The happy Cambrians

Fam'd for our warmth, we now rejoice,

Feel friendship's ardours reign,

And to the harp's harmonious voice,

Attune our choral strain.

Around the bowl, a mirthful throng

Of Britons bold and free,

We swell the trills of native song,

All join'd in jocund glee.

Past is the winter, storms are flown,

Now summer scenes we trace;

A remnant still, in high renown,

Of Britain's ancient race:

Whilst ancient virtue's just controul

Rules each old Briton's breast,

Be now the joys of ev'ry soul

In gleeful songs exprest!