PRINCE MADOC'S FAREWELL. Air.-Lady Owen's Delight. By Mrs. Hemans. MADOC, the son of Owen Gwynedd, it is stated in the bardic Triads, went to sea with 300 men, in ten ships, to avoid the dissentions of his brothers respecting the throne of Gwynedd, or North Wales. No tidings were ever heard of this expedition; but a multitude of evidence has been collected by Dr. Pughe, E. Williams (the bard of Glamorgan), and others, to prove that Madoc must have reached the American Continent, (300 years before the time of Columbus,) for the descendants of him and his followers exist there as a nation to this day; and the present position of which is on the southern banks of the Missouri river, under the appellation of Padoucas, or white and civilized Indians. WHY lingers my gaze, where the last hues of day Why rise on my thoughts, ye free songs of the land, Of the minstrel with melody greet my return. 'Tis not for the land of my sires to give birth My course to the winds, to the stars I resign, THE DEATH OUR FATHERS FOUND. By S. R. Jackson. BE ours the death our fathers found, In the field of glory falling, When the Saxon spearmen hemm'd them round, Rather than live a tyrant's slave, And foreign feelings cherish, Base is the heart that tamely bears Dead is the man to fame, who wears Dark years of woe has Cambria seen, The stains that on her shield have been, SONS OF THE MIGHTY. By S. R. Jackson. WHY should the noble spirit droop Why should the sons of freemen stoop To do a tyrant's will? Rather let death free us, Than our children see us, Sons of the mighty! rise and tear 'Tis Freedom's voice that calleth, With his bosom's blood shall seal THE WORTHIES OF WALES. By T. J. Llewelyn Prichard. ALL hail to the bright ones of ages gone by, The lights of past eras-the Worthies of Wales. To Tydain Tâd Awen, the sire of song, Hail Arthur, the father of Chivalry's fights, While Britain exults in the pride of her fame, All hail to, &c. Oh high will old Cymru unceasingly hold A lay now to Gwyddno, surnamed Garanhîr, Hail David the pious, our tutelar saint; All hail to, &c. Oh what son of song but with kindness regards All hail to, &c. Madoc th' advent'rous, whose laurels are worn By gallant Columbus-Americus-torn From thy self-exiled head—let it pass-thou shalt live— Thy right still we claim, and thy wrongs still we grieve. All hail to, &c. Oh struck with wild horror was Cymru, aghast, Hail! ladies of Cymru, with loveliness bless'd, Young Tydvil the martyr, who died for her faith, Dinas Brân, thine own beauty comes in for her share, Mevanwy the merry, the witty, and fair! Like the sensitive, fond, and sincere, And well-known Cordelia, the daughter of Lear! All hail to, &c. CARNO HILLS. By S. R. Jackson. ON Carno's hills with nimble feet The noble youths who chaced the deer, And never to the morning's ear Those sounds shall come again. In Carno's groves 'tis dark and still; |