Translations into English Verse from the Poems of Davyth ap Gwilym/The Thunder
THE THUNDER.
When she met me in the glade,
In the leaves of spring array’d,
Well did Morvyth compensate
For my dreary watchings late.
O’er our verdant couch of state
Woodland music ever hung,
By the thrush and cuckoo sung:
But in this ecstatic hour,
The hoarse thunder sudden roar’d,
And in many a furious shower
The clear rain-drops downward pour’d;
The fierce lightning frequent glared.
By the ruthless tempest scared,
In an agony of dread,
From the grove my Morvyth fled!
Beaked flame! dread living thunder,
Rending lovers’ hearts asunder;
Sound of danger and of fear
To the beauteous maiden’s ear;
Noise that all the nations hear;
Clamour that the senses mocks,
Hoarse bull raging ’mid the rocks;
Clanging armour of the heav’n,
Fire and wave in conflict driven;
Flame of wrath, and waves that tame,
By their mighty gush, the flame;
Giant echoes of dismay,
Trumpet of the whelming spray,
Like a thousand voices blending,
From the stars of heav’n descending;
Like the crash of forests hurl’d,
From the welkin to our world.
He then becomes, in his peculiar manner, very abusive against the thunder, compares it to the Rhuglgroen (an instrument used for frightening crows), and to an old hag beating her kettles about; he adds that he should not have cared for its vile noise had it not scared Morvyth from his side.