Yn y dyddiau gynt, Pan chwareuai'r gwynt Ar ei hynt drwy dderw Môn, Caed ar goed Tre'r Dryw - Gyfriniol rwy - Uchelwydd, fel mae'r sôn: Drwy y gaeaf blin, Ei ddewinol rin A gysegrai'r dderwen gref; Neu fel mebyn gwiw I ryw eilun Dduw, Mewn derw grŷd oedd ef. Mewn gwisg wen, Deuai'r Derwydd at y pren; Torrai ef y gwŷdd, Mewn distawrwydd prudd, Gyda'i gryman aur i lawr: Ger y maen cŵyd lef, Trwy'r fflam i'r Nef, Ar anterth awr. Ar y pren, Heb y Derwydd a'i wisg wen, Uchelwydd gawn, Â'i berlog rawn, Ar Nadolig Crist o hŷd, Dyrchwyd Ef ar y groes, A'i fywyd roes, Dros euog fŷd.Lewis Davies Jones (Llew Tegid) 1851-1928 |
In the former days, When the wind would play On its course through the oaks of Anglesley, Got on the wood of Tre'r Dryw - Something mystical - Mistletoe, as they say: Through the grievous winter, Its magical merit Would consecrate the strong oak; Or like a worthy child To some image of God, In an oak crib it was. In white clothing, The Druid would come to the tree; He would cut the wood, In sorrowful silence, With his gold scythe down: By the stone he raises a cry, Through the flame to Heaven, At terce. On the tree, Without the Druid and his white clothing, Mistletoe we may get, With its pearly berries, At the Nativity of Christ still, He was lifted up on the cross, And his life he gave, For a guilty world.tr. 2014 Richard B Gillion |
In the days of old, when the streams ran gold, And the wood wav'd all around, In the Druid's haunt That mystic plant, The mistletoe, was found. To the rough oak's arm, like a saving charm, Thro' the winter's rage it clung, As pure as snow On the ground below, In virgin beauty sprung. Year by year, At its sight the white-robed seer From him sylvan cell With a woven spell And a golden sickle came, With its glist'ring bead And stem to feed His altar flame. Yule by yule - Though no more The mage has rule - The mistletoe on high we show At the joyful feast of Christ, Who as lifted high above To win our love, And sacrificed.Alfred Perceval Graves 1846-1931
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