Low sinks the sun to rest
Over the lofty crest
Of dim Eryri;
Now over moor and dale
Night spreads her darkening veil,
While from the rustling trees
Softly the evening breeze
Dieth and fleeteth;
Fainter upon mine ear
Falls from the ocean near,
Its murmur weary;
Only within my breast,
Tossing in strange unrest,
Loud my heart beateth;
Beateth with rage and pain,
Beateth as once again
I muse and ponder
On that accursed hour,
When 'neath the Saxon power,
Welshmen who freedom sought,
Fell as they bravely fought,
On Rhuddlan yonder.