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Fill high the blue Hirlas!That shines like a wave,When sunbeams are bright,On the spray of the sea,And bear thou the richFoaming mead to the braveThe Dragons of Battle,The sons of the Free!To those from whose spears,In the shock of the flightA beam like Heav'n's lightning,Flash oe'er the field.To those who came rushing,As storms in their might,Who have shiver'd the helmet,And cloven the shield.The sound of whose strifeWas like oceans afar.When lances were redFrom the harvest of war!
Fill high the blue Hirlas!O, cupbearer fill!For the lords of the fieldIn their festival's hour,And let the mead foamLike the stream of the hill,That bursts o'er the rockIn the pride of its pow'rPraise, priase to the mightyFill high the smooth hornOf honor and mirth,For the conflict is o'er;And round let the golden tipp'dHirlas be borneTo the lion defendersOf Gwynnedd's fair shore,Who rush'd to the fieldWhere the glory was won,As eagles that soarFrom their cliffs to the sun!