Yn Iach i Ti Gymru

Yn iach i ti Gymru,
  ffarwel i'th fynyddoedd,
Dy nentydd grisialog
  a'th ddolydd diail;
Y coedydd lle treuliais
  fy ieuanc flynyddoedd,
Lle gwyliais agoriad
  y blodau a'r dail.
Mae'r llong yn y porth
  yn disgwyl amdanaf,
O gwae i mi feddwl
  ym adael erioed;
Ffarwel! o'r holl famau,
  y buraf a'r lanaf,
A'm cartref gwyn annwyl
  yng nghanol y coed.

Fy nwylo ddychwelant
  yn llawn neu yn weigion
I agor drws annwyl
  fy nghartref gwyn draw;
Mae'r afon yn sisial
  yng nghlust yr hen eigion,
Gan ofyn pa ddiwrnod
  yn ôl â fi ddaw.
O am dy hen awyr
  i wrido fy ngruddiau,
A'm hwian fel plentyn
  i huno mewn hedd;
A phan y gadawaf
  hen fyd y cystuddiau,
Rhwng muriau'r hen fynwent,
  O torrwch fy medd.
John Ceiriog Hughes (Ceiriog) 1832-87
Alaw: Llandyfri

Goodbye to you Wales,
  farewell to your mountains,
Your crystalline streams
  and your incomparable meadows;
The woods where I spent
  my young years
Where I saw the opening
  of the flowers and the leaves.
The ship is in the harbour
  waiting for me,
Oh woe that i should think
  of my leaving already;
Farewell! of all mothers,
  the purest and truest,
And my dear white home
  in the middle of the wood.

My hands will return
  full or empty
To open the dear door
  of my white home yonder;
The river is whipering
  in the ear of the old ocean,
Asking what day
  will I come back.
Oh for thy old air
  to blush my cheeks,
And to lull me like a child
  to sleep in peace;
And when I leave
  the old world of tribulations
Between the walls of the old cemetary
  Oh cut my grave.
tr: 2008 Richard B Gillion

Farewell to thee Cymru,
  farewell my own mountain,
Farewell! sparkling fountain,
  green field of my flock!
And woods where in boyhood
  I wander'd beholding
The heath flow'r unfolding,
  the ashleaf unlock.
My ship's on the shore,
  and alas! we must sever;
My grief that I ever
  should sail the far seas!
Farewell my fond mother,
  all mothers excelling,
Adieu! dear old dwelling
  hid up in the trees.

In hoar ocean's ear
  how our brook seems to whisper:
'O say shall he prosper;
  safe home shall he fleet?'
With hands full or empty
  there shall he stand knocking,
Till dear ones come flocking
  their exile to greet,'
Then let Cymru's breezes,
  fresh caught from the billow,
Again lull my pillow,
  again light my cheek;
Until for the long rest
  I'm ready, I'm ready!
And with my tired body
  her bosom I seek.
tr: A P Graves 1846-1931

Adieu, thou dear land
  of the forest and fountain,
The fate that divides us
  I deeply deplore;
Thy vales, fertile fields,
  and thy wild heathy mountains,
Alas! I may dwell
  'mid their beauties no more!
In thee I first felt
  the purest emotion,
And fondest affection,
  though rent is the chain;
And oh! I have lov'd thee
  with deeper devotion
Than e'er I shall feel
  in this wide world again!

Oh, dear are thy glens,
  and thy wild waters flowing,
Rapid and sparkling
  among the green trees,
And dear are thy hills
  in the summer sun glowing,
But dearer than all,
  is thy health breathing breeze!
Although now afar
  from the land of the wild-wood,
I hope that my life-star
  may set where it rose;
And in the sweet scenes
  of my earliest childhood,
Beneath the green turf
  I may calmly repose.
Miss M S Lawrence

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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