croesy2002
|
Mar-1-2007 01:38
Happy St Davids Day all!
*Croesy hands out Welshcakes and Bara Brith to all*
*Croesy clears her throat and sits at the piano*
Mae hen wlad fy nhadau yn annwyl i mi,
Gwlad beirdd a chantorion, enwogion o fri;
Ei gwrol ryfelwyr, gwladgarwyr tra mâd,
Tros ryddid gollasant eu gwaed.
Cytgan
Gwlad, Gwlad, pleidiol wyf i'm gwlad.
Tra môr yn fur i'r bur hoff bau,
O bydded i'r hen iaith barhau.
Hen Gymru fynyddig, paradwys y bardd,
Pob dyffryn, pob clogwyn i'm golwg sydd hardd;
Trwy deimlad gwladgarol, mor swynol yw si
Ei nentydd, afonydd i mi.
Os treisiodd y gelyn fy ngwald tan ei droed,
Mae hen iaith y Cymry mor fyw ac erioed,
Ni luddiwyd yr awen gan erchyll law brad,
Na thelyn berseiniol fy ngwlad.
English version (for those who are interested):
The Land Of My Fathers
The land of my fathers, the land of my choice,
The land in which poets and minstrels rejoice;
The land whose stern warriors were true to the core,
While bleeding for freedom of yore.
Chorus
Wales! Wales! fav'rite land of Wales!
While sea her wall, may naught befall
To mar the old language of Wales.
Old mountainous Cambria, the Eden of bards,
Each hill and each valley, excite my regards;
To the ears of her patriots how charming still seems
The music that flows in her streams.
My country tho' crushed by a hostile array,
The language of Cambria lives out to this day;
The muse has eluded the traitors' foul knives,
The harp of my country survives.
|
Fiddler's Green
|
Mar-1-2007 14:19
What Ho!
In order to celebrate, I burned down an English Holiday cottage on the outskirts of Conway. There were fireworks too!
(pins a daffodil to his lapel and goes off to watch "Zulu" again)
Men of Harlech stop your dreaming
Can't you see their spear points gleaming
See their warrior's pennants streaming
To this battle field
Men of Harlech stand ye steady
It cannot be ever said ye
For the battle were not ready
Welshman never yield
From the hills rebounding
Let this war cry sounding
Summon all at Cambria's call
The mighty force surrounding
Men of Harlech unto glory
This shall ever be your story
Keep these burning words before ye
Welshmen will not yield
|
