In our country's airs we hear.

Whispering leaves in every grove
Murmur low the songs we love,
Sings the sea 'neath roaring gales
Snatches of the songs of Wales,
And to Kymric ears they sound
Through creation all around.



Myfanwy.


Myfanwy! thy fair face is seen
In primrose and clover and rose,
In the sunshine, unsullied, serene,
And the starlight's untroubled repose.
When rises fair Venus on high,
And shines 'twixt the heaven and the sea,
She is loved by the earth and the sky,
But thou art, Myfanwy, far brighter, far fairer to me,
A thousand times fairer to me.

Would I were the breezes that blow
Through the gardens and walks of thy home,
To murmur my love as I go
And play with thy locks as I roam!
For changeful the breezes and bleak--
Now balmy, now chilly they blow--