Classic Poem

Fill high fill high, the Hirlas horn,
Rimmed with sunlight, like the morn!
Deep, and vast, and fit to drown
All the troubles of a crown;
Deep, and vast, and crowned with mead,
'Tis a cup for kings indeed,
Full of courage, full of worth,
Making man a god on earth!
Warriors, Heroes, Cambrian-born,
Drink, — from the Hirlas horn!

Hide with foam the golden tip;
Make it rich for a prince's lip!
Here's to the fame of Roderick dead!
Bards, why do your harps not shed
Music? Come, — a mighty draught
To dead Roderick's name be quaff'd;
Tell us all the hero won,
All he did, from sun to sun!
Bards, and heroes, Cambrian-born,
Drink, — from the Hirlas horn!

Fill the horn to Madce's name,
First in the mighty race of fame;
Eagle-hearted, eagle-eyed,
All hearts shuddered when he died!
Yet, why so? for Tudor rose
Like a lion upon our foes; —
Like the wild storm-sinitten ocean,
When he puts his strength in motion!
Come, brave spirits, Cambrian-born,
Drink, — from the Hirlas horn!
Cambrian people — Cambrian mountains,
Back into your wizard fountains
(Where the Druid seers are dwelling)
Shout unto the crown'd Llewellin!
Patriot! Hero! Monarch! Friend!
Wreathed with virtues without end!
First of men 'tween Earth and Sky!
The sword and the shield of Liberty!
Drink, all Spirits, Cambrian-born,
Drink to the good, great, crown'd Llewellin!
Drink, — from the Hirlas horn!