TO MISS K — — P — — , SETTING TO MUSIC, AND SINGING ENGLISH VERSES .

DONE INTO ENGLISH FROM THE WEISH ORIGINAL .

Degenerate maid, no longer ours!
Can Saxon ditties suit thy lyre?
Accents untun'd, that breathe no pow'rs
To melt the soul, or kindle martial fire?
It ill becomes thee to combine
Such hostile airs with notes divine,
In Cambrian shades, the Druids hallow'd bounds,
Whose infant voice has lisp'd the liquid Celtic sounds.

Revere thy Cambria's flowing tongue!
Though high born Hoel's lips are dumb,
Cadwallo's harp no more is strung,
And Silence sits on soft Lluellyn's tomb:
Yet songs of British bards remain,
That, wedded to thy vocal strain,
Would swell melodious on the mountain breeze,
And roll on Milford's wave to distant echoing seas. —
O sing thy sires in genuine strains!
When Rome's resistless arm prevail'd,
When Edward delug'd all my plains,
And all the music of my mountains fail'd;
When all her flames Rebellion spread,
Firmly they stood — O sing the dead!
The theme majestic to thy lyre belongs,
To Picton's lofty walls, and Cambrian virgins' songs.