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WELSH MELODIES.
Though from their stormy haunts of yore,
Thine eagles long have flown,*[1]
As proud a flight the soul shall soar,
Yet, from thy mountain-throne!
Pierce then the heavens, thou hill of streams!
And make the snows thy crest!
The sunlight of immortal dreams
Around thee still shall rest.
Eryri! temple of the bard!
And fortress of the free!
'Midst rocks which heroes died to guard,
Their spirit dwells with thee!
- ↑
*It is believed, amongst the inhabitants of these mountains, that eagles have heretofore bred in the lofty clefts of their rocks. Some wandering ones are still seen at times, though very rarely, amongst the precipices.—See the same Work.
