"Sooner will his blood be spent than he go to the wedding feast. No hatred shall there be between thee and me; better will I do to thee, to praise thee in song" Welsh Poem - 7th -9th century.
Our courage is an old legend.
We left the fields of our fathers.
Fate was our foeman.
We held the world in our fingers
And threw it like a farthing
That needed no keeping.
More love was there never
By Euphratеs and Tigris
Than in our proud country.
Love was our talisman.
We werе blinded in battle
By the weeping of women.
Bled white are our wounds,
Wounds writhing with worms;
All spilt the quick seed ...
Oh! dark are we whose greed for life
Was a green slash in our eyes
And in our darkness we are wise,
Forgetting honour, valour, fame,
In this darkness whence we came.