Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau of my fathers is dear to me,<br> Land of bards and singers, famous men of renown;<br> Her brave warriors, very splendid patriots,<br> For freedom shed their blood. Old mountainous Wales, paradise of the bard,<br> Every valley, every cliff, to my look is beautiful.<br> Through patriotic feeling, so charming is the murmur<br> Of her brooks, rivers, to me. If the enemy oppresses my land under his foot, <br> The old language of the Welsh is as alive as ever.<br> The muse is not hindered by the hideous hand of treason,<br> Nor [is] the melodious harp of my country. "Other translations include:"
Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau The land of my fathers is dear to me,<br> Old land where the minstrels are honoured and free;<br> Its warring defenders so gallant and brave,<br> For freedom their life's blood they gave. Old land of the mountains, the Eden of bards,<br> Each gorge and each valley a loveliness guards;<br> Through love of my country, charmed voices will be <br> Its streams, and its rivers, to me. Though foemen have trampled my land 'neath their feet, <br> The language of Cambria still knows no retreat;<br> The muse is not vanquished by traitor's fell hand,<br> Nor silenced the harp of my land.