Translations into English Verse from the Poems of Davyth ap Gwilym/The Coronet of Peacock's Plumes
THE CORONET OF PEACOCK’S PLUMES;
MORVYTH’S PRESENT TO THE BARD.
One glorious morn, beneath the grove,
To Morvyth many a lay I wove:—
“Maid of my heart, O twine,” I said,
“One rural garland for my head;
One verdant manacle, to be
This hour of rapture’s memory!”
“Dear bard, ’twere cruelty to tear
Yon lonely birch’s glossy hair—
Yon anchorite chain’d the cliff along—
I’ll pay with nobler gift thy song.”
My lady’s hand my locks has set
With varied pinnacles of gold—
A proud immortal coronet,
Glean’d from the peacock’s sunny fold!
To join those plumes with magic band,
Were work befitting monarch’s hand—
Those gems of air—those floating flow’rs—
Those lamps to light my bardic hours—
Those tiny palaces o’erspread
With eyes—as of the mighty dead!
Ne’er shall the poet’s forehead lose
The mirror of their living hues.
All things of loveliness have met,
In this my Morvyth’s coronet!
A head-dress made of flowers, foliage, or the plumage of birds, seems to have been a common love-token. In another ode we find the poet thanking his mistress for a hat made of birchen branches. The poem, though not worthy of translation, contains some fine ideas, which I have extracted.
Coronet for summer skies,
I will keep thy green array,
Though in fear my footstep flies.
Fragment of the robes of May!
Charm that freest love from care,
Tent above the forehead fair;
Dawn of rare affection’s art;
Beauteous symbol of the heart;
Girdle for the dresses wove
From the white locks of the grove.