Oh! happy regions of delight and joy,
And much-loved scenes of bliss without alloy;
Hail! to your mountains, groves, and woodlands dear,
Hail! to your flowery lawns, and streamlets clear;
Hail! to your lowly cots, and stately parks,
And hail! your meadows green, and soaring larks.
Observe yon verdant fields, and shady bowers,
Wherein I've passed so many happy hours;
See, too, yon rugged hill, upon whose brow
Majestic trees and woods aspiring grow.
There to the right, the vale of Clwyd ends;
Here to the left, huge Penman-mawr extends:
Look to the south, the Cambrian mountains o'er;
Hark! to the north, the ocean's awful roar.
Remark those lowing herds and sportive sheep,
And watchful shepherds too, their flocks who keep.
Behold yon ships, now on the glassy main,
Which spread the sails, their destin'd port to gain.
These lovely prospects, how they cheer my soul,
With what delight and joy I view the whole!
Accept Great God, thanks for these blessings giv'n,
And may my gratitude ascend to heav'n.