Go and dig a grave for me,
   ’Neath some green and shady tree,
Where the kindly breeze will make
   Mournful music over me. 
   Oh how pleasant ’twill be there
   For the weak, lone wanderer!

Go and dig a grave for me,
   For my journey’s nearly o’er;
Of life’s sweets I’ve freely drunk,
   Of its wormwood even more. 
   Now to earth farewell I cry—­
   Weak and faint, I long to die.

Go and dig a grave for me
   All life’s pleasures now are past;
Memories of the joys that were
   Darker shadows round me cast. 
   Through death’s portals I will fly
   Far to peaceful worlds on high.

Go and dig a grave for me,
   Though my dwelling will be dark;
Needs not for this mortal frame
   Stone or sign its place to mark. 
   There ’twill rest till stars shall fall
   At the last great trumpet call.

Go and dig a grave for me,
   Broken is my life’s frail thread;
Hasten, dig for me a grave,
   Draweth near the stranger dread. 
   Low, ay low my head be bent,
   Till the heavens in twain are rent.

Go and dig a grave for me,
   I can stay no longer here,
Fare you well—­my weak heart faints
   ’Neath the dark king’s fatal spear. 
   I am ready for the grave—­
   Christ receive me, help and save!

CEIRIOG.

John Ceiriog Hughes was born September 25, 1832.  He was for many years clerk in the Goods Station, London Road, Manchester, and was afterwards stationmaster on the Cambrian Line at Llanidloes, Towyn and Caersws successively.  He died at Caersws April 23rd, 1887.  He published during his lifetime ‘Oriau’r Hwyr,’ 1860; ‘Oriau’r Bore,’ 1862; ’Cant o Ganeuon,’ 1863; ‘Y Bardd a’r Cerddor,’ 1863; ‘Oriau Ereill,’ 1868; and ‘Oriau’r Haf,’ 1870.  These are now published by Messrs. Hughes and Son, Wrexham, and ought to be in the possession of every Welshman, and of everyone desirous of learning Welsh.  A posthumous volume was published in 1888, ‘Oriau Olaf’ (Isaac Foulkes, Liverpool).

Songs of Wales.

Songs of Wales live in our ears
Through the swiftly passing years;
Moaning stormwinds as they blow
Murmur songs of long ago;
Voices of our dead ones dear
In our country’s airs we hear.

Whispering leaves in every grove
Murmur low the songs we love,
Sings the sea ’neath roaring gales
Snatches of the songs of Wales,
And to Kymric ears they sound
Through creation all around.

Myfanwy.

Myfanwy! thy fair face is seen
   In primrose and clover and rose,
In the sunshine, unsullied, serene,
   And the starlight’s untroubled repose. 
When rises fair Venus on high,
   And shines ’twixt the heaven and the sea,
She is loved by the earth and the sky,
But thou art, Myfanwy, far brighter, far fairer to me,
   A thousand times fairer to me.