, and once more rudely assailed by the bold ramparts of Monmouth-through all thou makest way-in despite all, preserving thy purity! If defiled before espousing the ocean, the fault is not thine, but Sabrina's-sister born of thy birth, she too cradled on Plinlimmon's breast, but since childhood's days separated from thee, and straying through other shrines-perchance leading a less reputable life. No blame to thee, beautiful Vaga-from source to Severn pure as the spring that begets thee-fair to the eye, and full of interest to reflect on. Scarce a reach of thy channel, or curve of thy course, but is redolent of romance, and rich in the lore of history.