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the yellow mead shine for the sons of the brave, By the bright festal torches around us that wave! Set open the gates of the prince's wide hall, And hang up the chief's ruddy spear on the wall! There is peace in the land we have battled to save: Then spread ye the feast, bid the wine-cup foam high,1 That those may rejoice who have fear'd not to die!

Let the horn whose loud blast gave the signal for fight, With the bees sunny nectar now sparkle in light;2 Let the rich draught it offers with gladness be crown'd, For the strong hearts in combat that leap'd at its sound! Like the billows' dark swell was the path of their might, Red, red as their blood, fill the wine-cup on high, That those may rejoice who have fear'd not to die!

And wake ye the children of song from their dreams, On Maelor's wild hills and by Dyfed's fair streams!3 Bid them haste with those strains of the lofty and free, Which shall flow down the waves of long ages to be. Sheath the sword which hath given them unperishing themes, And pour the bright mead: let the wine-cup foam high, That those may rejoice who have fear'd not to die!