Henffych Well i Wlad Fy Nghalon

1.
Henffych well, i wlad fy nghalon,
Llwyddiant i ti Cymru dirion;
Bendith i dy feibion dewrion,
  A dy ferched glân;
Peraidd yw dy hynod hanes,
I wresogi serch fy mynwes;
Tra bo 'ngwaed yn llifo'n gynnes,
  Caraf wlad y gan.

Anwyl-wlad fy nhadau,
Caraf dy fynyddau;
Creigiau gleision uwch y nant
  Ymwelant a'r cymylau,
Dolydd a dyffrynoedd ffrwythlon,
Ffrydiau clir a llynau llawnion,
Adlewyrchant flodau tlysion
  Yn ei dyfroedd glân:

Hiraeth sydd i'm llethu,
Am anwylion Cymru,
Ow! na chawn fy mhwrs yn llawn,
  A chred a dawn i'm denu,
Adre'n ol i blith fy nheulu,
A chyfeillion i'm croesawu:
Yn olynawl gwnawn foliannu
  Cymru, gwlad y gân.  
 
2.
Mil melusach i fy nghalon,
Na mwynderau gwlad y Saeson,
Cig a gwin, a da a digon,
  Ydyw gwlad y gân:
Nid oes modd i 'ngwân lawenu,
Tra bo f'enaid yn hiraethu
Am fynyddoedd cribog Cymru,
  A'i dyffrynoedd glân;

Nid y llawn heolydd,
Mwg a thwrf y trefydd;
Nid y byd a'i olud drud,
  Sy'n denu bryd y prydydd;
Ond afonydd, gwyrddion ddolydd,
Swn yr awel yn y coedydd,
Cymau, glynau, bryniau bronydd,
  Cymru, gwlad y gân.

Cara'r oen y ddafad,
Cara mun ei chariad,
Cara'r cybydd bwrs yn llawn,
  A dyn a dawn ei dyniad;
Cara'r babi fron ei fami,
Caraf finau'r wlad wy'n foli,
Duw a wyr mor anwyl i mi
  Ydyw Cymru lân.

1.
All hail, to the land of my heart,
Success to thee gentle Wales;
Blessing to thy brave sons,
  And thy spotless daughters;
Sweet is thy notable history,
To warm the ardour of my breast;
As long as my blood flows warm,
  I will love the land of song.

Dear land of my fathers,
I will love thy mountains;
Blue crags above the stream
  Visited by clouds,
Meadows and fruitful vales,
Clear torrents and full lakes,
Pretty flowers are reflected
  In its clean waters.

Longing overwhelms me,
For the dear ones of Wales,
If only I could fill my purse,
  And belief and talent to draw me,
Back home among my family,
And friends to welcome me:
One after let us make the praise
  Of Wales, the land of song.

2.
A thousand times sweeter to my heart,
Than the pleasures of the land of the Saxon,
Meat and wine, good and in plenty,
  Is the land of song:
There is no means my smile to gladden,
While my soul is longing
For the crested mountains of Wales,
  And its clean valleys;

Not the full streets,
Smoke and crowds of the towns;
Not the world and its costly wealth,
  Can draw me time after time;
But rivers, green meadows,
The sound of the breeze in the woods,
Vales, glens, the tops of hills,
  Wales, land of song.

The lamb loves the flock,
A maiden loves her lover,
The miser loves a full purse,
And a man of talent his draught;
  The baby loves his mammy's breast,
I love the borders of the land I dote on
God knows so dear to me
  Is pure Wales.