Translations from the Welsh

Translation of some lines on a departed Friend
From a Collection of Welsh Poems
By Dafydd ap Gwyllym

“From dewy lawns I’ll pluck the rose,
With every fragrant flower that blows
The earliest primrose of the spring
To Ivor’s honour’d grave I’ll bring —
This humble rite shall oft be paid,
To deck the spot where he is laid,
To show how much for him I mourn,
How much I weep o’er Ivor’s urn.”

From the same in his old age.

“Ivor is gone! my friend most dear
And nest, sweet soother of my care
Murfredd, my soul’s delight, is fled —
All moulder in their clay-cold bed!
And I, oppress’d with woe remain
Victim to old age, and ling’ring pain.”