Daffydd y Garreg-Wen (David of the White Rock)

Come, sweetest composer of grief and of pain,

thy master implores one mellifluous strain;

depressed with old age, and by sickness worn low,

o soothe his dull ear with the soft notes of woe!

Do thou, dear companion, the sad office share

and with Modred rehearse this my last plaintive air:

to him I bequeathe thee, an office most due,

who to poetry, music and friendship is true.

Like the swan of the lake expiring I sing,

o weave me a plume from her shadowy wing!

Yes, fame shall be just and a trophy shall give,

and the Bard of the White Rock to greatest times live!