Translations into English Verse from the Poems of Davyth ap Gwilym/To Ivor the Generous (1)
TRANSLATIONS
FROM THE
POEMS OF DAVYTH AP GWYLYM.
TO IVOR THE GENEROUS.
This and several of the following poems contain allusions to incidents which are detailed at length in the life of the poet, by Dr. Owen Pughe, at the end of this volume. Ivor was the patron of the bard. The following translation is introduced—not on account of any poetical beauty in the ideas—but as a specimen of the style adopted by the Welsh bards in addressing their patrons.
Ivor, generous as gold,
Meek and beauteous to behold,
Yet the boldest in the fray—
Is the master I obey;
None but men of matchless might
Dare attend him in the fight!
Bounteous Ivor made the bard
Steward o’er his wealth to guard;
Chieftain, eloquent, refined,
Fierce in wrath, yet wise in mind,
To the bard a golden hoard
Is the goodness of his lord.
I, in gratitude, have sung
Praise to him with brilliant tongue;
He, my praises to requite,
Gives me “braggat” dark and bright;
I his gold will pay with fame,
And will give him Rhydderch’s[1] name.
Armed with the armed, from battle fray
Never known to turn away,
Yet to bards a patron true,
Denizen of minstrel crew;
And to minstrelsy a slave,
Yet the sunrise of the brave.
Noblest in his pedigree,
Meekest in his piety,
Is the baron brave and free;
To his bard from distant land,
He is dear as hand to hand.
To his glory I will frame,
(Truth will never bring him shame,)
In my native tongue a lay
That shall never pass away,
Till the last of mortal birth
Shall have ceased to tread our earth,
And the summer’s sun to ply
His bold journey through the sky,
Wheat to ripen, dew-drops hoar
Moisture o’er the earth to pour.
Long as ear can listen—long
As the eye can see—the tongue
Of the Cambrian race survives,—
Long as seed of flow’ret thrives—
Will I scatter in my lays
Seeds of glory through the land,
Of thy glory, of thy praise;
Chief that wieldest the long brand!
The bard sends a messenger to Anglesea, from the court of his patron, Ivor the Generous, a potent chieftain in Monmouthshire and Glamorganshire, to acquaint his friends that he did not intend to return thither in consequence of the kind reception he had experienced from Ivor. This poem contains many interesting allusions to the manners and habits of the times.
Hence, my boy, thy path pursue
The bright birchen thickets thro’,
(Bowers of white yet verdant hue!)
From Glamorgan bear for me
Joy to Gwyneth, land of glee.
Lov’d and native Mon salute,
Tell her I have paid my suit,
With the Psalms of Solomon,
(And not vainly) unto one
Who above fair Cardiff dwells;
That my suit has not been paid
Unto frail and feeble maid,
But that Ivor’s love compels
The obedience of my soul,
With a paramount control
O’er my bosom—which the coy
Saxon girls may ne’er enjoy.
I with him my home will make,
Ne’er to towns my course will take,
Ne’er Glamorgan will forsake.
Warrior who, ’mid social throngs,
Loves the minstrel’s notes and songs.
Wealthy “Hawk,” all honored man,
Firm upon his battle steed;
Furious fighter in the van,
Clear of voice, sage “Hawk,” in rede.
Deathless Stag! whose faithful band
Deivria never may withstand:
Honors great for me are stored,
(If I live) from Ivor’s hand;
Hound and huntsman at command,
Daily banquet at his board,
(Princely baron!) at the game
With his piercing shafts to aim;
And to let his falcons fly
On the breezes of the sky,
Ev’ry melody that rings
From the harp’s sweet treble strings—
Every “solo” that is sung,
His Maesaleg’s[2] halls among—
Dice and draughts, and ev’ry sport
Of Maesaleg’s joyous court—
Will the host who governs there,
Freely with the poet share.
There is none, through all the land,
Like the prince of generous hand.
Him I’ll bless in many a lay,
(Songs his gifts cannot repay).
None are ever fearless—none
Are munificent but one;
None but he are ever meek—
Other home I’ll never seek!