[in defence of surrealism] - photos

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Rhys Lloyd... Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau. The Land Of My Fathers

        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 mad, Tros ryddid collasant eu gwaed.

Cytgan Gwlad, gwlad, pleidiol wyf i'm gwlad, Tra môr yn fur I'r bur hoffbau, O bydded i'r heniaith 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. Cytgan

Os treisiodd y gelyn fy ngwlad dan ei droed, Mae hen iaith y Gymry mor fyw ag erioed, Ni luddiwyd yr awen gan erchyll law brad, Na thelyn berseiniol fy ngwlad. Cytgan.

English Translation:

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.