Echo of Dalriada - The bards of Wales dalszöveg (lyrics)

Edward the king, the English king
Bestrides his tawny steed
"For I will see if Wales" said he
"Accepts my rule indeed"
"Are stream and mountain fair to see?
Are meadow grasses good?
Do corn lands bear a crop more rare
Since wash'd with rebel's blood?"

"And are the wretched people there
Whose insolence I broke
As happy as the oxen are
Beneath the driver's yoke?"

"In truth this Wales, Sire, is a gem
The fairest in thy crown:
The stream and field rich harvest yield
And fair are dale and down"

"And all the wretched people there
Are calm as man could crave
Their hovels stand throughout the land
As silent as the grave"

Edward the king, the English king
Bestrides his tawny steed
A silence deep his subjects keep
And Wales is mute indeed

The castle named Montgomery
Ends that day's journeying
The castle's lord, Montgomery
Must entertain the king

Then game and fish and ev'ry dish
That lures the taste and sight
A hundred hurrying servants bear
To please, the appetite

With all of worth the isle brings forth
In dainty drink and food
And all the wines of foreign vines
Beyond the distant flood

"Ye lords, ye lords, will none consent
His glass with mine to ring?
What! Each one fails, ye dogs of Wales
To toast the English king

"Though game and fish and ev'ry dish
That lures the taste and sight
Your hand supplies, your mood defies
My person with a sight

"Ye rascal lords, ye dogs of Wales
Will none for Edward cheer?
To serve my needs and chant my deeds
Then let a bard appear!"

The nobles gaze in fierce amaze
Their cheeks grow deadly pale
Not fear but rage their looks engage
They blench but do not quail

All voices cease in soundless peace
All breathe in silent pain
Then at the door a harper hoar
Comes in with grave disdain:

"Lo, here I stand, at thy command
To chant thy deeds, O king!"
And weapons clash and hauberks crash
Responsive to his string

"Harsh weapons clash and hauberks crash
And sunset sees us bleed
The crow and wolf our dead engulf
This, Edward, is thy deed!

"A thousand lie beneath the sky
They rot beneath the sun
And we who live shall not forgive
This deed thy hand hath done!"

"Now let him perish! I must have"
"Your softest songs, and not your wrongs!"
In steps a boyish bard:

"The breeze is soft at eve, that oft
From Milford Haven moans
It whispers maidens' stifled cries
It breathes of widows' groans" Ne

"Ye maidens bear no captive babes!
Ye mothers rear them not!"
The fierce king nods the lad is seiz'd
And hurried from the spot

Unbidden then, among the men
There comes a dauntless third
With speech of fire he tunes his lyre
And bitter is his word:

"Our bravest died to slake thy pride
Proud Edward hear my lays!
No Welsh bards live who e'er will give
Thy name a song of praise"

"Our harps with dead men's memories weep
Welsh bards to thee will sing
One changeless verse our blackest curse
To blast thy soul, O king!"

"No more! Enough!" cries out the king
In rage his orders break:
"Seek through these vales all bards of Wales
And burn them at the stake!"

His man ride forth to south and north
They ride to west and east
Thus ends in grim Montgomery
The celebrated feast

Edward the king, the English king
Spurs on his tawny steed
Across the skies red flames arise
As if Wales burned indeed

In martyrship, with song on lip
Five hundred Welsh bards died
Not one was mov'd to say he lov'd
The tyrant in his pride

'Ods blood! What songs this night resound
Upon our London streets?
The mayor should feel my irate heel
If aught that sound repeats!"

Each voice is hush'd through silent lanes
To silent homes they creep
"Now dies the hound that makes a sound
The sick king cannot sleep"

"Ha! Bring me fife and drum and horn
And let the trumpet blare!
In ceaseless hum their curses come
I see their dead eyes glare…"

But high above all drum and fife
And all trumpets' shrill debate
Five hundred martyr'd voices chant
Their hymn of deathless hate