The ash grove, how graceful, how plainly ‘tis speaking, the harp through it playing has language for me.

Whenever the light through its branches is breaking, a host of kind faces is gazing on me.

The friends of my childhood again are before me, each step wakes a mem’ry as freely I roam;

With soft whispers laden, its leaves rustle o’er me; the ash grove, the ash grove alone is my home. 

(Words from“The Ash Grove—Llwyn On” Welsh folk song) 

On mahl-os llween on gint, veh drig-I pen-dev-ig, ev-eh oith us-gwi-ahr ok ah-gloo’ith uh wlad; Ok eeth-o een en-eth uh an-oid un een-ig, uh he-nol eer hon-es oith ire-es I thod. Eith car-yod you gwail-ed, un lan uh feer lenk-en, ond cod-ire us gwi-ahr un ov-ahr ok airch, ee saith-eer bach gen-en, ond gweer-oth I lin-in, I air-ged un oor-gam ee vun-wes I vairch.