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Ar lan yr Iorddonen



Down to that gloomy stream,

Creeps one in wild dismay;

The light of earthly joy

Fades gently, fades away:

There echo through the dismal shade,

Strange sounds by hideous monsters made.

The lamp he holds goes out—

O who can speak his pain!

For never shall he see

Its needed light again:

Victorious Death there boastful bides,

Twin Darkness his loud horror hides.

He lists with bated breath

Some friendly foot to hear,

With whispered word of hope,

Or lighted lamp draw near:

But foot of succour none doth sound,

While taunting demons sport around.

At length with piteous groan

He stumbles to the flood,—

A mortal made to know

The frowning love of God:

He sinks, he swims; now, all is o’er:

Hope must forsake him ever more.

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