Mountain and lonely dell,
Dingle and rock and fell,
   Echo with wailing;
E’en Snowdon’s slopes on high
Ring with the bitter cry,
   All unavailing! 
Cymru’s great heart is now
Bleeding with bitter woe—­
Woe for her children dead,
Woe for her glory fled,
   And fallen nation;
On great Caradog’s hall
Anguish and terror fall,
   Loud lamentation;
“Weep for our warrior slain,
Ne’er shall we see again,
   Our mighty captain.” 
Rises the harpist old,
Calls for his harp of gold,
Sweeps through its mournful strings,
And loud the music rings,
   The dirge of Rhuddlan.

The Shepherd of Cwmdyli.

Cloke of mist hath passed away,
   Sweetheart mine,
Which has veiled the heights all day,
   Sweetheart mine,
See, the sun shines clear and bright,
Gilding all the hills with light,
To the arbour let us go,
   Closely clinging, sweetheart mine.

Listen! from the rocks on high,
   Sweetheart mine,
Echo mocks the cuckoo’s cry,
   Sweetheart mine,
From each hillock low the steers,
Bleat of lambs falls on our ears,
In the bushes, sweet and low,
   Birds are singing, sweetheart mine.

But Cwmdyli soon will be,
   Sweetheart mine,
Lone and drear, bereft of thee,
   Sweetheart mine,
I shall hear thy voice no more,
Never see thee cross the moor,
With thy pail at morn or eve
   Tripping gaily, sweetheart mine.

’Mid the city’s din be true,
   Sweetheart mine. 
When new lovers come to woo,
   Sweetheart mine,
Oh, remember one who’ll be,
Ever filled with thoughts of thee. 
In Cwmdyli lone I’ll grieve
   For thee daily, sweetheart mine.

Why should we Weep?

Why should we weep for those we love,
   Who in the faith of Christ have died? 
Set free from bonds of sin and pain,
   They are living still—­the other side.

From wave to wave they once were tossed
   On this world’s sea, by storm and tide: 
Within the haven calm and still
   They are resting now—­the other side.

When gloomy Jordan roared and swelled,
   The great High Priest was there to guide,
And safe above the stormy waves
   He bore them—­to the other side.

What though their bodies in the earth
   We laid to wait the Judgment-tide? 
Themselves are fled—­they are not there
   But living still—­the other side.

The winds that murmur o’er their graves,
   To us who still on earth abide,
Bring echoes faint of that sweet song
   They ever sing—­the other side.

What though in spite of rain and dew
   The lilies on their grave have died? 
The palms they bear can never fade
   Nor wither—­on the other side.

May we not dream they feel with us
   When we by various ills are tried,
That when we triumph over sin,
   They triumph too—­the other side?