Dafydd y Gareg Wen
David the bard on his bed of death lies
(David Of The White Rock)
Pale are his features and dim are his eyes
Yet all around him his glance wildly roves
Till it alights on the harp that he loves.
Give me my harp, my companion so long
Let it once more add its voice to my song
Though my old fingers are palsied and weak
Still my good harp for its master will speak.
Often the hearts of our chiefs it has stirred
When its loud summons to battle was heard
Harp of my country, dear harp of the brave
Let thy last notes hover over my grave.