Welsh - Dafydd ap Gwilym - Offeren y Llwyn

‘The Woodland Mass’: summary

  1. Lle digrif y bûm heddiw
  2. Dan fentyll y gwyrddgyll gwiw,
  3. Yn gwarando ddechrau dydd
  4. Y ceiliog bronfraith celfydd
  5. Yn canu englyn alathr,
  6. Arwyddion a Uithion llathr.

  7. Pellennig, pwyll ei annwyd,
  8. Pell ei siwrnai’r llatai llwyd.
  9. Yma y doeth o swydd goeth Gaer,
  10. Am ei erchi o’m eurchwaer,
  11. Geiriog, heb un gair gwarant,
  12. Sef y cyrch, i Nentyrch nant.
  13. Morfudd a’i hanfonasai,
  14. Mydr ganiadaeth mab maeth Mai.
  15. Amdano yr oedd gasmai
  16. O flodau mwyn gangau Mai,
  17. A’i gasul, debygesynt,
  18. O esgyll, gwyrdd fentyll, gwynt.

  19. Nid oedd yna, myn Duw mawr,
  20. Ond aur oil yn do’r allawr.
  21. Mi a glywwn mewn gloywiaith
  22. Ddatganu, nid methu, maith,
  23. Darllain i’r plwyf, nid rhwyf rhus,
  24. Efengyl yn ddifyngus.
  25. Codi ar fryn ynn yna
  26. Afrlladen o ddeilen dda.
  27. Ac eos gain fain fangaw
  28. O gwr y llwyn gar ei llaw,
  29. Clerwraig nant, i gant a gân
  30. Cloch aberth, clau ei chwiban,
  31. A dyrchafel yr aberth
  32. Hyd y nen uwchben y berth;
  33. A chrefydd i’n Dofydd Dad,
  34. A charegl nwyf a chariad.

  35. Bodlon wyf i’r ganiadaeth,
  36. Bedwlwyn o’r coed mwyn a’i maeth.

Text from: Thomas Parry (ed.), Gwaith Dafydd ap Gwilym (Cardiff, 1952), pp. 323–4.

I was in a happy place today, 
under mantles of lovely green hazels, 
listening, at dawn of day, 
to the ingenious cock Thrush 
singing a polished englyn 
with portents and bright lessons.

[He is] a stranger, wise his nature, 
a grey messenger who came here from afar:
he came from fair Carmarthenshire,
being thus requested by my golden girl.
With eloquence, though with no verbal warranty
his course is towards Nentyrch valley —
Morfudd [it was] who had commissioned him —
the fosterson of May, versed in the art of song.
He wore about him a vestment
of the flowers of May’s sweet branches,
and his chasuble (one would suppose)
of the winged green mantles of the wind.

By great God, there was not there 
as roofing to the chancel anything but gold. 
I heard there, in language loud and clear 
a chanting, long and without cease, 
and the gospel read distinctly 
to the parish — no unseemly haste. 
There was raised upon a mound for us 
a perfect leaf as consecrated wafer, 
and the eloquent slender Nightingale 
from the corner of the near-by thicket 
(the valley’s wandering poetess) rang out 
the Sanctus bell to the assembly, with clear whistle, 
and lifted up the consecrated Host
to the sky above the copse
with adoration to our Lord the Father,
with a chalice of ecstasy and love.

I am well-pleased with this psalmody:
the gentle birch-tree thicket fostered it.

Translation from: Rachel Bromwich, Dafydd ap Gwilym: a Selection of Poems (Llandysul, 1982), pp. 78–80.


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