Ystyriwn einioes dyn,
ein dichlyn daith,
A hyd y bywyd byr,
mewn myfyr maith;
Gauafddydd trymllyd uw,
oer ywyw'r hin,
Ac nid oes munid byr
heb lafur blin.
Dir yw nad ydyw dyn
ond gwyfyn gwael,
A'i ronyn amser drwg
ar brysur draul;
Diflanu mae fel ôd,
neu gysgod gau,
Fel lledlaith nifwl llwyd,
a breuddwyd brau.
Mae dyn, lysieuyn sal,
gwan, meddal, mâd,
Fel brwynen grinwen grom,
ar lom oer wlad;
Fel cawn, neu wawn,
un wedd o lygredd lin,
Fel gwelltyn, gwlyddyn glas,
fel cras sofl crin.
Ein hyder ar ein hoes,
na rown yn hwy;
Ond iâ y gelyn mawr
dysgwyliwn mwy;
Pob oed a gwymp i'r bedd,
pob gwedd i gyd,
Ca'dd llawer maban, do
y gro yn gryd.
Marwolaeth gaeth ei gwedd
i'r bedd oer bwys,
Mae'n casglu bonedd byd
dan gysglyd gwys;
Pob enw, iaith, a gwaed,
dan draed yn drwm,
Dwg bachau angau oer,
i'w gloer dan glwm.
Nid ydyw'n arbed
un anwylddyn iach,
Iawn glodfawr Gun
na Glyw o unrhyw âch:
Breninoedd ac arglwyddi
ceir i'w gloer;
Dwyn o ysgariad
wisg îs cwrlid oer.
Heb un dysgwyliad,
baidd i loywaidd lŷs
Ddwyn pla neu haint,
i ladd un radd ni rus;
Ei corph lliw'r asur cain,
rhôs, eiry, calch,
Y bachgen addien îr,
neu feinir falch.
Dyn syw fu'n denu
serch loyw ferch ael fain,
A delw glendid
oedd ar g'oedd wawr gain.
Ow! gau y deg ei dull
dan dywyll dô,
Dwy geulan dew
a gudd ei grudd mewn gro.
Yr athro clodfawr
oedd ar g'oedd mor gu,
A drengodd, Ow!
rhwng dwylaw'r angeu du.
Trosglwyddo'r ysgolhaig
a'i rwysg i lawr,
Mewn arch, dan dywarch dô,
mae'n huno'n awr.
Daw'r aerwr,
er peryglon lawr pryd,
O'r drin fawr adre'n fyw
drwy bob rhyw byd,
Daw angeu mewn llid
traws i'r man lle trig,
Terfyna'r einioes fer
â'i ddager ddig.
Pa filwr balch ei ben,
neu gadpen gwiw,
Aeth drwy farwolaeth drom
yn ffrom ei ffriw?
Pa ieuangc was di rus,
os daw i'w rwyd,
Na chryn o'i draed i'w ben
fel aethnen lwyd?
Ni chair ar dir na môr
un doctor da,
I un mewn marwol ing,
a'i bling o'i bla;
Ni wŷs na llŷs na llech
yn drech na'i drangc,
Ni thorai'r byd yn un
ei wŷn a'i wangc.
Gan hyny dyma'r enyd
imi roi
Fy mryd a'm bwriad dwys
i ymbar'toi,
Ar lwybr anfarwol wlad,
cyn treiglad trwm,
Crist imi'n gyfaill hael
mewn gauaf llwm.
Efe a drechodd drâs
galanas lu,
Fe lamodd yn nghadwynau
angeu du,
Gan dyn'r colyn cas,
a'r glas hir gledd,
Oedd gan y garw aerwr
hagr ei wedd.
Dwg lwch ei briod glau,
rhyw forau fydd,
O'r dyffryn sy'n ei dal,
i'r ardal rydd;
Heb ofni angeu byth,
â dilyth dôn,
I gyd-foliannu mwy
y Dwyfawl Iôn.
|
Let us consider the lifespan of man,
our intricate journey,
And the length of the short life,
in a long study;
An oppressive winter day is is,
cold is the climate,
And there is not a short minute
wihtout wearying labour.
It is certain that man is nothing
but a lowly moth,
And his grain of evil time
hurriedly spent;
Disappearing it is like snow,
or an empty shadow,
Like damp, grey fog,
and a fragile dream.
Man, a sick herb, is
weak, soft, infected,
Like a withered, bent rush,
on cold loam of a land;
Like reeds, or cobwebs,
likewise of decaying flax,
Like a straw, a green cane,
like dry, shrivelled stubble.
Our confidence on our age,
let us not put any longer;
But the ice of the great enemy
let us expect henceforth;
Every age-group shall fall into the grave,
every condition together,
Many a son got, yes
the grain in the crib.
Captive mortality, its face
to the cold, important grave,
It is gathering a noble world
under a sleepy sod;
Every name, language, and blood,
heavy under foot,
Will bring the hooks of cold death,
to their coffin under a knot.
It is not saving
any healthy dear man,
No truly praiseworthy dear one
nor Chieftain of any pedigree:
Kings and Lords
are to be gotten to their coffin;
Conducted from a parting
to being under a cold covering.
Without any expectation,
of a venture to the radiant court
Which brings plague or epidemic,
to kill any degree untroubled;
His body the colour of fine azure,
moor, snow, chalk,
The fresh, fine boy,
or proud, graceful young woman.
A splendid man who attracted the glowing
affection of a girl of slender eyebrow,
And of purity of image
who was publicly a delicate dawn.
Oh! the fair one will close her form
under a dark roof,
Two thick banks
will hide her cheek in gravel.
The praiseworthy teacher
who was publicly so dear,
Who perished, Oh!
between the hands of the black death.
Conveying the scholarship
and its dignity down,
In a coffin, under a turf roof,
he is sleeping now.
The warrior comes,
despite perils many a time,
From the great conflict home alive
through every kind of world,
Death comes in wrath
over to the man where he lives,
Shortens the short lifespan
with his angry bayonet.
What proud soldier,
or worthy captain,
Went through heavy mortality
with a furious countenance?
What young lad untroubled,
if he come to its net,
Will not tremble from his feet to his head
like a grey poplar?
There is not to be found on land or sea
one good doctor,
For one in the throes of death,
who will pluck him from his plague;
Neither summons nor court nor hiding place
can overcome his decease,
The world will not break as one
its complaint and its appetite.
Therefore here is the moment
for me to give
My intent and my serious purpose
to prepare myself,
On the path of an immortal land,
before a heavy revolution,
Christ to me as a generous friend
in a bare winter.
He has overcome the lineage
of a feuding host,
He leapt in the chains
of black death,
While pulling the detestable sting,
and the extremely long sword,
Which the rough warrior had,
one of ugly countenance.
He will bring his true spouse,
some morning that will be,
From the vale which holds him,
to the free region;
Without fearing death ever,
with an endless tune,
To praise together evermore
the Divine Lord.
tr. 2015 Richard B Gillion |
|