I took my only young son, And my only daughter,
Down where the willow wands weep into the water,
And Walter my young son, he reached up and caught her,
When away like a seedling, a gentle wind brought her.
I had a daughter and a son,
But in the undergrowth I lost them.
For I am made of blood and bone,
And they are made of bud and blossom.
And all the sorrows of their sires,
Their sinning and wrongdoing cost me,
Upon the thorny, thorny briars,
May the wild water toss me.
And so I'll leave my native land,
Clad in birch and rhododendron.
In Caerlon, Albion, and Man,
May river flow and ever wend on.