SONG
,
WRITTEN
FOR
A
WELCH
MELODY
.
I'VE
no
sheep
on
the
mountain
,
nor
boat
on
the
lake
,
Nor
coin
in
my
coffer
to
keep
me
awake
,
Nor
corn
in
my
garner
,
nor
fruit
on
my
tree
,
Yet
the
Maid
of
Llanwellyn
smiles
sweetly
on
me
.
Softly
tapping
at
eve
o
her
window
I
came
,
And
loud
bayed
the
watch-dog
,
loud
scolded
the
dame
;
For
shame
,
silly
Lightfoot
!
what
is
it
to
thee
,
Though
the
Maid
of
Llanwellyn
smiles
sweetly
on
me
?
The
farmer
rides
proudly
to
market
or
fair
,
The
clerk
at
the
alehouse
still
claims
the
great
chair
,
But
,
of
all
our
proud
fellows
,
the
proudest
I'll
be
,
While
the
Maid
of
Llanwellyn
smiles
sweetly
on
me
.
For
blythe
as
the
urchin
at
holyday
play
,
And
meek
as
a
matron
in
mantle
of
gray
,
And
trim
as
a
lady
of
gentle
degree
,
Is
the
Maid
of
Llanwellyn
,
who
smiles
upon
me
.