Upon our children’s breath;
Our voice in theirs through time shall swell—
The bard hath gifts of prophecy from death.
He dies; but yet the mountains stand,
Yet sweeps the torrent’s tide;
And this is yet Aneurin’s[189] land—
Winds! bear the spoiler one more tone of pride!
[188] At the time of the supposed massacre of the Welsh bards by Edward the First.
[189] Aneurin, one of the noblest of the Welsh bards.