Lyrics: first version:
March ye men of Harlech bold, Unfurl your banners in the field,
Be brave as were your sires of old, And like them never yield!
What tho' evry hill and dale, Echoes now with war's alarms,
Celtic hearts can never quail, When Cambria calls to arms.
By each lofty mountain, By each crystal fountain,
By your homes where those you love Await your glad returning,
Let each thought and action prove, True glory can the Cymru move,
And as each blade gleams in the light, Pray “God defend the right!”
Clans from Mona wending, Now with Arvon blending,
Haste with rapid strides along The path that leads to glory,
From Snowdon's hills with harp and song, And Nantlle's vale proceeds a throng,
Whose ranks with yours shall proudly vie, “And nobly win or die!”
March ye men of Harlech go, Lov'd fatherland your duty claims,
Onward comes the Saxon foe, His footsteps mark'd in flames;
But his march breeds no dismay, Boasting taunts we meet with scorn,
Craven like their hosts shall flee Like mists before the morn.
On the foemen dashing, Swords and bucklers clashing;
Smite with will their savage band Nor think of e'er retreating:
But with a firm unflinching hand, In blood quench ev'ry burning brand,
And for each roof tree cast away A Saxon life shall pay.
Thus each bosom nerving, From no danger swerving,
Soon shall the invader feel The doom of fate rewarding;
They firmly grasp the flashing steel, And as ye strike for Cymru's weal,
Be this your cry, till life's last breath - “Our Liberty or Death!”
Welsh by “Talhaiarn”, English by W.H. Baker, 1860
Men of Harlech, march to glory, Victory is hov'ring o'er ye,
Bright eyed freedom stands before ye, Hear ye not her call?
At your sloth she seems to wonder, Rend the sluggish bonds asunder,
Let the war cry's deaf'ning thunder, Ev'ry foe appal.
Echoes loudly waking, Hill and valley shaking;
'Till the sound spreads wide around, The Saxon's courage breaking;
Your foes on ev'ry side assailing, Forward press with heart unfailing,
Till invaders learn with quailing, Cambria ne'er can yield.
Thou who noble Cambria wrongest, Know that freedom's cause is strongest
Freedom's courage lasts the longest, Ending but with death!
Freedom countless hosts can scatter, Freedom stoutest mail can shatter,
Freedom thickest walls can batter, Fate is in her breath.
See they now are flying! Dead are heaped with dying!
Over might has triumphed right, Our land to foes denying;
Upon their soil we never sought them, Love of conquest hither brought them,
But this lesson we have taught them, Cambria ne'er can yield.
John Oxenford, 1873
Men of Harlech in the hollow, do you hear like rushing billow
Wave on wave that surging fellow battle's distant sound
'Tis the tramp of Saxon foemen, Saxon spearmen, Saxon bowmen
Be they knights or hinds or yeomen, they shall bite the ground
Loose the folds asunder, flag we conquer under
The placid sky, now calm on high shall launch its bolts of thunder
Onward, 'tis our country needs us, he is bravest, he who leads us
Honor's self now proudly heeds us: Freedom, God, and Right
Rocky steeps and passes narrow flash with spear and flight of arrow
Who would think of death or sorrow? Death is glory now
Hurl the reeling horsemen over, let the earth dead foemen cover
Fate of friend or wife or lover trembles on a blow
Strands of life are riven, blow for blow is given
In deadly lock or battle shock, and mercy shrieks to Heaven
Men of Harlech, young or hoary would you win a name in story
Strike for home, for life, for glory. Freedom, God, and Right
Several versions of the lyrics exist, both in Welsh and English.