But we who in that peaceful victory Our faith, our hope repose, With grateful hearts, Llewelyn, think of thee Who fought’st our country’s foes; Whose generous hand was open to reward The dauntless patriot bard, Who loved’st the arts of peace, yet knew’st through life Only incessant strife; Who ne’er like old Iorwerth’s happier son, Didst rest from battles won, But strovest for us still, and not in vain; Since from that ancient pain, After six centuries, Wales of thy love Feels through her veins new patriot currents move, And from thy ashes, like the Phœnix springs Skyward on soaring wings, And fronts, grown stronger for the days that were, Whatever Fortune, ’neath God’s infinite air, Fate and the Years prepare! _Sir Lewis Morris._ JONES CXXV RHUDDLAN MARSH Arvon’s heights hide the bright sun from our gazing, Night’s dark pall enshrouds all in its embracing; Still as death--not a breath mars the deep silence, On mine ear waves roll near with soft hush’d cadence. O the start of my heart’s quick palpitating, Anger’s thrill doth me fill when meditating On the day when the fray crushed the brave Cambrian, When, through guile, pile on pile heaped Morfa Rhuddlan! See, at once Britain’s sons’ bosoms are swelling, Each face hot with fierce thought from each heart welling; Strong arms bare through the air fierce blows are dealing, Till the foes with the blows serried are reeling! Through the day Britons pray in their great anguish,-- ‘Thou, on high, hear our cry--help us to vanquish! Hedge around the dear ground of our lov’d Britain, Speed our host, or we’re lost on Morfa Rhuddlan!’ Like a dart through my heart anguish is flowing, Hark, how loud, fierce, and proud is the foes’ crowing! But, O host, do not boast as of aught glorious, ’Twas thy swarms, not thine arms, made thee victorious! See, yon scores at their doors watching in terrors, Full of care for the fare of their lov’d warriors! Up the rocks quickly flock sire, child, and woman,-- Each heart bleeds for the deeds on Morfa Rhuddlan. _Richard Bellis Jones._ JONES CXXVI 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!