Welsh Lyrics of the Nineteenth Century Part 4

Go and Dig a Grave for me.

Go and dig a grave for me, This is but a world of woe: Vanish all the joys of life, Like the clouds which come and go: And the weary finds no rest Save within the grave's cold breast.

Go and dig a grave for me, Weary pilgrim here am I, Through life's dark and stormy ways Wandering with a mournful cry.

Nought to clasp to my poor breast Save the staff whereon I rest.

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 pa.s.sing 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 s.n.a.t.c.hes 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.

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 h.o.a.ry 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 G.o.d--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 G.o.d 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 pa.s.sed 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.

Homewards

From day to day, the golden sun His chariot ne'er restraineth, From night to night the pale white moon Now waxeth and now waneth, From hour to hour the bright stars turn In distances unending, And all the mighty works of G.o.d, Are ever homeward tending.