WELSH NATIONAL SONGS.

Hokitika Guardian, 8 April 1920, Page 3

WELSH NATIONAL SONGS.

IllE LAND OF MY FATHERS.”

The author... of the words was Evan James and the music was written by his son James James, a harpist. It was first published in 1860 in English. It is now and lias been for some time recognised generally as the Welsh National Anthem-. The Land of my Fathers, the land of my choice, The Land in which minstrels and poets rejoice; ’Fhe land whose stern warriors were true to the core, While fighting for freedom of yore. Wales, Wales, My Mother’s sweet home is in Wales; Till death bo passed my love shall laot, My longing my yearning for Wales. Ob! Land of my Fathers, the land of the free, The home of the harp so soothing to

mo; Thy noble defenders were gallant and brave, For freedom their heart’s life they gave. Wales, Wales, My Mothers’s sweet home is in Wales, Till death be passed my love shall last. My longing, my yearning for Wales.

MARCH OF THE MEN OF HARLECH. Among the Weisli marches none excels in popularity this stirring song. It is stated traditionally that the song took its rise from the siege, of Harlech Castle in 1468 in the reign of Edward IV, when David ap Einion, a friend of the House of Lancaster, resisted an army of the King. Dauntless sons of Celtic sires, Whose souls the love of freedom fires; Hark! cv’ry harp to war inspires. On bold Snowdonia’s side! Shall heart-rending sounds of woo Be heard where Conway’s waters flow? Or shall a rude, and ruthless foe A willing slave here find? From the liill and valley. From the mountain hoary. From Plinlimon’s haughty brow, Around your Prince ye rally! Harlech ! from the frowning tow’rs Pour forth thy never failing pow’rs, Bouse heroes! Glory shall bo yours; March on, your Country’s pride!

Now to battle they are going, Every heart with courage flowing, Pride and passion overflowing, [n the furious strife I Lo! the din of war enrages, Vengeance crowns the hate of ages, Sternly foe with foe engages, Feeding Death with Life! With their lances flashing, Warriors wild are crashing, Through the tyrants’ serried ranks, Whilst onward they are dashing: Now the enemy is flying ’Trampling on the dead and dying; Victory aloft is crying; Cambria wins the field!