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Out of the gloom leap the loud crashing targes,
Through the spear forest the battle-axe breaks, Arrows fly hissing—to thundering charges
E'en to its marges the red morass quakes! O'er the wild tumult, the wail of the wounded,
Hark ! the clear voice of Caradoc is rolled : " Into yon breach ! or betrayed and surrounded
On Rhnddlan Marsh let the moon find us cold."
3-Quick to his call hero hearts are up-leaping,
Fierce as their swords hero faces out-flame; Strong hero arms the red harvest are reaping,
Gap after gap to their glory they claim ! Then with one voice all our nation kneels praying " Great is our jeopardy, Lord God of hosts, Only in Thee our last hope we are staying,
None but Thine Arm can deliver our coasts ! "
4-Honour and hope kept the vantage till sunset,
Then overpowered our battle gave way, Vaunt not, proud foe, your victorious onset—
Numbers, not valour, have won you the day! Oh! but yon crowd that with Heaven interceded—
Grey-headed grandsire, weak woman and child— Now from their knees, their petition unheeded,
Flock in white terror far into the wild !
Coom after coom to Eryri's recesses
Echoes the cry of those desolate ones; Whilst Mother Wales, as she tears her wild tresses,
Weeps o'er the urns of her mightiest sons! Beauty's rose dies at Caradoc's disaster,
Terror and panic his battlements climb; Whilst his arch-minstrel, lamenting his master,
Makes Morva Rhuddlan our dirge for all time.