Would I were the breezes that blow
   Through the gardens and walks of thy home,
To murmur my love as I go
   And play with thy locks as I roam! 
For changeful the breezes and bleak—­
   Now balmy, now chilly they blow—­
Yet they, love, are kissing thy cheek,
O heart of my heart, not changeful my love towards thee—­
   Eternal my love towards thee!

Liberty.

See, see where royal Snowdon rears
Her hoary head above her peers
   To cry that Wales is free! 
O hills which guard our liberties,
With outstretched arms to where you rise
In all your pride, I turn my eyes
   And echo, “Wales is free!”
O’er Giant Idris’ lofty seat,
O’er Berwyn and Plynlimon great
And hills which round them lower meet,
   Blow winds of liberty. 
And like the breezes high and strong,
Which through the cloudwrack sweep along
Each dweller in this land of song
   Is free, is free, is free!

Never, O Freedom, let sweet sleep
Over that wretch’s eyelids creep
   Who bears with wrong and shame. 
Make him to feel thy spirit high,
And like a hero do or die,
And smite the arm of tyranny,
   And lay its haunts aflame. 
Rather than peace which makes thee slave,
Rise, Europe, rise, and draw thy glaive,
Lay foul oppression in its grave,
   No more the light to see. 
Then heavenward turn thy grateful gaze
And like the rolling thunder raise
Thy triumph song of joy and praise
   To God—­that thou art free!

Climb the hillside.

Climb the hillside in the morning—­
   When the radiant dawn is seen
Blushing shyly on the mountains
   Like a maiden of thirteen. 
      “Quench the lamps of right,
      Fill the earth with light
         Wander o’er the lofty hills,
      Fringe each brightening fold
      Of the clouds with gold,”
         This the hest shy dawn fulfils.

Climb the hillside in the evening
   When the sun is sinking low—­
You shall see day’s radiant monarch
   Falling bloodstained ’neath the foe. 
      Dark and darker yet
      Grow day’s cerements wet,
         Creeps a haze across the main,
      Mounts the moon on high,
      Eve climbs up the sky,
         Lamps of God to light again.

Change and permanence.

Still the mountains with us stay,
   Still the winds across them roar,
Still is heard at dawn of day
   Song of shepherd as of yore. 
Still the countless daisies grow
   On the hills, beneath the rocks,
But new swains, strange shepherds now
   On our mountains feed their flocks.

Cymru’s customs day by day
   Change with changing fortune’s wheel,
Friends of youth have passed away,
   Strangers now their places fill;
After many a stormy day
   Alun Mabon’s dead and gone,
But the old tongue still holds sway,
   And the dear old airs live on.