Wales: A Greeting

In that wild land beyond Sabrina's wave;
In vales full of the voice of bards long mute,
From Gwent to far Demetia by the sea;
Or northward unto cloud-roof'd Gwynedd, where
The mountains sit together and talk with heaven,
While Mona pushing forth into the deep
Looks back for ever on their musing brows:
By silent mound and menhir, camp and cairn,
Leaf-hidden stream, and cataract's thunderous plunge:
In summer calms, or when the storming North
Whitens Eryri's crest and Siabod's cone—
Have Inot roamed and lingered, from my youth,
An alien and a stranger, but amidst
A people gravely kind as suavely proud?—
A people caring for old dreams and deeds,
Heroic story, and far-descended song;
Honouring their poets, not in death alone,
But in life also, as is meet and well;
An ancient folk, speaking an ancient speech,
And cherishing in their bosoms all their past,
Yet in whose fiery love of their own land
No hatred of another's finds a place.

Sons—daughters—of Wild Wales, whose kindred swayed
This island, ages ere an English word
Was breathed in Britain—let an English voice
Hail and salute you here at England's heart.
On Europe, east and west, the dim clouds brood,
Disperse, and gather again; and none can tell
What birth they hold within them. But we know
That should they break in tempest on these shores,
You, that with differing blood, with differing spirit,
Yet link your life with ours, with ours your fate,
Will stand beside us in the hurricane,
Steadfast, whatever peril may befall:
Will feel no separate heartbeats from our own,
Nor aught but oneness with this mighty Power,
This Empire, that despite her faults and sins
Loves justice, and loves mercy, and loves truth,
When truly she beholds them; and who thus
Helps to speed on, through dark and difficult ways,
The ever-climbing footsteps of the world.
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