Dydd Nadolig

Wedi blwyddyn o ofalon

Dydd Nadolig
Wedi blwyddyn o ofalon,
Wedi cwrdd  stormydd geirwon,
  Fe ddaw tangnef gwynfydedig
  Ar adenydd dydd Nadolig.

Peraidd ganodd "Ser y borau,"
Canodd y "bugeiliaid" hwythau,
  Canwn ninnau yn frwdfrydig,
  Gerddi Bethl'em ddydd Nadolig.

Y mae swyn y "Preseb" tawel,
Yn dwyfoli min yr awel;
  Ynddo caed yn iselfrydig
  Geidwad dyn ar ddydd Nadolig.

O! pan ddaw'r boreuddydd tyner,
Awn i Fethle'm ar ein cyfer;
  Blychau'n cariad fo'n doredig
  Ar ei ben ar ddydd Nadolig.

Aur a Thus oedd gan y Doethion,
Ninnau roddwn iddo'n calon;
  Yn ei lle daw i'r colledig
  Calon Duw ar ddydd Nadolig.

Er fod eira ar y bryniau,
Yn dyferu gan lawenydd;
  Nes rhoi hwyl fr galon ysig,
  Floeddio cn ar ddydd Nadolig.

Y mae brigau yr uchelwydd,
Er fod i'n cadwyno'r ffrydiau,
  Gwres calonau duwiolfrydig
  Dawdd y rhew ar ddydd Nadolig.

Ysbryd sydd ar bob celynen,
Yn cyhoeddi "Gwyliau llawen;"
  Ac mae'r tlawd yn &373;r boneddig
  Wrth y wledd ar ddydd Nadolig.

Cawn gyfarfod hen gyfeillion,
A mwynau eu holl gyfrinion;
  Troir yn nefoedd gysegredig
  Aelwyd cartref ddydd Nadolig.

Nis gall telyn fod yn segur,
Byddai hyny'n groes i'w natur:
  Tyr y brig lle mae'n grogedig
  Os na chn ar ddydd Nadolig.

Mae awenau beirdd yn fflamio,
Mewn "carolau" newydd eto;
  Ac mae'r defion brwd cyntefig
  Yn rhoi blas ar ddydd Nadolig.

Wrth anadlu blwyddyn newydd,
Tremiwn dros ei brig aflonydd,
  Mewn rhyw hiraeth am bellenig
  Gopa sanctaid i dydd Nadolig.

Evan Rees (Dyfed) 1850-1923
Trysorfa y Plant, Chwefror 1883.

Christmas Day
After a year of cares,
After meeting with rough storms,
  Blessed peace comes
  On the wings of Christmas day.

Sweetly sang the "Stars of the morning,"
Sang the "shepherds" themselves,
  Let us too sing eagerly,
  The songs of Bethlehem on Christmas day.

The enchantment of the poor "Crib", is
Making divine the edge of the breeze;
  In it is found lowly
  The Saviour of man on Christmas day.

O when the tender morn of day comes,
Let us go to Bethlehem for ourselves!
  The boxes of our love be broken
  On his head on Christmas day!

Gold and Incense were from the Wise Men,
We will give him our heart;
  In his place will come for the lost
  The Heart of God on Christmas day.

Although there is snow on the hills,
Delighting with joy;
  Until giving spirit to the wounded heart,
  Shouting a song on Christmas day.

The twigs of the high trees are,
Although ice be chaining the streams,
  The warmth of godly hearts
  Melts the frost on Christmas day.

A spirit is on every holly,
Announcing "Joyful holidays;"
  And the poor is a gentleman
  At the feast on Christmas day.

We get to meet old friends,
And enjoy all their secrets;
  To be turned into consecrated heaven is
  The homely dwelling on Christmas day.

No harp can be safe,
That would be contrary to its nature:
  The twig where it is hanging will break
  If it does not play on Christmas day.

The muses of the bards are flaming,
In new "carols" again;
  And the fervent, primeval customs
  Giving flavour to Christmas day.

On breathing a new year,
Let us gaze across its uneasy extremity,
  In some longing for a remote
  Holy summit to Christmas day.

tr. 2016 Richard B Gillion

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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