ngs of long ago;
Voices of our dead ones dear
In our country's airs we hear.

Whispering leaves in every grove
Murmur low the songs we love,
Sings the sea 'neath roaring gales
Snatches of the songs of Wales,
And to Kymric ears they sound
Through creation all around.

Myfanwy.

Myfanwy! thy fair face is seen
In primrose and clover and rose,
In the sunshine, unsullied, serene,
And the starlight's untroubled repose.
When rises fair Venus on high,
And shines 'twixt the heaven and the sea,
She is 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 eveni