Sons of Cambria!—come, arise,
And no longer be
SERFs enslaved, whom all despise
Who have known of me;
Will ye longer wear your chains?—
Still disgrace your native plains?
Will ye always bow so meek,
To th’ imperious nod
Of a haughty race who seek
To rule you by the rod?—
Say—shall ignorance and pride
Still the sons of Wallia guide?
Long, too long, have knaves and fools
Lived in pomp and state—
Making you—their easy tools,
On their pleasure wait;—
For their luxuries provide,
Whilst they wallow in their pride.
Loudly boast their minions still—
Ye’ll, like brutes, be led;—
As before, to them ye will
Give your children’s bread:
Cast the slander back again—
Shew the slaves that ye are men.
Shall the stupid, haughty crew
Still enjoy your gains?
Fresh demands shall they pursue?
Faster bind your chains?
Burst your shackles—and be free—
Sons of Cambria!—follow me!
See, around a thousand hills,
How my sons unite;
Like your purest mountain rills,
Forming for the fight;
Soon a torrent they’ll display,
Which shall sweep all mounds away;—
Mounds, which long the freeborn mind
Compass’d like a wall;
And in thraldom held mankind,
Body—soul, and all!—
Join my ranks, and every mound
Shall be levelled with the ground.
Justice, truth and equal laws,
Claim we as our right!
Welshmen!—join the glorious cause—
Arm ye for the fight!
Murd’rous arms ye need not find—
We bring—INTELLIGENCE AND MIND!
Leave to despots arms of steel
Such the arms they wield;
(Madmen!—will they never feel?)
Bring ye to the field
Hearts determined to be free
And glorious then the victory!
Carmarthen, April 10, 1839.