"O'er Arvon's  heights the sun sank
low,
The veil of night doth all invest,
The zephyr's Breath hath ceased to
blow,
And distant waves are lulled rest,
My Heart within my Heaving breast,
Oh ! deeply throbs with grief and
pain,
'Whilst musing on that scene unblest,
On Morva Rhuddlan’s fatal  plain !

Breakthrough the gloom upon my
sight,
The massive shields ! Ha ! now I hear
'The clash of blades-the hissing fight
Of arrows-and the charging cheer;
But, hark ! 'bove all, both loud  and
clear,
Caradoc's  voice above the slain-
‘Turn we their battle 's wild career,
Or sink on Morva on Rhuddlan's plain !

'Each (Briton's heart -with courage
swells,
Each (British cheek’s with fury red;
Each nervous arm a foeman fells,
'Each blade a fiercer death hath sped;
Lo ! frightful gaps-and dead on dead!
Whilst Cambria prays that  Heaven
Would shield
Her hearths and homes-her warriors
aid

In fight on  Rhuddlan’s  Bloody field!

By solemn dread my soul’s assailed;
The victor's shouts now louder grow!
Boast not; 'twas numbers that
prevailed,
find not thy might, exulting foe !
But oh ! of those the grief and woe,
find waiting as they fly to gain
The mountain heights, and leave
below
Their dead on Rhuddlan 's Bloody
plain.

Old Snowdon's crags-each stream and dell,
Loud echoes, hear to British wail !
and rocks to rocks responsive tell
Of Cambria's loss the fearful tale ;
And now upon the rising gale
Is Borne Caradoc's fate along,
And weeping Bards his fall bewail
In Morva Rhuddlan 's mournful song !           

I seek, the warrior's lowly bed
On Rhuddlan 's Marsh; But cannot
trace
A  vestige of the noble dead,
Or aught to mark their resting place,
Green  rush and reeds are aft that grace
The graves of those in fight who fell,
For freedom-for their land and race,
Oh fatal  field! farewell,  farewell!