Sleep, Gwenllian (traditioneel Welsh lied)

Sleep, Gwenllian, my heart’s delight
Sleep on thro’ shiv’ ring spear and brand,
An apple rosy red within thy baby hand;
Thy pillowed cheeks a pair of roses bright,
They heart as happy day and night!
Mid all our woe, O! vision rare!
Sweet little princes cradled there,
Thy apple in thy hand thy all of earthly care.
Thy brethren battle with the foe,
Thy Sire’s red strokes around him sweep,
Whist thou, his bonny babe, art smiling through thy sleep.
All Gwalia shudders at the Norman blow!
What are the Angels whispering low
Of thy father now?
Bright babe, asleep upon my knee,
How many a queen of high degree
Would cast away her crown to slumber thus like three!
 

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