Welsh Lyrics of the Nineteenth Century, by Edmund O. Jones

Welsh Lyrics of the Nineteenth Century
Selected and Translated by Edmund O. Jones
[First Series]

LONDON: Simpkin, Marshall & Co., Limited
BANGOR: Javis & Foster, Lorne House
MDCCCXCVI

CONTENTS.

DEDICATION

PREFACE

ALUN

i. The Fisherman’s Wife
ii. Dolly
iii. Tintern Abbey
iv. The Nightingale

IEUAN GLAN GEIRIONYDD

i. Morfa Rhuddlan
ii. The Shepherd of Cwmdyli
iii. Why should we weep

GLASYNYS

Blodeuwedd and Hywel

IOAN EMLYN

The Pauper’s Grave

TREBOR MAI

i. The Shepherd’s Love
ii. Baby

CALEDFRYN

The Cuckoo

GWILYM MARLES

i. New Year Thoughts
ii. Who in this new God’s acre

IEUAN GWYNEDD

i. The Cottages of Wales
ii. Go and dig a grave

CEIRIOG

i. Songs of Wales
ii. Myfanwy
iii. Liberty
iv. Climb the hillside
v. Change and Permanence
vi. Homewards
vii. Daybreak
viii. The White Stone
ix. The Traitors of Wales
x. A Mother’s Message
xi. Mountain Rill
xii. Llewelyn’s Grave
xiii. Rhuddlan Strand
xiv. The Steed of Dapple Grey
xv. A Lullaby

ISLWYN

i. Night
ii. The Vision and the Faculty Divine
iii. Thought
iv. The Variety of Wales
v. The Sick Minister
vi. Life like the Heavens
vii. The Poets of Wales
viii. The Lighthouse

MYNYDDOG

i. When comes my Gwen
ii. A Nocturne
iii. Come to the Boat, Love
iv. At the foot of the Stairs

OSSIAN GWENT

i. The Lark
ii. The Bible
iii. The Lake
iv. A Morning Greeting

ROBERT OWEN

i. De profundis
ii. A Prayer

TO MY MOTHER.

They flout me as half-English—a disgrace
For which scarce all your virtues can atone,
Mother, in whom I find no flaw but one,
That you are Saxon!—but this fault of race
Fell not on me nor yet, I fear, your grace
Of English speech, else had more smoothly run
These echoes of Welsh Lyrics, and your son
Need not have flinched before the critic’s face.
Such as they are, from your far Yorkshire home
Perchance they may in fancy bid you come,
Pondering past memories, to my native land,
Once more to see fair Mawddach from the bridge,
To mark how Cader rises, ridge on ridge,
Or, where Llanaber guards our dead, to stand.

July, 1896.

PREFACE.

The words “First Series” which appear on the Title Page are intended to show, firstly, that I do not at all consider the present collection in any sense a representative anthology of the Welsh Lyrics of the Century, and secondly, that if this effort meets with approval, I hope to bring out two or three further instalments, one of them, if possible, being from poems written in the “mesurau caethion.”  My aim, in fact, is to publish by degrees a collection of translations which might eventually be gathered together in a single volume (with a general introduction and critical notices on each author) so as to form a more or less adequate anthology of our nineteenth century poets.  “So runs my dream”: whether it can ever be realized depends of course in a great measure on the reception this first series meets with.  That it has many serious defects I well know, nor can I attempt to disarm criticism by pointing out the immense difficulties which confront the man who tries to put Welsh poetry into English rhyme, especially when that man has never written a line of English verse before.  But I should be most grateful to readers for any hints or suggestions, by which the faults and imperfections of the present volume may be avoided in a second series.  I have retained the metres of the originals with but trifling variations, except in those cases where there was nothing specially characteristic to make this desirable (as e.g., in the case of Islwyn, where I have thrown some of my translations into sonnet form) or where—as in the Song of the Fisherman’s Wife—the metre, even if it could be reproduced, would not in English harmonise with the meaning.  I ought perhaps to ask pardon beforehand for the audacity with which I have treated Ieuan Glan Geirionydd’s famous “Morfa Rhuddlan.”

I very gratefully acknowledge the courtesy of the owners of copyright, especially Messrs. Hughes & Son, Wrexham, Mr. O. M. Edwards, and Mr. James Lewis, New Quay (to whom my translation of the “Pauper’s Grave” belongs).

My most cordial thanks are also due to Mr. W. Lewis Jones, Lecturer in English at the University College of North Wales, who though an entire stranger has given me his valuable assistance and advice in seeing these pages through the press.

EDMUND O. JONES.
VICARAGE, LLANIDLOES,
July 23, 1896.

ALUN.

John Blackwell (Alun), was born of very poor parents at Mold in 1797.  Beginning life as a shoe-maker, his successes at the Eisteddfods of Ruthin and Mold in 1823 attracted the attention of the gentry of the neighbourhood, and a fund was formed to send him to the University.  He took his degree from Jesus College, Oxford, in 1828, and died rector of Manordeifi 1840.  His works were published under the title of “Ceinion Alun,” in 1851 (Isaac Clarke, Ruthin), and his poems were re-published in 1879, by Mr. Isaac Foulkes of Liverpool, in the “Cyfres y Ceinion.”

Song of the Fisherman’s Wife.

Hush, restless wave! and landward gently creeping,
   No longer sullen break;
All nature now is still and softly sleeping,
   And why art thou awake?
The busy din of earth will soon be o’er,
Rest thee, oh rest upon thy sandy shore.

Peace, restless sea; e’en now my heart’s best treasure
   Thou bearest on thy breast;
On thee he spends a life that knows no leisure
   A scanty wage to wrest.
Be kind, O sea, whose limits boundless are,
And rest, oh rest, upon thy sandy bar.

Ah, cease to murmur: stay thy waves from warring,
   And bid thy steeds be still;
Why should’st thou rage, when not a breeze is stirring
   The treetops on the hill?
To sheltered haven bring my husband’s bark
Ere yet the shadows fall and night grows dark.

Full well may women weep, we wives and daughters
   Whose men are on the deep;
But who can tell our anguish when thy waters
   In stormy anger leap?
Be gentle to him, sea, and rage no more,
But rest, oh rest, upon thy sandy shore.

Thou heedest not, O sea without compassion,
   But ravenest for thy prey;
I turn to One who can control thy passion,
   And wildest waves allay;
And He will take my loved one ’neath His care,
And make thee rest upon thy sandy bar.

An Idyll.

DEWI.

Do you know—have you seen—my sweet Dolly,
Who pastures her flocks on Eryri?
   Her eyes like a dart,
   Have pierced my heart,
Oh, sweeter than honey is Dolly.

HYWEL.

Oh, yes, I know well your sweet Dolly,
Whose cot’s at the foot of Eryri,
   No tongue upon earth
   Can tell of her worth,
So lovely, so winning is Dolly.

For tender and bashful is Dolly,
Not fairer nor purer the lily,
   No name under heaven
   So fitly is given
For the harpist to sing of as Dolly.

DEWI.

Not tender, not tender to Dewi!
No maiden so cruel as Dolly!
   With many a tear
   I beseech her to hear,
But deaf to my wooing is Dolly.