There is legends, and traditions told, and narratives, and tales,
Of wealth in mountain crannies, caves, and cells of ancient Wales.
The dens of dwarves and fairies, sprites and goblins, imps and elves,
Where they, like misers, look you, kept their treasures to themselves.
A cockatrice, a griffin, or a wivern watched the hoard,
In the coffers of the crystal rocks, and stone-strong chambers stored,
Breathed fire and flames, and ramped and raved in form to tear and rend,
And scratch and bite, and sting with tail, barbed arrow-like on end.
The lions and the eagles and the snakes together linked,
The cockatrices, wiverns, and their tribes is all extinct.