If you find yourself looking at the back of our Dyfi Original, Pollination or Hibernation gins, you'll find a different poetic couplet on each. We've posted here what their origin is (we keep the original translation at the distillery for those interested in seeing it).
Dyffryn Dyfi (Dovey Valley), by Lewys Glyn Dyfi
Dyffryn Dyfi is part of a much larger work of poetry, published in 1852, by Lewis Meredith: ‘Blodau Glyn Dyfi’ (Flowers of the Dovey Valley).
Lewis of the Dovey Valley (Lewys Glyn Dyfi), wrote the introduction to the book of poems in Cemmaes, most likely at the Penrhos Arms.
Dyffryn Dyfi has never previously been fully translated, and is published here in both the original Welsh and English for your interest and enjoyment.
Three separate couplets from the poem appear on the rear of each of our Dyfi Original, Pollination and Hibernation Gin bottles, and are highlighted below by underlining, as we receive many enquiries as to the origin of these words.
We have reproduced the English after every couple of lines, which in places disrupts the flow of the text, but we have done it in this way for those who’d like to identify individual words in translation.
The original poem was set out in five sections. We have separated each either with footnotes, or a discreet + sign.
The footnotes included appeared in the original text, excepting that in brackets on the final page, which was added at translation stage.
We are indebted to Sioned Pugh and her team at the Welsh Government for their amazing work on this, and earlier to Jodie Bond, Pete’s stepdaughter and now author in her own right.
Heddychol ddyffryn tlws! dy ruddiau llon
Fu’n mynych lawenhau y fynwes hon:
Enchanting, peaceful vale! your merry slopes
Have often gladdened this heart of mine:
Am orig fach dy hoff ororau glân
A gânt yn awr roi bywyd i fy nghân.
For a little while, your beloved, undefiled frontiers
Shall bring life to my song.
Naturiaeth, ar ei thaith i harddu’r wlad,
A wenodd arnat ti mewn llon foddhad;
Nature, on its journey to beautify the countryside,
Smiled upon you in joyous satisfaction;
O’i gwych drysorau i addurno’th ael
Cyfranu wnaeth ei cheinion heirdd yn hael.
From her magnificent treasures, to adorn your brow,
She imparted beautiful jewels in abundance.
Am un tàl fynydd o dy gylch a gwyd,
Nac am eangder mawr fel goror Clwyd,
Not for one high mountain rising around you,
Nor for a great expanse such as the Clwydian border,
Cyfaddef raid nas meddi gyfiawn hawl
I ddysgwyl cael gan neb ryw hynod fawl:
Do you have a true right, it must be admitted,
To expect to receive noteworthy praise from anyone:
On der nad yw dy faint ond megys “glyn,”
Ac er nad oes un mynydd mawr na bryn
But although your magnitude is only the size of a dale,
And although there is no large mountain or hill
O fri anfarwol ar dy fron ddifraw
Yn taflu i lawr eu tremion beilch o draw;
Of undying fame on your serene hill-side,
Gazing pompously down from afar;
Ymorwedd mae rhyw gryf ddeniadol swyn
Oddeutu’th hoff amgylchoedd sydd yn dwyn
There is a vigorous, attractive charm
Around your beloved vicinity which causes
Pob un a’th genfydd yn dy hefin wisg
I’th garu’n wir, a theimlo, tray n mysg
All who discover you in your summer robe
To truly love you, and to feel, whilst amidst
Dy brydferth olygfeydd, ryw fwyniant pur
A ddaliant hwy mewn melys gof yn hir.
Your beautiful scenery, some pure delight
Which will long be held by them in sweet memories.
Am flwng ryfeloedd certh, fel llawer man,
Ni ddaeth rhyw faith hynodrwydd i dy ran:
You have no great renown, such as many a place,
For terrible, cruel wars:
Un Thermopylæ o dy gylch nid oes,
Nac un Marathon erch, yn gof o farwol loes
There is no Thermopylae in your environs,
Nor a terrifying Marathon, in memory of the deadly agony
I âlon beilch; dy fynwes werdd ni waned
Fel Cennæ gynt yn goch gan ddynol waed.
Of proud courage; your green bosom was not,
Like Cannae of yore, made red by human blood.
Er hyn, y glew Rufeinwr unwaith fu
Yn siglo’i waewffon ar hyd-ddot ti:*
Yet, the valiant Roman once swung
His spear along your length:*
Ac wedi trail canrifoedd, Llew Glyndwr
A welwyd yn dy fro yn uwchaf gwr, †
And with the lapse of centuries, the Lion of Glyndŵr
Was seen in your neighbourhood, the greatest hero, +
Yn arwain ei arfogion dewr i’r gad
I roi ar ffo elynion blin fy ngwlad.
Leading his brave men to war
To drive the evil enemies of my country away.
* Dywedir fod gynt amddiffynfa Rufeinig sefydlog mewn lle o’r enw Cefncaer, yn Mhennal.
† Coronwyd Owain Glyndwr yn Machynlleth. Yroedd ganddo hefyd senedd-dy yno, yr hwn sydd yn aros hyd heddyw.
*It is said that there was once an established Roman fort at a place called Cefn-caer in Pennal.
+ Owain Glyndŵr was crowned at Machynlleth. He also had a parliament house there, which still stands today.
Ac er nad wyt yn rhyw Arcadia fwyn,
A’th wigoedd cain yn ddigon cryf eu swyn
And although you are no gentle Arcadia,
Nor the charm of your fine woodlands powerful enough
I ddenu pêr Fardonneg hardd ei phryd
I wneud ei thrigfan ynot ar bob pryd;
To allure the noble and beautiful Poetry to make
Her home with you at all times;
Trwy’r oesoedd oll nib u dy ardal werdd
Mewn amddifadrwydd llwyr o deithi’r gerdd:
Throughout the ages your green environs
Were not totally devoid of poetical attributes:
Pwy a annghofia’th hybarch Lywarch Hen,
Y grymus fardd a wisgai siriol wên
Who will forget your honourable Llywarch Hen,
The mighty bard who had such a joyful smile
Pan glywai’r “gog yn Abercuawg” † gynt
Yn anfon ei pheroriaeth gyda’r gwynt,
When once upon a time, at Abercuawg,* he heard the cuckoo
Send her melody on the wind,
Neu a dywalltai alarnadawl gri
Am gwymp Cynddylan ddewr i’r dyfnfedd du?
Or who poured out a mournful lament
When brave Cynddylan fell into the black depths?
Tra seif Machynlleth ar dy dawel fron,
Bydd enw Llawdden* ddoeth yn nglyn wrth hon;
While Machynlleth town stands on your peaceful slope,
The name of wise Llawdden+ will abide by her;
A’th afon dlos, tra’n treiglo bydd ei lli,
Caiff Ieuan Dyfi fod mewn cofiant cu.
And while your fair river continues to flow,
Ieuan Dyfi shall be in beloved memory.
A minau’n llanc cystuddiol, gwael ei wedd,
Sy’n ceisio plethu BLODAU’n arlant hedd
And I myself an afflicted, sick lad,
Endeavouring to plait FLOWERS into a peace garland
I’w gadael ar fy ol, yn deyrnged fach
O barch i ti, pan wedi canu’n iach
To leave behind me, as a small tribute of
Respect to you, when I will have bid farewell
Y byddaf fi i’r awen hoff a’r gerdd,
I huno’m hûn yn nghôl dy ddaiar werdd.
To the dearest muse and song,
To sleep my slumber in the lap of your green earth.
† Cyfansoddodd Ll. Hen Englynion Triban ar y testyn uchod. Mae enw Abercuawg yn cael ei gadw, mewn rhan, hyd heddyw, gan dyddyn o’r enw Dolguog, ar Ian y Dyfi, yn agos i Fachynlleth.
* Bardd dyagedig, yr hwn a fu yn Offeiriad yno.
*The bard Llywarch Hen composed ‘Englynion Triban’ (a metrical triplet in Welsh poetry on the above theme). The name Abercuawg has been kept, in part, until today, in the name of a smallholding, called Dolguog, on the banks of the River Dyfi near Machynlleth.
+ A learned poet, who had been a priest there.
Mori ach â’r glain, mor chwim â’r iwrch fy hynt,
Ar lawer bore teg y dringais gynt,
As healthy as the gem, as nimble as the roe deer,
Many a fair morning did I once climb,
Yn llon fy mryd, i ben y mynydd draw,
I hoff fwynhau’r olygfa faith islaw.
My heart full of joy, up to the top of yonder hill,
To enjoy the beloved expanse of scenery below.
O! mor ddymunol fyddai gwel’d yr haul
I’w yrfa’n cychwyn gyda rhwysg diail,
Oh, how pleasant it would be to see the sun
Begin its journey with matchless splendour,
A’r dyffryn dan ei wres yn offrwm fry
Ei fwgdarth pêr am wawl y bore cu!
And the valley, in its warmth, sending up above an offering
Of its fragrant haze for the beloved morn’s radiance!
Ond yma weithian fore, nawn, a hwyr,
Yr ydwyf fi, mewn absenoldeb llwyr
But nowadays, morning, noon and night,
Here I am, completely absent from
Oddiwrth adfywiant a mwynderau chweg
Dy dirion olygfeydd, O ddyffryn teg!
The renewal and pleasant delights
Of your graceful scenery, Oh, handsome vale!
On der rhoi terfyn ar fy llwybrol hynt,
Yn fynych mae dy hen brydweddau gynt
Yn ysgafnhau fy mron, pan yn fy mryd
Yr ail gynyrchir hwynt yn llawn i gyd.
But although my wending journeys have now ended,
Your old features in time past have frequently
Lightened my heart, when in my mind
They are all fully reproduced.
+
Gwyryfon glân a fagwyd ar dy fron,
A llawer torf o’th wrol fechgyn llon,
Virtuous maidens were nurtured at your breast
And many a throng of valiant, joyous lads,
Sydd wedi rhoi ffarwel i’th oror gu,
A’i swynion llawn, a llwybro dros y lli
Have bid farewell to your dear boundary,
And its bountiful charms, and wended their way over sea
I ffrwm wastadion a choedwigoedd pell
Gorllewin fyd, a llawer cwm a chell
To the luxuriant plains and far-flung forests
Of the western world, and to many a vale and bower
O’r ddaiar faith, gan ddysgwyl mwyniant gwell.
Ceir ambell hoedyn balch yn diystyru’r dydd
Worldwide, expecting better delights.
There is the odd proud stripling who disregards the day
Y llonid ef â’th iach awelon rhydd:
Ond ereill, er i ddoeth ragluniaeth Duw
That he was gladdened by your abundant, salubrious breezes:
While others, although God’s wise providence
Eu harwain draw i arall fro i fyw,
Yn fynych iawn, yn ddigon trist eu bron,
Led them away to another land to live,
Often, with sadness in their heart,
Adgofio meant yr hen amserau llon
Pan fyddent hwy yn llawen iawn eu hynt
Remember the old joyful times
When they would merrily wend their ways
Yn troedio’th lenyrch heirdd y dyddiau gynt:
Meillionen wyllt oddiar dy ddolydd cu
Dderbyniai ganddynt ryw anwylach bri
In times gone by, treading your beautiful glades:
A wild clover from your beloved pastures
Would from them receive an honour
Na phêr bwysïau o rosynau prid
A harddaf flodau gerddi pena’r byd.
More dear than pure posies of costly roses
Or the finest flowers in the world’s choice gardens.
+
Hen afon Dyfi! mae dy enw’n wir
Yn deffro yn fy mron adgofion pur:
Old river Dyfi! Your name in truth
Does wake pure memories in my heart:
Ar hyd dy hyfryd lenydd tirion wawr,
Mewn pêr fwynhad, mi dreuliais lawer awr,
Along your beautiful banks of graceful hue,
Did I spend many an hour in pure enjoyment,
Cyn i drallodian a chystuddiau blin
Ffrewyllu ymaith fy mwynderau cun.
Before adversity and troublesome tribulation
Scourged away my beloved delights.
Fe gafwyd llawer llon ddifyrwch rhydd
Pan yr ymgasglem gynt ar hwyr y dydd,
Many the unrestrained happy amusement did we have
When congregated in time past at end of day,
Heb wybod dim am wae na gofid sur,
I gydymdrochi yn dy ffrydiau clir;
Knowing nothing of adversity nor sour distress,
To bathe in your clear waters;
A llawer crechwen iach ddyspedai’r nen
Pan gwympai’r llwfr, heb feddwl, dros ei ben!
And many a hearty guffaw did echo up above
When the faint-hearted tumbled, without thinking, over his head!
Fel yma chware wnaem ar hyd y llyn
Mewn nwyfiant byw; ac yna wedi hyn
This is how we played along the lake
In lively vigour; and then, to follow
Yn llu noethlumyn eid, mewn gwres diball,
I ymlid hyd y ddôl y nail y llall.
A stark naked multitude we would go, in relentless heat,
To chase one another along the meadow.
Ddiniwed oriau dyddiau bore oes!
Oedd mor amddifad o wir chwerw loes
Oh, innocent hours of childhood days!
So devoid of true cruel anguish
Ag yw dy loew lif o rewllyd iâ
Ar ganol tesog ddydd “Gwyl Ifan ha’!”-
As are your sparkling icy waters
Midday on a sultry “Gŵyl Ifan ha’!”* day –
O lawer trod dy don fu’n dyst, er pan
Fu awen Llywarch Hen yn canu ar dy lan:
Many a time your waters have been witness, since
The muse of Llywarch Hen sang on your shore:
Ar foesau’th finion cyfnewidiad mawr
Gymerodd le o hyny hyd yn awr:
To the great change in the customs on your banks
That has taken place between then and now;
Yn lle yr hardd, ond gwledig, symledd pur,
I blith pob gradd death oeraidd falchder sur;
Instead of the beautiful, but rural, pure simplicity,
To every class has come sour, cold vanity;
Yn awr gan fawr a bach, mewn gwisg a moes,
Y nod o hyd yw coeglyd ddull yr oes.
And now, midst great and small, in dress and morals,
The aim still is the vain fashion of the age.
Ond gwelaist hefyd hen arferion fil
O flaen eu gwell yn gorfod myn’d ar gil:
But you also saw a host of old traditions
Having to decline before their betters:
Godyrddain nefol ffrydiau gras ein Duw
Sy’n awr er’s blwyddau maith, yn adsain yn dy glyw.
The stirring sound of our God’s heavenly streams of grace
Do now, for many a year, echo in your ear.
Er fod clogwyni gwyllt yr Aran* serth
Ar ddechreu’th daith, mewn blin sarugrwydd certh,
Although the wild cliffs of steep Aran,+
At the start of your journey, hang in awful terrible severity
Yn hongian uwch dy ben, a chreigiau fyrdd
Yn ceisio’th atal i dy ddyffryn gwyrdd, -
Above your head, and myriad boulders
Attempt to impede your journey to your green vale, –
Buddugol wyt are u holl rwystrau hwy,
Ac wedi cyraedd hwn nid ofni mwy;
You are the victor despite all their obstacles,
And having arrived here you no longer fear;
Pleserus bellach fydd dy araf daith,
Rhwng dolydd hyfryd, a gweirgloddiau maith,
Henceforth your slow journey will be pleasing,
Midst beautiful meadows, and extensive pastures,
Nes cyraedd mynwes ddofn yr eigion llaith.
I miau boed yn rhan gyffelyb ffawd
Until you reach the deep breast of the succulent ocean.
May I also be part of a similar fate
Wrth grwydro glynoedd amser ar fy rhawd;
Os cilio’n llwyr a wna mwynianau’r llawr,
As I wander the valleys of time on my way;
If earthly pleasures do completely diminish,
Ar gynydd boed cysuron pur bob awr,
Nes imi gyraedd draw i’r bythol wynfyd mawr.
May pure solace increase by the hour,
Until I reach the great eternal blessedness.
*Wrth droed Aran Fawddwy y mae yn codi. Gelwir ei ffynonell “Creiglyn Dyfi:” y mae yn dwfn tywyll, ac addeutu haner milldir o amgylchedd.
(*Gŵyl Ifan – the feast of the Nativity of St John the Baptist, held on 24 June)
+ The River Dyfi rises at the foot of Aran Fawddwy. Its source is called Creiglyn Dyfi: it is a deep, dark lake, approximately half a mile in circumference.
