In the mountains of Cambria, by Rhymney's bright stream
I have oft slept in heather, and dreamed a bright Dream
No mortal could wake me, nor see what I've seen
No landscape could ever compare.
'Twas the Land of my Fathers, unfettered, and free
Ere the time that the Saxon swept over the Sea
When mistletoe grew 'neath the shining Oak Tree
No landscape could ever compare!
Dreaming of Prydein, asleep on a hill
When I awaken, will you be there still?
Oh, Island of Poets, my dreams you can fill
But never the long waking hours.
Mighty Poets and Warriors traversed every road
Leaving stories and legends wherever they strode
Their pasts are recalled in the humblest abode
In tales of the sunnier days.
Now my story is ended, my song is all gone
I have slept thru the evening, and into the dawn
Yet still, I remember your Face, Albion,
And your older, and much wiser ways!
This site has received 11875515 hits since Aug 4, 2000
The entire content of all public pages in The Pagan Library (graphics, text and HTML) are free information, released under the terms of the GPL. All copyrighted items mentioned are the property of their respective owners, and no form of ownership or endorsement is implied.
Last modified: June 12 2016 13:18:41