Moliant Merch

Fy nghalon i sydd yn danfon bob dydd

(Moliant Merch)
  Fy nghalon i sydd
  Yn danfon bob dydd,
At flode brig tansi,
    lon ffansi, lawn ffydd;
  Mor br yw dy bryd
   rhs ar lan rhyd,
Neu lafant neu lili,
    'n deg bwysi i'r byd,
  Dy gusan digl
  Yw'r mwsg ar y ml,
Cnewyllyn dy ddeufin
    i'm dilyn y dl;
  Mwy braint a mwy bri
  Cael ymwasgu  th'di
Na chywth brenhinieth,
    gwen eneth, gen i!

  Nid ydyw da'r byd
  A'i hyder o hyd,
I wŷr ac i wragedd
    ond gwagedd i gyd;
  Mawr serch a hir sai',
  Da drysor di-drai,
Yn hwy o flynyddoedd
    na thiroed a thai.
  Ceir dra-serch heb droi
  A chalon i'w chloi,
Os wyt ti, f'anwylyd,
    yn dwedyd y doi;
  Os tynni di'n groes,
  Mae'n berygl am f'oes
O gariad dŵys drawiad
    ym'dawiad nid oes.

  Rhag clywed bob gradd
  Yn lliwied fy lladd,
Gan ddwedyd - "Gwae honno,
    er ceisio, a'i nacdd!"
  Moes gysan, moes gael
  Mwyn eiriau, main ael,
A phardwn a phurdeb
    dy wyneb di-wael;
  Moes galon lwys lawn
  Car'digrwydd a dawn,
Tiriondeb, ffyddlondeb,
    uniondeb a wnawn;
  Ystyria, moes di,
  Lliw'r ewyn o'r lli',
Drugaredd gyfannedd,
    M. waredd, i mi.

Huw Morys (Eos Ceiriog) 1622-1709

gwelir: Tn Alarch

(The Praise of a Maiden)
  My heart is
  Sending every day
To the flowers of the sprigs of tansy,
    a cheerful fancy, full of faith;
  As sweet is thy countenance
  As roses on a russet bank,
Or lavender or a fair
    lily, as a posy to the world,
  Thy unconcealed kiss
  Is the musk on the honey,
The kernal of thy two lips
    to follow me shall come;
  A greater privilege and a greater honour
  To get to press together with thee
Than the breath of royalty,
    fair maiden, for me!

  The goods of the world
  With its constant pride
To men and to women is
    all but vanity;
  Great affection long shall stand,
  Good, unebbing treasure,
Longer in years
    than lands and houses.
  Passion without turning is to be got
  And a heart to lock it,
If thou art, my beloved,
    saying thou shalt come;
  If thou prove contrary,
  It is a peril for my life
From intense love there is not
    the stroke of leaving.

  From hearing every degree
  Upbraiding killing me,
Saying - "Woe to her,
    despite trying, and denying her!"
  Give kiss, give the getting
  Of gentle words, a fine eyebrow,
And the pardon and purity
    of thy excellent face;
  Give a comely heart full
  Of kindness and talent,
Gentleness, faithfulness,
    directness we would make;
  Consider, give thou,
  Colour of the foam from the floodtide,
Sociable mercy,
    M. compassion, to me.

tr. 2017 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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