Tros y Gareg

Tros y gareg gamfa gu,
Eto'n hoyw ac yn hy',
Fy anwylaf Loerwen lanaf,
Dôf i'th weled yn dy dy.
Heb un anaf, clais na chlwyf,
Ar fy ffordd o'r rhyfel rwyf;
Cyfod babell ar y lôn,
Gwahodd yno wreng a ôn,
Gorfoleddus wlad sydd weddus
Pan ddaw Rhys i Ynys Môn.

Cafodd gormes farwol glwy,
Tudur yw ein brenin mwy,
Ffôl yw ceisio, neu ddyfeisio
Brenin arall meddent hwy.
Loerwen Lân fy aelwyd gu,
Ar fy nhaith rwyf i fy nhy;
Cwyd y Ddraig ar Graig-y-don,
Deffro delyn Cymru lon,
Gwyr y cennin, medd y brenin,
Gariodd iddo'r goron hon.

Over the stone with fond step,
Still gay and bold,
My dearest purest Loerwen,
I come to see thee in thy house.
Without any injury, bruise or wound,
On my way from the war I am;
I am pitching a tent on the lane,
Inviting there whoever may be,
A jubilant land which is suitable
When Rhys comes to Anglesey.

Oppression received a mortal wound,
Tudor is our mighty king,
It is foolish for them to attempt
Or plan for another king.
Pure Loerwen thy dear homestead,
I am on my journey to my house;
The dragon was raised on the sea-rock,
Wales's joyous harp awoke,
Men of the leek, the king's own,
Carried to him this crown.