[My family name is “Griffin”, Americanized from “Gryphon” of Welsh and Irish
mythology. As I put up our flag in remembrance of the fallen soldiers of
generations past, I found myself humming my favorite marching song. The
last time I sang this song was many years ago, with the men of our company
(Company I, 3rd US Volunteer Infantry) under a star-filled bivouac at Fort
Phil Kearny at the base of the Big Horn Mountains. Deep, rich baritone and
bass echoed across the battlefield. It is to the memory of men who were
willing to fight and die that I dedicate these words.]
Men of Harlech! in the hollow, do you 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 heeds us – Freedom! God! and Right!
Men of Harlech! Honor calls us; no proud Saxon e’er appalls us.
On we march! What e’er befalls us, never shall we fly.
Forward, lightly bounding to the trumpet’s sounding:
Forward ever, backward never, the haughty foe astounding.
Fight for father, sister, mother; each is bound to each as brother;
And with faith in one another we will win or die!
Though our mothers may be weeping, though our sisters may be keeping
Watch for some who now are sleeping on the battlefield,
Still the trumpet’s braying sounds on, ever saying –
Let each bowman pierce a foe and never stop the slaying,
Till invaders learn to fear us, and no Saxon lingers near us;
Men of Wales, our God doth hear us; never will be yield!
Rocky steep 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 from heaven!
Men of Harlech! young or hoary, would you win a name in story?
Strike for home, for life, for glory! Freedom! God! and Right!
~~
Dr Bob Griffin
“Jesus knows me, this I love”