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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. |
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| Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau 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.
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Jerusalem
And did those feet in ancient time,
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the Holy Lamb of God,
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon those clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among those dark Satanic mills ?
Bring me my bow of burning gold,
Bring me my arrows of desire,
Bring me my spear ! 0 clouds, unfold,
Bring me my Chariot of Fire,
I will not cease from mental fight;
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In England's green and pleasant land.
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Molly Malone
In Dublin's fair city,
Where the girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,
As she wheel'd her wheel barrow,
Thro' streets broad and narrow.
Crying Cockles and Mussels Alive, alive O!
(Chorus)
Alive, alive O! Alive, alive O,
Crying Cockles and Mussels Alive, alive O!
She was a fishmonger,
But sure 'twas no wonder,
For so were her father and mother before,
And they each wheel'd their barrow,
Thro' streets broad and narrow,
Crying Cockles and Mussels Alive, alive O!
(Repeat Chorus)
She died of a fever,
And no one could save her,
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone,
But her ghost wheels her barrow,
Thro' streets broad and narrow,
Crying Cockles and Mussels Alive, alive O!
(Repeat Chorus)
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