Hen Wlad fy Nhadau

Hen Wlad fy Nhadau
Mae hen wlad fy nhadau
  yn anwyl i mi
Gwlad beirdd a chantorion,
  enwogion o fri
    Ei gwrol rhyfelwyr,
      gwladgarwyr tra mad
    Tros ryddid collasant eu gwaed.

  Gwlad, gwlad, pleidiol wyf i'm gwlad
  Tra mor yn fur
    I'r bur hoff bau
  O bydded i'r heniaith barhau.

Hen Gymru fynyddig,
  paradwys y bardd
Pob dyffryn, pob clogwyn,
  i'm golwg sydd hardd
    Trwy deimlad gwladgarol,
      mor swynol yw si
    Ei nentydd, afonydd, i mi.

Os treisiodd y gelyn
  fy ngwlad dan ei droed
Mae hen iaith y Cymry
  mor fyw ag erioed
    Ni luddiwyd yr awen
      gan erchyll law brad
    Na thelyn berseiniol fy ngwlad.
Evan James (Ieuan ap Iago) 1809-1878

Tôn: James James (Iago ap Ieuan) 1833-1902

Old Land of my Fathers
The old land of my fathers
  is dear to me
A land of poets and singers,
  famous ones of renown;
    Her brave warriors,
      patriots so virtuous
    For freedom shed their blood.

  Land, Land, partial am I to my land.
  While the sea is a wall
    To the pure, favourite region,
  O may the old language endure.

Old mountainous Wales,
  paradise of the bard
Every valley, every cliff,
  to my sight is beautiful
    Through patriotic feeling,
      so charming is the murmur
    Of her streams, rivers, to me.

If the enemy oppressed
  my land under his foot
The old language of the Welsh
  is as alive as ever.
    The muse was not deterred
      by the atrocious hand of betrayal,
    Nor is the melodious harp of my land.
tr. 2009 Richard B Gillion
Land of my Fathers
The land of my fathers,
  the land of my choice
The land in which poets
  and minstrels rejoice;
    The land whose stern warriors
      were true to the core,
    While bleeding for freedom of yore.

  Wales! Wales! fav'rite land of Wales!
  While sea her wall,
    May naught befall
  To mar the old language of Wales.

Old mountainous Cambria,
  the Eden of bards,
Each hill and each valley,
  excite my regards;
    To the ears of her patriots
      how charming still seems
    The music that flows in her streams.

My country though crushed
  by a hostile array,
The language of Cambria
  lives out to this day;
    The muse has eluded
      the traitors' foul knives,
    The harp of my country survives.
tr. Ebenezer Thomas (Eben Fardd) 1802-1863
The middle column is a literal translation of the Welsh. A Welsh translation is identified by the abbreviation 'cyf.', an English translation by 'tr.'

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