fascinating commixture of the poetry of nature and the poetry of war. It must not, however, be imagined that translation can do anything like justice to the original.
‘Mochddwyreawc huan haf dyffestin,
Maws llafar adar, mygr hear hin.
Gorwylieis nos yn achadw ffin
Gorloes rydieu dyfr Dygen Freidin.
Gorlas gwellt didryf, dwfr neud iesin,
Gorddyar eaws awdl gynefin.
Gwylein yn gware ar wely lliant,
Lleithrion eu pluawr pleidieu edrin.
Pellynig fy nghof yng nghynefin
Yn ethryb caru Caerwys febin.
Llachar fy nghleddyf lluch i anwyd-yng nghad,
Llewychedig eur ar fy ysgwyd.
Ac er bod llywy lliw eiry ar goed
Pan fu aer rhag caer cyforieis waed.
Garaf fi eaws Fei fore hun ludd,
A golygon hwyr, hirwyn i grudd.
Garaf fi’r ednan a’i llarian lleis,
Cathl foddawg coed, cadr i etheis.
Gweleis yn Rhuddlan ruthr fflam rhag Owein,
A chelanedd rhein a rhudd fybyr.
Gweleis yno ym mro yn amrygyr
Tewi ganllyw a wyr o anystyr.’
‘Early-rising is the sun of the swiftly-coming summer,
Melodious is the voice of birds, glorious the resounding air.
I watched throughout the night, guarding the boundary
Of the murmuring water-fords of Dygen Freidin.
Of brilliant green is the untrodden grass, limpid is the water.
Common are the notes of the nightingale’s song.
Seagulls are playing on a bed of waters.
Gleaming the plumes of the clamouring flocks.
Far are my thoughts, in my accustomed place.
Because of my love for the youth of Caerwys.
Glittering is my sword of flashing temper in battle,
Resplendent is the gold upon my shield.
And though I love the fair maid of the hue of snow on the trees.
In the fight before the fort I caused the blood to flow.
