Her children grew up, and her husband grew grey; She sate on the bench through the long summer day: One evening, when twilight was deep on the shore, There came an old soldier, and stood by the door. In English he spoke, and none knew what he said, But her oatcake and milk on the table she spread; Then he sate to his supper, and blithely he sung, And she knew the dear sounds of her own native tongue: "O rich are the feasts in the Englishman's hall, And the wine sparkles bright in the goblets of Gaul: But their mingled attractions I well could withstand, For the milk and the oatcake of Meirion's dear land." "And art thou a Welchman, old soldier?" she cried. "Many years have I wandered," the stranger replied: "'Twixt Danube and Thames many rivers there be, But the bright waves of Cynfael are fairest to me. "I felled the grey oak, ere I hastened to roam, And I fashioned a bench for the door of my home; And well my dear sister my labour repaid, Who gave me three kisses when first it was made. "In the old English soldier thy brother appears: Here is gold in abundance, the saving of years: Give me oatcake and milk in return for my store, And a seat by thy side on the bench at the door." Various other songs succeeded, which, as we are not composing a song book, we shall lay aside for the present. An old squire, who had not missed one of these anniversaries, during more than half a century, now stood up, and filling a half-pint bumper, pronounced, with a stentorian voice--"To the immortal memory of Headlong Ap-Rhaiader, and to the health of his noble descendant and worthy representative!" This example was followed by all the gentlemen present. The harp struck up a triumphal strain; and, the old squire already mentioned, vociferating the first stave, they sang, or rather roared, the following CHORUS Hail to the Headlong! the Headlong Ap-Headlong! All hail to the Headlong, the Headlong Ap-Headlong! The Headlong Ap-Headlong Ap-Breakneck Ap-Headlong Ap-Cataract Ap-Pistyll Ap-Rhaiader Ap-Headlong! The bright bowl we steep in the name of the Headlong: Let the youths pledge it deep to the Headlong Ap-Headlong, And the rosy-lipped lasses Touch the brim as it passes, And kiss the red tide for the Headlong Ap-Headlong! The loud harp resounds in the hall of the Headlong: The light step rebounds in the hall of the Headlong: Where shall music invite us, Or beauty delight us, If not in the hall of the Headlong Ap-Headlong?