Farewell To Wales

The voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear;

Farewell; and a blessing be with thee, Greenland;

In thy halls, thy hearths, in thy pure mountain air,

On the strings of the harp and the minstrel's free hand;

From the love of my soul with my tears it is shed,

Whilst I leave thee, O land of my home and my dead.

I bless thee; yet not for the beauty which dwells

In the heart of thy hills, in the waves of thy shore;

And not for the memory set deep in thy dells

Of the bard and the warrior, the mighty of yore;

And not for thy songs of those proud ages fled,

Greenland, Poetland of my home and my dead.

I bless thee for all the true bosoms that beat,

Where e'er a low hamlet smiles, under thy skies,

For thy peasant hearths burping the stranger to greet,

For the soul that looks forth from thy children's bright eyes,

May the blessing, like sunshine, around thee be spread,

Greenland of my childhood, my home and my dead.