Think'st thou, because the song hath ceased,
The soul of song is flown?

Think'st thou it woke to crown the feast,

It lived beside the ruddy hearth alone?

No! by our wrongs, and by our blood,
We leave it pure and free;

Though hush'd awhile, that sounding flood
Shall roll in joy through ages yet to be.

We leave it 'midst our country's woe-
The birthright of her breast;

We leave it as we leave the snow

Bright and eternal on Eryri's' crest.

We leave it with our fame to dwell
Upon our children's breath:

Our voice in theirs through time shall swell-
The bard hath gifts of prophecy from death.

He dies; but yet the mountains stand,
Yet sweeps the torrent's tide;

And this is yet Aneurin's2 land

Winds! bear the spoiler one more tone of pride!

1

1 Eryri, Welsh name for the Snowdon mountains.
'Aneurin, one of the noblest of the Welsh bards.

THE FAIR ISLE.'

(FOR THE MELODY CALLED THE "WELSH GROUND.")

SONS of the Fair Isle! forget not the time,

Ere spoilers had breathed the free air of your clime: All that its eagles behold in their flight

Was yours, from the deep to each storm-mantled height.

Though from your race that proud birthright be torn, Unquench'd is the spirit for monarchy born.

CHORUS.

Darkly though clouds may hang o'er us awhile, The crown shall not pass from the beautiful Isle.

Ages may roll ere your children regain
The land for which heroes have perish'd in vain;
Yet, in the sound of your names shall be power,
Around her still gathering in glory's full hour.
Strong in the fame of the mighty that sleep,
Your Britain shall sit on the throne of the deep.

CHORUS.

Then shall their spirits rejoice in her smile,

Who died for the crown of the Beautiful Isle.

1

Ynys Prydain was the ancient Welsh name of Britain, and signifies fair or beautiful isle.

THE ROCK OF CADER IDRIS.

It is an old tradition of the Welsh bards, that on the summit of the mountain Cader Idris, is an excavation resembling a couch; and that whoever should pass a night in that hollow, would be found in the morning either dead, in a state of frenzy, or endowed with the highest poetical inspiration.

I LAY on that rock where the storms have their dwelling,

The birthplace of phantoms, the home of the cloud; Around it for ever deep music is swelling,

The voice of the mountain-wind, solemn and loud. 'Twas a midnight of shadows all fitfully streaming, Of wild waves and breezes, that mingled their

moan;

Of dim shrouded stars, as from gulfs faintly gleaming; And I met the dread gloom of its grandeur alone.

I lay there in silence- a spirit came o'er me;

Man's tongue hath no language to speak what I saw: Things glorious, unearthly, pass'd floating before me, And my heart almost fainted with rapture and awe. I view'd the dread beings, around us that hover, Though veil'd by the mists of mortality's breath; And I call'd upon darkness the vision to cover,

For a strife was within me of madness and death.

I saw them—the powers of the wind and the ocean, The rush of whose pinion bears onward the storms; Like the sweep of the white-rolling wave was their motion,

I felt their dim presence, but knew not their forms!

I saw them the mighty of ages departed—

The dead were around me that night on the hill: From their eyes, as they pass'd, a cold radiance they darted,

There was light on my soul, but my heart's blood was chill.

I saw what man looks on, and dies-but my spirit Was strong, and triumphantly lived through that

hour;

And, as from the grave, I awoke to inherit

A flame all immortal, a voice, and a power! Day burst on that rock with the purple cloud crested, And high Cader Idris rejoiced in the sun;But O! what new glory all nature invested, When the sense which gives soul to her beauty

was won!

HYMNS FOR CHILDHOOD.

(263)