Welsh Lyrics of the Nineteenth Century | Page 7

loved by the earth and the sky,?But thou art, Myfanwy, far brighter, far fairer to me,
A thousand times fairer to me.
Would I were the breezes that blow
Through the gardens and walks of thy home,?To murmur my love as I go
And play with thy locks as I roam!?For changeful the breezes and bleak--
Now balmy, now chilly they blow--?Yet they, love, are kissing thy cheek,?O heart of my heart, not changeful my love towards thee--
Eternal my love towards thee!
Liberty.
See, see where royal Snowdon rears?Her hoary head above her peers
To cry that Wales is free!?O hills which guard our liberties,?With outstretched arms to where you rise?In all your pride, I turn my eyes
And echo, "Wales is free!"?O'er Giant Idris' lofty seat,?O'er Berwyn and Plynlimon great?And hills which round them lower meet,
Blow winds of liberty.?And like the breezes high and strong,?Which through the cloudwrack sweep along?Each dweller in this land of song
Is free, is free, is free!
Never, O Freedom, let sweet sleep?Over that wretch's eyelids creep
Who bears with wrong and shame.?Make him to feel thy spirit high,?And like a hero do or die,?And smite the arm of tyranny,
And lay its haunts aflame.?Rather than peace which makes thee slave,?Rise, Europe, rise, and draw thy glaive,?Lay foul oppression in its grave,
No more the light to see.?Then heavenward turn thy grateful gaze?And like the rolling thunder raise?Thy triumph song of joy and praise
To God--that thou art free!
Climb the hillside.
Climb the hillside in the morning--
When the radiant dawn is seen?Blushing shyly on the mountains
Like a maiden of thirteen.
"Quench the lamps of right,?Fill the earth with light
Wander o'er the lofty hills,?Fringe each brightening fold?Of the clouds with gold,"
This the hest shy dawn fulfils.
Climb the hillside in the evening
When the sun is sinking low--?You shall see day's radiant monarch
Falling bloodstained 'neath the foe.
Dark and darker yet?Grow day's cerements wet,
Creeps a haze across the main,?Mounts the moon on high,?Eve climbs up the sky,
Lamps of God to light again.
Change and permanence.
Still the mountains with us stay,
Still the winds across them roar,?Still is heard at dawn of day
Song of shepherd as of yore.?Still the countless daisies grow
On the hills, beneath the rocks,?But new swains, strange shepherds now
On our mountains feed their flocks.
Cymru's customs day by day
Change with changing fortune's wheel,?Friends of youth have passed away,
Strangers now their places fill;?After many a stormy day
Alun Mabon's dead and gone,?But the old tongue still holds sway,
And the dear old airs live on.
Homewards
From day to day, the golden sun
His chariot ne'er restraineth,?From night to night the pale white moon
Now waxeth and now waneth,?From hour to hour the bright stars turn
In distances unending,?And all the mighty works of God,
Are ever homeward tending.
The tiny streamlet on the hill
Its wandering way pursueth,?The mighty river far below
Adown the valley floweth,?The winds roam ever in the sky,
The clouds are onward driving,?And towards some quiet shore--at home
The raging sea is striving.
Daybreak.
Yonder on fair Snowdon's height,
Ere breaks the light,?Stars that through the darkness swim?Are sinking in the distance dim.
See! the day its spears hath hurled
From the Eastern world;?And each shaft is flaming red?As though the night had dying bled.
Matin song of skylark gay
Proclaims the day;?Fled the dragons of the dark?And quenched the firefly's glimmering spark.
White its head now Snowdon rears,
The sun appears!?Day and brightness, lo, he brings?To pauper's cot and hall of kings.
The White Stone.
Though far from my poor, feeble hand,
My country's harp of gold,?Though far from that dear home I stand,
Where it was played of old,?My mother tongue hath yet a spell?And inward voice, which bids me tell?My tale in song that Wales loves well,
Whatever aliens hold.
A tiny streamlet wandering strayed
Beneath our garden wall,?Where one of my forefathers made
A mimic waterfall.?Above the spot the willows weep,?Where down its height the water poured,?And on the bank beside the deep
Fair apple trees keep ward.
Across the pool where fell the spate
A bridge of wood was thrown;?And marble-like, to bear its weight,
There stood a big white stone.?Here all my boyhood's hours sped by,?Here would I sit contentedly,?And on this stone as happy I
As king upon his throne!
Where'er in this wide world I be,
Where'er I yet may roam,?The great white stone I ever see,
And hear the stream at home.?And when to strangers I confess?That in my dreams I thither fly,?They pardon me, for all men bless
Each childish memory.
Far off, far off are childhood's days,
And starry as the sky,?Nor lives the man but loves to raise
His head with wistful eye?Towards the days that are no more:?And as I turn towards that shore,?For me one star burns evermore--
My childhood's dear white stone.
The Traitors of Wales.
You know the fate of Caractacus,?A name immortal for each of us,?Before whose face Rome's legions dread?For nine long years in terror fled.
How to Brigantum's town one day,?All unattended, he took his way,?And to the fair queen's palace came--?Cartismandua was her name.
Then cried the queen, "For many a year?To me and mine thou hast been dear:?Safe