Part 7 (1/2)

There towering Snowdon, first in height, Or Cader Idris, dreary sight, And lonely Clwyd? Oh! how bright, My Father-land!

Oh! how I love thee, though I mourn That cold neglect should on thee turn, Thy name to brand; And oft the scalding tear will start Raining its dew-drops from the heart, To think how far we are apart, My Father-land.

And when my days are almost done, And, faltering on, I've nearly run Life's dreary sand; Still, still my fainting breath shall be Bestowed upon thy memory, My soul shall wing its way to thee, My Father-land!

MY NATIVE LAND.

BY THE REV. D. EVANS, B.D.

TRANSLATED BY MISS LYDIA JONES.

My soul is sad, my spirit fails, And sickness in my heart prevails, Whilst chill'd with grief, it mourns and wails For my old Native Land.

Gold and wine have power to please, And Summer's pure and gentle breeze,-- But ye are dearer far than these, Hills of my Native Land.

Lovely to see the sun arise, Breaking forth from eastern skies; But oh! far lovelier in my eyes Would be my Native Land.

As pants the hart for valley dew, As bleats the lambkin for the ewe, Thus I lament and long to view My ancient Native Land.

What, what are delicacies, say, And large possessions, what are they?

What the wide world and all its sway Out of my Native Land?

O should I king of India be, Might Europe to me bend the knee, Such honours should be nought to me Far from my Native Land.

In what delightful country strays Each gentle friend of youthful days?

Where dwelleth all I love or praise?

O! in my Native Land.

Where are the fields and gardens fair Where once I sported free as air, Without despondency or care?

O! in my Native Land.

Where is each path and still retreat Where I with song held converse sweet With true poetic fire replete?

O! in my Native Land.

Where do the merry maidens move, Who purely live and truly love-- Whose words do not deceitful prove?

O! in my Native Land.

And where on earth that friendly place, Where each presents a brother's face, Where frowns or anger ne'er debase!

O! 'tis my Native Land.

And O! where dwells that dearest one My first affections fix'd upon, Dying with grief that I am gone?

O! in my Native Land.

Where do they food to strangers give?

Where kindly, liberally relieve?

Where unsophisticated live?

O! in my Native Land.