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< O Groth y Ddaear
Galargan / Lament
Alaw/Melody - Tradd/Trad
Geiriau/Words - Edward Richard (1714-1777)
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Fy nyddiau’n anniddan ân’ oll o hyn allan,

Gosodwyd Gwenllian mewn graean a gro;

Mae hiraeth fel cleddau yn syn dan f’asennau,

Fe lwyda lliw’r aelau lle’r elo.

 

Er syrthio’r dywarchen i’r ddu oer ddaearen,

Hi gyfyd fel heulwen, yn llawen o’i llwch;

I’r sawl sy’n troi ato, mae bywyd heb wywo

Ym mreichiau ei Dad iddo, a dedwyddwch.

 

O! Taer yw naturiaeth, ni thry er athrawiaeth,

Ond wylo gan alaeth a hiraeth am hon;

A’r galon dan glwyfau di-les a du loesau

A dyr heb naws geiriau’n ysgyrion.

 

Mewn henaint, mewn i’enctid, mewn nych ac mewn iechyd

Mae’n aml rai’n symud o fywyd i fedd;

Nid oes na dyfeisio, na golud na gwylio,

All rwystro neb yno, na bonedd.

 

Fy nydd sydd yn nyddu yn fanwl i fyny,

Y nos sydd yn nesu i roi’n isel fy mhen ;

Ac un nid oes genny’, er wylo ar oer wely,

Pan fo i mi glafychu, glyw f’ochen.

 

Mae’n bwrw yng Nghwm Berwyn, a’r cysgod yn estyn

Gwna heno fy mwthyn yn derfyn dy daith;

Cei fara a chawl erfin iachusol, a chosyn,

A ‘menyn o’r enwyn ar unwaith.

All my days will be without jollity from now on

For Gwenllian’s been placed in the grit and gravel.

The longing I have is like daggers under my ribs

And my brow has become grey

 

Though she fell into the cold black earth

She will arise like sunshine, joyously from her ashes

For those who turn to him, life doesn’t wither

In their father’s blissful arms

 

Oh how human nature presses, despite my knowledge

I weep for grief and longing for her

My bruised heart, so painful,

Breaks and splinters despite these words.

 

In old age and in youth, in health and in sickness

people often move from this life to the grave,

No amount of devices, of wealth or watchfulness

Can keep us, or even the gentry, from this fate.

 

My days are spinning upwards

While the night draws near to hang my head

There is one I don’t have, I weep in a cold bed

And I’m falling ill, hear my sigh.

 

It’s raining in Berwyn valley and the shadows are lengthening May my cottage be the end to your journey tonight.

I’ll give you some hearty turnip soup, some cheese

And buttermilk immediately.

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