  Men of Harlech! in the hollow, Do you hear, like rushing billow, Wave on wave that surging follow Battle’s distant sound? ’Tis the tramp of Saxon foemen, Saxon spearmen, Saxon bowmen,— Be they knights or hinds or yeomen, They shall bite the ground! Loose the folds asunder, Flag we conquer under! The placid sky, now bright on high, Shall launch its bolts in thunder. Onwards! ’tis our country needs us. He is bravest, he who leads us! Honor’s self now proudly heads us! Cambria, God, and Right! Rocky steeps and passes narrow Flash with spear and flight of arrow. Who would think of death or sorrow? Death is glory now! Hurl the reeling horsemen over! Let the earth dead foemen cover! Fate of friend, of wife, of lover, Trembles on a blow! Strands of life are riven; Blow for blow is given In deadly lock or battle shock, And mercy shrieks to Heaven! Men of Harlech! young or hoary, Would you win a name in story? Strike for home, for life, for glory! Cambria, God, and Right! —William Duthie. |
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