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Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau
Mae hen wlad fy nhadau yn annwyl i mi,
Gwlad beirdd a chantorion, enwogion o fri;
Ei gwrol ryfelwyr, gwladgarwyr tra mâd,
Tros ryddid gollasant eu gwaed.
Cytgan

Gwlad, Gwlad, pleidiol wyf i’m gwl
Tra môr yn fur i’r bur hoff bau,
O bydded i’r hen iaith barhau.
Hen Gymru fynyddig, paradwys y bardd,
Pob dyffryn, pob clogwyn i’m golwg sydd hardd;
Trwy deimlad gwladgarol, mor swynol yw si
Ei nentydd, afonydd i mi.
Os treisiodd y gelyn fy ngwald tan ei droed,
Mae hen iaith y Cymry mor fyw ac erioed,
Ni luddiwyd yr awen gan erchyll law brad,
Na thelyn berseiniol fy ngwlad

And in English?

The land of my fathers is dear unto me,
Old land where the minstrels are honoured and free:
Its warring defenders, so gallant and brave,
For freedom their life’s blood they gave

Land!,Land!,True I am to my land!

While seas secure,

this land so pure,

o may our old language endure.

O land of the mountains, the bard’s paradise,
Whose precipice, valleys lone as the skies,
Green murmuring forest, far echoing flood
Fire the fancy and quicken the blood

For tho’ the fierce foeman has ravaged your realm,
The old speech of Wales he cannot o’erwhelm,
Our passionate poets to silence command
Or banish the harp from your strand.

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