Y Ferch O'r Scer

Mab wyf i sy'n byw dan benyd

Y Ferch O'r Scer
Mab wyf i sy'n byw dan benyd,
  Am f'anwylyd fawr ei bri;
Gwaith fwy'n ei charu'n
    fwy na digon,
  Curio wnaeth fy nghalon i:
Gwell yw dangos beth yw'r achos,
  Nag ymaros dan fy nghur;
Dere'r seren atai'n llawen,
  Ti gei barch a chariad pur.

Gwresog ydyw'r haul gwyneblon,
   Oer, ond anwyl, ydyw'r ser;
Gwres oer felly yn fy nghalon
   Bār adgofion
       Merch y Scer.
Mae fy mam a'm chwaer yn dirion,
   Yn rhoi popeth yn fy llaw;
Merch y Scer sy'n torri'm calon,
   Merch y Scer sy 'n cadw draw.

'Pwylla'r bachgen gwyllt dy anian,
  Rwyf yn ofni rhwymo'm llaw;
Wrth gael digon o rybuddion,
  Gan gariadon yma a thraw:
Rwy'n rhy ifanc eto i ddianc,
  Cymraf bwyll
      cyn mynd rhy bell;
Pan fwy'n barod ryw ddiwrnod,
  Clywed gei, os byddi gwell.'


The Maid of Sker
A son I am who is living under sorrow,
  For my beloved of great esteem;
The great work of loving her is
    more than enough,
  To make my heart beat:
Better is showing what is the cause,
  Than waiting under my stroke;
Come thou star to me joyfully,
  Thou wilt get reverence and pure love.

Warm is the cheerful-faced sun,
  Cold, but dear, are the stars;
Warm-cold thus in my heart
  Continue the memories
      of the Maid of Sker.
My mother and my sister are tender,
  Putting everything in my hand;
The Maid of Sker is breaking my heart,
  The Maid of Sker who is keeping away.

"The pangs of the wild boy of thy nature,
  I am fearing binding my hand;
While getting enough of warnings,
  From lovers here and yonder:
I am too young yet to escape,
  I will take good sense
      before going too far;
When I am ready some day,
  To hear thou wilt get, if thou prefer."

tr. 2016 Richard B Gillion

The Lady of Sker
I am a young man living in sorrow
  'Tis for a lady known for her charms
Too well I love her
    and every morrow
  Ever I pine and long for her arms.
Better it is to show my passion
  Than to endure this restless pain
Come bright star, beam kindly on me
  Then shall my pure love be near me again.

So does the wild young man implore me
  I fear my hand must yet be bound,
So many warnings are before me
  From married lovers all around.
I'm too young to be tied to another
  I must make discretion
      my guide,
When I am ready to take a lover
  You shall hear how I decide.

Maria Ximena Hayes

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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