The rising sun (Codiad yr haul)

Softly, softly sing;

Hand in hand glide swiftly round;

Gaily, gaily, gaily,

Mark the measur'd sound:

Let us skim the meadows fair,

Now on waving pinions rise;

Lightly beat the wanton air,

And breathing sweets ascend the skies.

Softly, softly sing;

Hand in hand glide swiftly round;

Gaily, gaily, gaily,

Mark the measur'd sound:

On the breast of yonder rose,

Let us rest our wearied wings;

Not a flower in spring that blows,

Around so mild an odour flings.

Softly, softly sing;

Hand in hand glide swiftly round;

Gaily, gaily, gaily,

Mark the measur'd sound.

Blooming rose, thy beauty's pride,

Fades before the noontide hour:

Zephyrs rise on ev'ry side,

And fan your lovely drooping flower.