From: De Eye-lands, Mon
And there was a very different set of verses, sung by the Royal Regiment of Wales Choir at the Church at Rorke’s Drift at the 120th anniversary.
Tongues of fire on Idris flaring;
News of foe-men near declaring;
To heroics of deeds of daring;
Call you, Harlech men.
Groans of wounded peasants dying;
Wails of wives and children flying;
For the distant succor crying;
Call you Harlech men.
Shall the voice awaiting,
Now be unavailing,
You to rouse who never yet,
In battle’s hour were failing.
This our answer crowds down pouring,
Swift as winter’s torrents roaring,
Not in vain the voice implores that,
Calls on Harlech men.
Loud the martial pipes are sounding;
Every manly heart is bounding;
As out trusted chiefs surrounding;
March we Harlech men
Short the sleep the foe is taking;
Ere the morrows morn is breaking;
They shall have a rude awakening;
Roused by Harlech men.
Mothers cease your weeping,
Calm may be your sleeping,
You and yours in safety now,
The Harlech men are keeping.
Ere the sun is high in heaven,
They you fear, by panic riven,
Shall like frightened sheep be driven,,
Far, by Harlech men
Kinda think any version sung really and truly ends with "Cymru fo am byth"
[ed] Oh God, I am so sorry, I forgot.
God save the Queen!
< Message edited by Symon -- 8/30/2013 10:15:15 PM >
Nous n'avons pas peur! Vive la liberté! Moi aussi je suis Charlie!
Yippy Ki Yay.