The flower of North Wales (Blodeu Cwynedd)

O Cherub Content, at thy moss-cover'd shrine

I'd all the gay hopes of my bosom resign,

I'd part with ambition, thy vot'ry to be,

And breathe not a sigh but to friendship and thee.

But thy presence appears from my wishes to fly,

Like the gold-colour'd cloud on the verge of the sky;

No lustre that hangs on the green willow tree

Is so short as the smile of thy favour to me.

O Cherub Content, at thy moss-cover'd shrine

I would offer my vows, if Matilda were mine;

Could I call her my own, whom enraptured I see,

I would breathe not a sigh, but to friendship and thee.