Gwlad beirdd a chantorion, enwogion o fri;

Ei gwrol ryfelwyr, gwladgarwyr tra mad,

Dros ryddid collasant eu gwaed.

Gwlad, gwlad, pleidiol wyf i'm gwlad.

Tra môr yn fur i'r bur hoff bau,

O bydded i'r hen iaith barhau.

Hen Gymru fynyddig, paradwys y bardd,

Pob dyffryn, pob clogwyn, i'm golwg sydd hardd;

Trwy deimlad gwladgarol, mor swynol yw si

Ei nentydd, afonydd, i mi.

Os treisiodd y gelyn fy ngwlad tan ei droed,

Mae hen iaith y Cymru mor fyw ag erioed,

Ni luddiwyd yr awen gan erchyll law brad,

Na thelyn berseiniol fy ngwlad.

Old land where the minstrels are honoured and free;

Its warring defenders so gallant and brave,

For freedom their life's blood they gave.

Wales, Wales, true am I to Wales,

While seas secure the land so pure,

O may the old language endure.

Old land of the mountains, the Eden of bards,

Each gorge and each valley a loveliness guards;

Through love of my country, charmed voices will be

Its streams, and its rivers, to me.

Though foemen have trampled my land 'neath their feet,

The language of Cambria still knows no retreat;

The muse is not vanquished by traitor's fell hand,

Nor silenced the harp of my land.