Dyrchafa f'Awen dyro gân

(Haelioni)

Haelioni
Dyrchafa, f'Awen, dyro gân
  O glod i lân Haelioni,
A gosod hon i'r byd i ma's
  Mewn gwisgoedd addas iddi.

Os mwyn yw gwawr - os hoff yw gwên
  Y seren firain forau, -
Os hardd yw clôg y gwanwyn gwyrdd
  A'i liwdeg fyrdd o flodau, -

Os glwys yw lliw yr haulwen dêg
  Uwch bryn wrth gudeg godi, -
Nag un o'r rhai'n, sy'n gain i gyd,
  Mae'n lanach pryd Haelioni.

Mor foneddigaidd i bob un
  Yw'r anwyl fn addfywnaf, -
Mor barod byth i roddi'n fwyn
  Rhwydd glust i gŵyn y gwannaf.

Mor hardd ei chamrau, 'r gauaf o'r,
  I alw wrth ddôr y rheidus, -
I edrych a fydd eisiau bwyd
  Mewn bwthyn llwyd, trallodus; -

I estyn llaw o gymmorth llon
  I godi'r galon gulwedd, -
I wrando llef yr henwr gwan,
  A noddi'i drwstan dristedd.

Y deigryn tawel ar ei grudd,
  Mwy purlan fydd nâ'r perlau
Y'nghoron un tywysg mawr,
  Neu unrhyw ddrudfawr emmau.

Dwg faeth i galon glwyfus, drom,
  Y weddw lom anniddan,
A chysur hoff a rydd o hyd
  Lle gwnaeth y drygfyd drifgan.

Myfi a welais lawer gwaith
  Yn oergell laith carchardy,
Yn attal loesau gwae a gwŷn,
  Dy hyfryd ln, Haelioni.

I'r hen a'r 'nafus hardd-dai cain
  Trwy Frydain, uwch rhifedi,
Bob dydd sy'n codi borau gân
 O fawl i lân Haelioni.

Mi glywaf weddi llawer mil
  Am lwyddiant
      hil Haelioni, -
A thorf liosog, rif y gwlith,
  Yn dadsain "Bendith arni."

O byddwn blant i'r lwysferch hon
  O ffyddlon union enaid;
Cawn weddi dyn, -
    cawn Grist o'n rhan,
  E'n dwg i'r man bendigaid.

Ni gawn o'n cylch holl Nattur fwyn
  I ddyn yn dwyn daioni, -
Pob peth yn dilyn siamplau mâd
  Tirionwch Tad tosturi;-

Yr haul yn gweini dydd a gwres, -
  Y ddaear gynnes geinwych
Yn rhoddi ŷd a ffrwythau llon,
  Mewn agwedd hylon haelwych.

Cawn ffrydiau llawnaf, bob rhyw ddydd,
  O gariad Dofydd dwyfol
Yn amgylchynu llwybrau dyn,
  Ac yntau'n wyfyn marwol.

Oll, oll o'n cylch, ai gwel'd a gawn
  Fel hyn yn llawn daioni,
Heb deimlo'r fynwes dêg yn dn
  O serch i lân Haelioni?

A ro'wn i'r truan, dan ei bwn,
  O'r teimlad hwn ddim profion,
Drwy rannu o'n llawnderau ni
  Ryw faint i laesu'i loesion?

Pan wnelom wledd, a'n byrddau'n llawn
  O ethol iawn ddanteithion,
A gaiff 'mo'r caban tywyll, du,
  'I ddiwallu â'r gfweddillion?

Ni phery'r byd ond ennyd awr,
  A'i drysawr a'i deganau;
In' drysor gwnawn,  na fyddwn ffol,
  Ar fythol freiniol fryniau.

Mor ffiaidd ydyw'r cybydd cas,
  Ddyn brwnt, di ras, di reswm,
Yn byw y'nghanol aur a bwyd
  Yn adyn crinllwyd croenllwm.

Ei galon galed byth ni thawdd,
  Mae mor ddi nawdd â'r garreg;
Ni wl na loes, na chroes, na chri,
  Un rhad o honi'n rhedeg. 

Ond gwrando, ddyn, - mae gair dy Dduw
  Yn haeddu'th glyw manylaf;
Yr adyn ffol, pa le mae'th ffydd
  Y'ngwobrwy'r dydd diweddaf?

A gedwi'n gaeth o fewn dy gôd
  Dy drysor darfodedig,
A Duw'n dy gymmell i roi rhan
  I'r tlawd a'r egwan unig? -

Yn dweyd mai poenau uffern ddu
  Fydd rhan y di drugarog,
Na rydd ei glust, - na fydd yn frawd
  Y'nghwyn y tlawd anghenog, -

Yn addaw bythol wynfyd têr
  Yn ardal bêr y bywyd,
I'r sawl a ddysgo sychu'n glau
  A'i gyfoeth ddagrau gofid.
Daniel Evans (Daniel Ddu o Geredigion) 1792-1846
Generosity
Arise, my Muse, give a song
  Of praise to holy Generosity,
Which sets this out to the world
  In garments suitable for it.

If gentle is dawn - if lovely is the smile
  Of the comely star of morning, -
If beautiful is the green cloak of spring
  With its colourful myriad of flowers,

If pleasant is the colour of the fair sunshine
  Above the hill as the fair and amiable rises, -
Than any of those, which are altogether fine,
  Is purer the countenance of Generosity.

So genial to each one
  Is the most dear, beloved sweetheart, -
So prepared always to give tenderly
  A ready ear to the complaint of the weakest.

So beautiful her steps, in the cold winter,
   To call at the door of the needy, -
To see whether there is need of food
  In the grey, troubled cottage; -

To reach out a hand of cheerful help
  To raise the languishing heart, -
To listen to the cry of the weak, old man,
  And note his unfortunate sorrow.

The quiet tear on her cheek,
  More pure will be than the pearls
In the crown of a great prince,
  Or any expensive jewels.

Bringing nourishment to the heavy, wounded heart
  Of the disconsolate, desitute widow,
And lovely comfort she will give always
  Where misfortune makes a dwelling.

I also have seen many times
  In the cold, damp cell of prison,
Halting the throes of woe and ache,
  Thy lovely form, Generosity.

To the old and the delapidated fine noble houses
  Throughout Britain, beyond number,
Which every day are raising a morning song
  Of praise to holy Generosity.

I hear many a thousand prayers
  For the prosperity
      of the offspring of Generosity, -
And a numerous throng, numbered as the dew,
  Resounding "Blessing upon her."

Oh let us be children of this comely girl
  O faithful, upright soul;
Let us get man's prayer, -
    let us get Christ on our part,
  He will bring us to the blessed place.

We have around us the whole gentle nature
  To man bringing goodness, -
Every thing following the virtuous example
  Of the tenderness of the Father of mercies;-

The sun serving day and warmth, -
  The splendid, warm earth
Yielding grain and ready fruit,
  In an abounding, bountiful attitude.

We have fullest streas, every kind of day,
  From the love of a divine Master
Encompassing man's paths,
  And he a mortal worm.

All, all around us, will we get to see it
  Thus full of goodness,
Without feeling the fair breast as a fire
  Of desire for holy Generosity.

And shall we give to the wretch, under his burden,
  Of this feeling no experience,
Through the sharing of our fullnesses
  Some extent to ease his griefs?

Whenever we make a feast, with our tables full
  Of a selection of true delicacies,
Shall the dark, black hovel get anything
  To satisfy it from the leftovers?

The world shall not endure but for a moment,
  With its treasure and its trinkets;
Let us make our treasure, - let us not be foolish,
  On the everlasting royal hills.

How detestable is the hated miser,
  A dirty man, ungracious, unreasonable,
Living amidst gold and food
  The naked, pallid scoundrel.

His hard heart will never melt,
  It is as un-sheltering as the stone;
It sees neither anguis, nor cross, nor cry,
  A poor one running from him.

But listen, man, - thy God's word is
  Deserving thy closest attention;
Thou foolish scoundrel, where is thy faith
  In the rewarding of the last day?

Shalt thou keep captive within thy purse
  Thy fading treasure,
Shall God compell thee to give a portion
  To the poor and weak alone? -

Saying that the pains of black hell
  Will be a portion to unmerciful thee,
Who gives not his ear, - nor will be a brother
  In the complaint of the needy poor, -

Promising everlasting bright blessedness
  In the sweet region of life,
To whoever learns to dry swiftly
  With his wealth the tears of grief.
tr. 2015 Richard B Gillion

The middle column is a literal translation of the Welsh (corrections welcome). A Welsh translation is identified by the abbreviation 'cyf.', an English translation by 'tr.'

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