“On the day of the dead, when the year too dies,Must the youngest open the oldest hillsThrough the door of the birds, where the breeze breaks.There fire shall fly from the raven boy,And the silver eyes that see the wind,And the light shall have the harp of gold.By the pleasant lake the Sleepers lie,On Cadfan’s Way where the kestrels call;Though grim from the Grey King shadows fall,Yet singing the golden harp shall guideTo break their sleep and bid them ride.When light from the lost land shall return,Six Sleepers shall ride, six Signs shall burn,And where the midsummer tree grows tallBy Pendragon’s sword the Dark shall fall.Y maent yr mynyddoedd yn canu,ac y mae’r arglwyddes yn dod.”

“When the Dark comes rising six shall turn it back;Three from the circle, three from the track;Wood, bronze, iron; Water, fire, stone;Five will return and one go alone.Iron for the birthday; bronze carried long;Wood from the burning; stone out of song;Fire in the candle ring; water from the thaw;Six signs the circle and the grail gone before.Fire on the mountain shall find the harp of goldPlayed to wake the sleepers, oldest of old.Power from the Green Witch, lost beneath the sea.All shall find the Light at last, silver on the tree.”

“From the ashes a fire shall be woken,A light from the shadows shall spring;Renewed shall be blade that was broken,The crownless again shall be king.”

“When the Whispering Mountain shall scream aloudAnd the castle of Malyn ride on a cloud,Then Malyn's lord shall have and holdThe lost that is found, the harp of gold.Then Fig-hat Ben shall wear a shroud,Then shall the despoiler, that was so proud,Plunge headlong down from Devil's Leap;Then shall the Children from darkness creep,And the men of the glen avoid disaster,And the Harp of Teirtu find her master.”

“The King beneath the mountains,The King of carven stone,The lord of silver fountainsShall come into his own!His crown shall be upholden,His harp shall be restrung,His halls shall echo goldenTo songs of yore re-sung.The woods shall wave on mountains.And grass beneath the sun;His wealth shall flow in fountainsAnd the rivers golden run.The streams shall run in gladness,The lakes shall shine and burn,And sorrow fail and sadnessAt the Mountain-king’s return!”

“All that is gold does not glitter,Not all those who wander are lost;The old that is strong does not wither,Deep roots are not reached by the frost.From the ashes a fire shall be woken,A light from the shadows shall spring;Renewed shall be blade that was broken,The crownless again shall be king.”