The land of my fathers is dear unto me,
Old land where the minstrels are honoured and free,
Its warring defenders so gallant and brave,
Fo freedom their life's blood they gave.
home, home, true am I to home,
While seas secure the land so pure,
O may the old language endure.
Old land of the mountains, the Eden of bards,
Each gorge and each valley a loveliness guards,
Through love of my country, charmed voices will be
Its streams, and its rivers, to me.
Though foemen have trampled my land 'neath their feet
The language of Cambria still knows no retreat,
The muse is not vanquished by traitor's fell hand,
Nor silenced the hard of my hand.
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