Mae'r Oll yn Gysegredig

Mae'r oll yn gysegredig
Nefolaidd ar yr holl fynyddoedd hyn,
A bu, - goddefer y wlatgarol nwyf, -
Bu llawer brawd a chyndad hoff i mi,
Nad edwyn neb eu henwau mwy na'u clod,
Ond taweledig rith yr oes a'u dug,
Ar hyd y bryniau hyn ar lawer nawn
Yn canu neu yn wylo fel y caed
Profiadau bywyd.  Ninnau gyda hwynt
Adawn gymynrhodd o atgofion pêr,
Rhyw anadliadau a myfyrion syn,
I'r awel dyner eu mynwesu fyth,
Neu fyth i wywo ar y niwl uwchben.
Pa beth yw ffynnon Jacob?  Y mae delw
Un mwy na Jacob ym mhob ffordd trwy'r byd.
Fe aeth fy nhadau dros yr afon hon,
A'r holl awelon nefol lawer gwaith,
A'r lloer, a llawer seren ddwyfol wawr,
A'r haul, a'r daran hefyd.  Mae y byd
I gyd yn gysegredig, a phob ban
Yn dwyn ei gerub a'i dragwyddol gainc;
Ac nid yw glannau yr Aegëan pell, -
Penrhynion tragwyddolwawr Groeg y sydd
Yn codi gyda moroedd amser fyth,
Ac ar bob craig oleuni llawer oes, -
Ond rhannau bychain o farddonol fyd.
Ni chanodd Homer am y bryniau draw,
Ni welodd hwynt! Beth fuasai'r Wyddfa hon
Pe cysgodasai hi ei gawell ef?
Rhyw ardderchocach Ida yn ei gân
A dydd o dduwiau'n torri ar ei brig.

The whole is sacred
Heavenly over all these mountains,
And there were, - please tolerate the patriotic passion, -
There were many brothers and forefathers dear to me,
None of their names known any more than their praise,
But the silenced form of the age that bore them,
All along these hills over many an afternoon
Singing or lamenting as were gotten
The trials of life.  We too with them
Leave a legacy of sweet memories,
Some breathings and astonished contemplations,
For the tender breeze to embrace forever,
Or forever to wither on the fog overhead.
What is Jacob's well?  It is an image
Of one greater than Jacob in every road through the world.
My fathers went across this river,
And all the heavenly breezes many times,
And the moon, and many stars of a divine dawn,
And the sun, and the thunder also.  The world is
All sacred, and every summit
Bearing its cherub and its eternal strain;
Not even the shores of the distant Aegean, -
The peninsulas of Greek eternal dawn which
Rises with the seas of time ever,
And on every rock the light of many an age, -
Are but small portions of a bardic world.
Homer did not sing about yonder hills,
He did not see them!  What would this Snowdon be
If it had overshadowed his quiver?
Some more excellent Ida in his song
And a day of gods breaking on its summit.