HUNT
O land of Druid and of Bard,Worthy of bearded Time’s regard,Quick-blooded, light-voiced, lyric Wales,Proud with mountains, rich with vales,And of such valour that in theeWas born a third of chivalry(And is to come again, they say,Blowing its trumpets into day,With sudden earthquake from the ground,And in the midst, great Arthur crown’d),I used to think of thee and thineAs one of an old faded lineLiving in his hills apart,Whose pride I knew, but not his heart:—But now that I have seen thy face,Thy fields, and ever youthful race,And women’s lips of rosiest word(So rich they open), and have heardThe harp still leaping in thy halls,Quenchless as the waterfalls,I know thee full of pulse as strongAs the sea’s more ancient songAnd of a sympathy as wide;And all this truth, and more beside,I should have known, had I but seen,O Flint, thy little shore; and beenWhere Truth and Dream walk, hand-in-hand,Bodryddan’s living Fairyland.James Henry Leigh Hunt.
O land of Druid and of Bard,Worthy of bearded Time’s regard,Quick-blooded, light-voiced, lyric Wales,Proud with mountains, rich with vales,And of such valour that in theeWas born a third of chivalry(And is to come again, they say,Blowing its trumpets into day,With sudden earthquake from the ground,And in the midst, great Arthur crown’d),I used to think of thee and thineAs one of an old faded lineLiving in his hills apart,Whose pride I knew, but not his heart:—But now that I have seen thy face,Thy fields, and ever youthful race,And women’s lips of rosiest word(So rich they open), and have heardThe harp still leaping in thy halls,Quenchless as the waterfalls,I know thee full of pulse as strongAs the sea’s more ancient songAnd of a sympathy as wide;And all this truth, and more beside,I should have known, had I but seen,O Flint, thy little shore; and beenWhere Truth and Dream walk, hand-in-hand,Bodryddan’s living Fairyland.James Henry Leigh Hunt.
O land of Druid and of Bard,Worthy of bearded Time’s regard,Quick-blooded, light-voiced, lyric Wales,Proud with mountains, rich with vales,And of such valour that in theeWas born a third of chivalry(And is to come again, they say,Blowing its trumpets into day,With sudden earthquake from the ground,And in the midst, great Arthur crown’d),I used to think of thee and thineAs one of an old faded lineLiving in his hills apart,Whose pride I knew, but not his heart:—But now that I have seen thy face,Thy fields, and ever youthful race,And women’s lips of rosiest word(So rich they open), and have heardThe harp still leaping in thy halls,Quenchless as the waterfalls,I know thee full of pulse as strongAs the sea’s more ancient songAnd of a sympathy as wide;And all this truth, and more beside,I should have known, had I but seen,O Flint, thy little shore; and beenWhere Truth and Dream walk, hand-in-hand,Bodryddan’s living Fairyland.
James Henry Leigh Hunt.