>>2312171March ye men of Harlech bold,
Unfurl your banners in the field,
Be brave as were your sires of old,
And like them never yield!
What tho' evry hill and dale,
Echoes now with war's alarms,
Celtic hearts can never quail,
When Cambria calls to arms.
By each lofty mountain,
By each crystal fountain,
By your homes where those you love
Await your glad returning,
Let each thought and action prove,
True glory can the Cymru move,
And as each blade gleams in the light,
Pray "God defend the right!"
Clans from Mona wending,
Now with Arvon blending,
Haste with rapid strides along
The path that leads to glory,
From Snowdon's hills with harp and song,
And Nantlle's vale proceeds a throng,
Whose ranks with yours shall proudly vie,
"And nobly win or die!"
March ye men of Harlech go,
Lov'd fatherland your duty claims,
Onward comes the Saxon foe,
His footsteps mark'd in flames;
But his march breeds no dismay,
Boasting taunts we meet with scorn,
Craven like their hosts shall flee
Like mists before the morn.
On the foemen dashing,
Swords and bucklers clashing;
Smite with will their savage band
Nor think of e'er retreating:
But with a firm unflinching hand,
In blood quench ev'ry burning brand,
And for each roof tree cast away
A Saxon life shall pay.
Thus each bosom nerving,
From no danger swerving,
Soon shall the invader feel The doom of fate rewarding; They firmly grasp the flashing steel, And as ye strike for Cymru's weal,
Be this your cry, till life's last breath –
"Our Liberty or Death!"
