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e wave, with crest of curling foam, Back to thy native ocean roam; And leave the fords of Dovey free, That Morvyth separate from me! No bard before hath loved to tell Thy glassy tower—thy lordly swell— Thou branch of ocean’s mighty stem— Thou sailor’s friend—thou briny gem! The storm—the rush of hostile ranks, Jamm’d ’twixt the close and cleftless banks— The war-steed’s sinewy chest of might— Are faint to thee, thou billowy height! No organ, harp, no vocal tone, Are like thy vast and fearful moan. To her no other pledge I’ll give, The snow-white maid for whom I live, Than call her beauty like the light, And as thy circling waters bright! Thou bright round billow, let me pass Beyond thy ring of azure glass; For long my love, awaiting me, Stands by Lanbadarn’s birchen tree. Of sunken rocks, thou mantle hoar, Chafed on the wild and rugged shore—