Oriau fy Ieuengctid

Hoff oriau fy i'engctid
    tra hyfryd eich hynt,
Mae'r atgof yn dyner
    o'ch gwychder chwi gynt,
  Pan nad oedd yn gofid
      yn llethu fy mron,
  Fy mynwes yn dawel,
      a'm henaid yn llon.

Cawn droswyf fi f'hunan
    yn hoff, y pryd hwn,
Rai eraill mewn gofal
    f'ai'n ddyrys ei bwn:
  Mewn gofal wyf finnau
      drwy 'nyddiau yn awr,
  Dros eraill dan wasgfa,
      a'i feithdra'n wir fawr.

Mwyn oriau fy ie'ngctid!
    llawn oeddych o wres,
A yrrai dryw 'nghalon
    lân dirion lon des:
  Pa le'r oedd helbulon,
      pan chwiliwn dryw'r dydd
  Am nyth yr aderyn,
      a'm rhodiad yn rhydd?

Ni wasgai'm hymenydd
    un cerydd, os cawn;
Ar ôl braw'r wialen
    i chwareu'n iach awn:
  Nid ydoedd un gofid
      na gwae â mi 'ngl&375;n
  A gadwai fy llygaid
      a'm henaid heb hun.

Yn oriau fy i'engctid,
    b'ai'm mynwes yn dân,
Wrth chwareu'n llwyr ddigrif
    rhyw lon gastiau mân;
  Bob awr a allaswn
      ladratta o dre',
  Chwiliaswn Baradwys
      wir lân yn rhyw le.

Mor ysgafn y galon
    pan awn dros yr iâ,
Mor gyflym â'r wennol
    ar foreu o ha';
  Pan na chawn i'm blino,
      na chystudd, na chur,
  Na chnöadeiddigedd,
      a'i dannedd fel dur.

Yn oriau fy i'engctid,
    nid oedd imi'n rhan
Yr ofnau o ddyfod
    y byd arna' i'n wan,
  Nac wylo wrth weled
      rhoi rhai yn y rhych,
  A gwreiddiau fy nghalon
      yn rhwym wrth eu drych.

Rhy gynnar yr aethoch,
    hoff oriau, ar ffo;
Ac mwy ni ddychwelwch
    byth, byth ond i'm co', -
  A hynny bob amser,
      yn ddiau, gan ddwyn
  Cymmysgedd o dristwch
      â rhywbeth sy fwyn.

Dear hours of my youth
    so delightful your course,
The memory is tender
    of your former brilliance,
  When there was no worry
      oppressing my breast,
  My bosom quiet,
      and my soul cheerful.

I could get to please
    myself, at that time,
Some others in care
    would have a troublesome load:
  In care am I too
      throughout my days now,
  For others under pressure,
      and its length truly great.

Tender hours of my youth!
    full ye were of warmth,
Which would drive through my heart
    pure, tender, cheerful heat:
  Where were troubles,
      when I would search through the day
  For the bird's nest,
      with my wandering free?

No rebuke would oppress
    my mind, if I would get one;
After the terror of the cane
    to play soundly I would go:
  There was no worry
      nor woe connected with me
  Which would leave my eyes
      and my soul without sleep.

In the hours of my youth,
    my bosom would be on fire,
While playing completely jovially
    some cheerful, small pranks;
  Every hour I could
      steal away from home,
  I would seek true, pure
      Paradise in some place.

How light the heart
    when I would go across the ice,
As fast as the swallow
    on a morning of summer;
  When I could not be grieved,
      by affliction, or ache,
  Or gnawing of jealousy,
      with its teeth like steel.

In the hours of my youth,
    there was no share for me
Of the fears of the world
    becoming weak to me,
  Nor weeping on seeing
      putting some in the furrow,
  And the roots of my heart
      bound by their condition.

Too soon ye went,
    dear hours, fleeing;
And ye no more returned
    ever, but to my memory, -
  And this every time,
      doubtless, bringing
  A mixture of sadness
      with something which is gentle.