Beateth with rage and pain,
Beateth as once again
I muse and ponder
On that accursed hour,
When 'neath the Saxon power,
Welshmen who freedom sought,
Fell as they bravely fought,
On Rhuddlan yonder.

II.

See, through the gathering gloom
Dimly there seems to loom
The sheen of targes;
Hark, with a swift rebound,
Loudly the weapons sound
Upon them falling;
While from each rattling string
Death-dealing arrows ring,
Hissing and sighing;
Trembles the bloodstained plain,
Trembles and rings again,
Beneath the charges;
But through the deafening roar,
And moans of those who sore
Wounded are lying,
Rises Caradog's cry,
Rises to heaven on high,
His warriors calling--
"Welshmen! we ne'er will sell