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Men of
Harlech

We have found many versions. These are just some of them

Special words created for the film Zulu in 1964

Men of Harlech stop your dreaming
Can’t you see their spear points gleaming
See their warrior’s pennants streaming
To this battle field

Men of Harlech stand ye steady
It cannot be ever said ye
For the battle were not ready
Stand and never yield

Form the hills rebounding
Let this war cry sounding
Summon all at Cambria’s call
The mighty force surrounding

Men of Harlech onto glory
This shall ever be your story
Keep these fighting words before ye
Cambria (Welshmen never) will not yield

Modern Words used by Regimental Band

Tongues of fire on Idris flaring,
news of foe-men near declaring,
to heroic deeds of daring,
calls you Harlech men

Groans of wounded peasants dying,
wails of wives and children flying,
for the distant succour crying,
calls you Harlech men.

Shall the voice of wailing,
now be unavailing,
You to rouse who never yet
in battles hour were failing,

His our answer crowds down pouring
swift as winter torrents roaring,
Not in vain the voice imploring,
calls on Harlech men

Loud the martial pipes are sounding
every manly heart is bounding
As our trusted chief surrounding,
march we Harlech men.

Short the sleep the foe is taking,
ere the morrows morn is breaking,
They shall have a rude awakening,
roused by Harlech men.

Mothers cease your weeping,
calm may be your sleeping,
you and yours in safety now
the Harlech men are keeping,

ere the sun is high in heaven
they you fear by panic riven
shall like frightened sheep be driven,
far by Harlech men.

Men of Harlech (another version)

March ye men of Harlech bold,
Unfurl your banners in the field, 
Be brave as were your sires of old,
And like them never yield! 
What tho’ evry hill and dale,
Echoes now with war’s alarms, 
Celtic hearts can never quail,
When Cambria calls to arms. 

By each lofty mountain,
By each crystal fountain, 
By your homes where those you love
Await your glad returning, 
Let each thought and action prove,
True glory can the Cymru move, 
And as each blade gleams in the light,
Pray “God defend the right!” 

Clans from Mona wending,
Now with Arvon blending, 
Haste with rapid strides along
The path that leads to glory, 
From Snowdon’s hills with harp and song,
And Nantlle’s vale proceeds a throng, 
Whose ranks with yours shall proudly vie,
“And nobly win or die!” 

March ye men of Harlech go,
Lov’d fatherland your duty claims, 
Onward comes the Saxon foe,
His footsteps mark’d in flames; 
But his march breeds no dismay,
Boasting taunts we meet with scorn, 
Craven like their hosts shall flee
Like mists before the morn. 

On the foemen dashing,
Swords and bucklers clashing; 
Smite with will their savage band
Nor think of e’er retreating: 
But with a firm unflinching hand,
In blood quench ev’ry burning brand, 
And for each roof tree cast away
A Saxon life shall pay. 

Thus each bosom nerving,
From no danger swerving, 
Soon shall the invader feel
The doom of fate rewarding; 
They firmly grasp the flashing steel,
And as ye strike for Cymru’s weal, 
Be this your cry, till life’s last breath –
“Our Liberty or Death!” 

Men of Harlech (Charlotte Church version)

Wele goelcerth wen yn fflamio
A thafodau tan yn bloeddio,
Ar I’r dewrion ddod I daro,
Unwaith eto n un:
Gan fanllefau’r tywysogion
Llais gelynion, trwst arfogion,
A charlamiad y marchogion,
Craig ar graig a grbn!
Arfon byth ni orfydd.
Cenir yn dragywydd;
Cymru fydd fel Cymru fu,
Yn glodus ymysg gwledydd,
‘Nghwyn oleuni’r goelcerth acw,
Tros wefusau Cymro’n marw,
Annibyniaeth sydd yn galw,
Am ei dewraf dyn.

Hark I hear the foe advancing
Barbed steeds are proudly prancing,
Helmets in the sunbeams glancing
Symru fo am byth
Men of Harlech lie ye dreaming?
See ye not their falchions gleaming,
While their penons gaily streaming
Cymru fo am byth.
From the rocks rebounding
Let the war cry sounding
Summon all at Cambria’s Call
The haughty for surrounding
Men of Harlech on to glory
See your banner famed in story,
Waves these burning words before ye,
Cymru fo am byth! Men of Harlech!

In the Hollow,
Do ye hear like rushing billow
Wave on wave that surging follow
Battle’s distant sound?
Tis the tramp of Saxon foemen,
Saxon spearmen, Saxon bowmen,
Be they knights or hinds or yeomen,
They shall bite the ground!
Loose the folds asunder,
Flag we conquer under!
The placid sky now bright on high,
Shall launch its bolts in thunder!
Onward! ’tis the country needs us,
He is bravest, he who leads us
Honor’s self now proudly heads us,
Freedom, God and Right!

Men of Harlech (another version)

Hark, I hear the foe advancing
Barbed steeds are proudly prancing
Helmets in the sunbeams glancing
Glitter through the trees.

Men of Harlech, lie ye dreaming
See ye not their falchions gleaming
While their pennons gaily streaming
Flutter in the breeze.

From the rocks resounding
Let the war cry sounding
Summon all at Cambreais call
The haughty foe surrounding

Men of Harlech, on to glory
See your banner famed in story
Waves these buring words before ye,
“Britain scorns to yield!”

Mid the fray see dead and dying
Friend and foe together lying
All around the arrows flying
Scatter sudden death.

Frightened steeds are wildly neighing
Brazen trumpets loudly braying
Wounded men for mercy praying
With their parting breath.

See they’re in disorder,
Comrades, keep close order
Ever they shall rue the day,
They ventured o’er the border.

Now the Saxon flees before us,
Victr’ry’s banner floateth oe’er us,
Raise the loud exulting chorus,
“Britain wins the field!”

Men of Harlech (another version)

Men of Harlech! In the

Hollow,
Do ye hear like rushing billow
Wave on wave that surging follow
Battle’s distant sound?
Tis the tramp of Saxon foemen,
Saxon spearmen, Saxon bowmen,
Be they knights or hinds or yeomen,
They shall bite the ground!
Loose the folds asunder,
Flag we conquer under!
The placid sky now bright on high,
Shall launch its bolts in thunder!
Onward! ’tis the country needs us,
He is bravest, he who leads us
Honor’s self now proudly heads us,
Freedom, God and Right!

Rocky Steeps and passes narrow,
Flash with spear and flight of arrow
Who would think of death or sorrow?
Death is glory now!
Hurl the reeling horsemen over,
Let the earth dead foemen cover
Fate of friend, of wife, of lover,
Trembles on a blow!
Strands of life are riven!
Blow for blow is given
In deadly lock, or battle shock,
And mercy shrieks to heaven!
Men of Harlech! young or hoary,
Would you win a name in story?
Stike for home, for life, for glory!
Freedom, God and Right!

Men of Harlech (another version)

Fierce the beacon’s light is flaming
With its tongues of fire proclaiming
Chieftains, sundered to your shaming
Strongly now unite

At her call, all Arfon rallies
War cries rend her hills and vallies
Troop on troop, with headlong sallies
Hurtle to the fight

Chiefs lie dead and wounded.
Yet, where first was grounded,
Freedom’s flag still holds the crag;
Her trumpet still is sounded.

There we’ll keep her banner flying,
While the pale lips of the dying
Echo to our shouts defying
HARLECH for the right!

Shall the Saxon army shake you
Smite, pursue and overtake you?
Men of Harlech, God will make you
Victors, blow for blow.

The swollen rivers of Eryri
Sweep the vale with flooded fury
Gwalia from her mountain eryie
Thunders on the foe.

Now avenging Briton,
Smite as he has smitten
Let your rage on history’s page
In Saxon blood be written.

His lance is long, but yours is longer.
Strong his sword, but yours is stronger.
One stroke more, and now your wronger
At your feet, lies low.

John Oxenford version

Men of Harlech, march to glory,
Victory is hov’ring o’er ye,
Bright-eyed freedom stands before ye,
Hear ye not her call?
At your sloth she seems to wonder;
Rend the sluggish bonds asunder,
Let the war-cry’s deaf’ning thunder
Every foe appall.
Echoes loudly waking,
Hill and valley shaking;
‘Till the sound spreads wide around,
The Saxon’s courage breaking;
Your foes on every side assailing,
Forward press with heart unfailing,
‘Till invaders learn with quailing,
Cambria ne’er can yield!

Thou, who noble Cambria wrongest,
Know that freedom’s cause is strongest,
Freedom’s courage lasts the longest,
Ending but with death!
Freedom countless hosts can scatter,
Freedom stoutest mail can shatter,
Freedom thickest walls can batter,
Fate is in her breath.
See, they now are flying!
Dead are heap’d with dying!
Over might hath triumph’d right,
Our land to foes denying;
Upon their soil we never sought them,
Love of conquest hither brought them,
But this lesson we have taught them,
“Cambria ne’er can yield!”

“Talhaiarn” version

Glyndwˆr, see thy comet flaming,
Hear a heavenly voice declaiming,
To the world below proclaiming,
Cambria shall be free:
While thy star on high is beaming,
Soldiers from the mountains teeming,
With their spears and lances gleaming,
Come to follow thee.
Hear the trumpet sounding
While the steeds are bounding,
On the gale from hill and dale,
The war-cry is resounding:
Warriors famed in song and story,
Coming from the mountains hoary,
Rushing to the fields of glory,
Eager for the fray:
To the valley wending,
Hearths and homes defending,
With their proud and valiant prince,
From ancient kings descending;
See the mighty host advancing,
Sunbeams on their helmets dancing,
On his gallant charger prancing,
Glyndwˆr leads the way.

Now to battle they are going,
Every heart with courage glowing,
Pride and passion overflowing
In the furious strife:
Lo! the din of war enrages,
Vengeance crowns the hate of ages,
Sternly foe with foe engages,
Feeding Death with Life:
Hear the trumpets braying,
And the horses neighing,
Hot the strife while fiery foes
Are one another slaying;
Arrows fly as swift as lightning,
Shout on shout the tumult height’ning,
Conquest’s ruddy wing is bright’ning,
Helmet, sword, and shield;
With their lances flashing,
Warriors wild are crashing,
Through the tyrant’s serried ranks
Whilst onward they are dashing:
Now the enemy is flying,
Trampling on the dead and dying;
Victory aloft is crying,
“Cambria wins the field!”

George Thompson version

Dauntless sons of Celtic sires
Whose souls the love of freedom fires,
Hark! ev’ry harp to war inspires
On Cader Idris side.
See the brave advancing,
See the brave advancing,
Each well-tried spear
Which Saxons fear,
In warlike splendour glancing.
Proud Harlech from her frowning tow’rs
Pours forth her never failing pow’rs.
Rouse, heroes, glory shall be ours,
March on, your country’s pride!

Shall heart-rending sound of woe
Be heard where Conway’s waters flow?
Or shall a rude and ruthless foe
Find here one willing slave?
From mountain and from valley,
From mountain and from valley,
From Snowdon, from
Plinlimmon’s brow
Around your prince ye rally.
Let cowards kiss th’oppressor’s scourge,
Home to his heart your weapons urge,
O’erwhelm him in th’avenging surge;
To victory, ye brave!

Royal Canadian Hussars version

Hark! I hear the foe advancing,
Barb’d steeds are proudly prancing;
Helmets in the sunbeams glancing,
Glitter through the trees.
Men of Har-lech, lie ye dreaming?
See ye not their falchions gleaming,
While their pennons gaily streaming
Flutter in the breeze?
From the rocks rebounding
Let the war cry sounding
Summon all at Cambria’s call,
The haughty foe surrounding.
Men of Harlech, on to glory!
See, your banner fam’d in story
Waves these burning words before ye,
“DEATH before we yield!”

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