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The Hall of Cynddylan is voiceless and still, The sound of its harpings hath died on the hill! Be silent for ever, thou desolate scene, Nor let e'en an echo recall what hath been!

The Hall of Cynddylan is lonely and bare, No banquet, no guest, not a footstep is there! Oh! where are the warriors who circled its board? —The grass will soon wave where the mead-cup was pour'd!

The hall of Cynddylan is loveless to-night, Since He is departed whose smile made it bright! I mourn, but the sigh of my soul shall be brief, The pathway is short to the grave of my chief!