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Light the hills! till flames are streaming, From * Yr Wyddfa's sovereign steep, To the waves round Mona gleaming, Where the Roman track'd the deep!

Be the mountain watch-fires heighten'd,   Pile them to the stormy sky! Till each torrent-wave is brighten'd,   Kindling as it rushes by. Now each rock, the mist's high dwelling, Towers in reddening light sublime; Heap the flames! around them telling Tales of Cambria's elder time.

Thus our sires, the fearless-hearted, Many a solemn vigil kept, When, in ages long departed, O'er the noble dead they wept.