# Translations into English Verse from the Poems of Davyth ap Gwilym/Morvyth's Pilgrimage

MORVYTH’S PILGRIMAGE.
In this poem the bard imagines that Morvyth’s scorn has proved fatal to him, and represents her as making a pilgrimage to St. David’s, to seek forgiveness for the guilt of having caused his death.
The following translation is extracted from the poems of Edward Williams (Iolo Morganwg), a Glamorganshire bard and antiquary, and one of the most illustrious of the preservers of the ancient literature of Wales.
The charmer of sweet Mona’s isle, With death attendant on her smile, Intent on pilgrimage divine, Speeds to St. David’s holy shrine; Too conscious of a sinful mind, Yet hopes she may forgiveness find!
What hast thou done, thrice lovely maid? What crimes can to thy charge be laid? Didst thou contemn the suppliant poor, Drive helpless orphans from thy door, Unduteous to thy parents prove, Or yield thy charms to lawless love? No, Morvyth, no; thy gentle breast Was form’d to pity the distress’d; Has ne’er one thought, one feeling known, That virtue could not call her own; Nor hast thou caus’d a parent’s pain Till quitting now thy native plain. Yet, lovely nymph, thy way pursue, And keep repentance full in view; Yield not thy tongue to cold restraint, But lay thy soul before the saint. Oh! tell him that thy lover dies; On death’s cold bed unpitied lies; Murder’d by thee, relentless maid, And to th’ untimely grave convey’d! Yet ere he’s number’d with the dead, Ere yet his latest breath is fled, Confess, repent, thou cruel fair, And hear, for once, a lover's pray’r: So may the saint with ear benign, Sweet penitent, attend to thine! Thou soon must over Menai go; May ev’ry current softly flow, Thy little bark securely glide Swift o’er the calm pellucid tide.
Unruffled be thy gentle breast, Without one fear to break thy rest, Till thou art safely wafted o’er To bold Arvonia’s tow’ring shore. O! could I guard thy lovely form Safe through yon desert of the storm, Where fiercely rage encount’ring gales, And whirlwinds rend th’ affrighted vales: Sons of the tempest, cease to blow, Sleep in your cavern’d glens below; Ye streams that, with terrific sound, Pour from your thousand hills around, Cease with rude clamours to dismay A gentle pilgrim on her way! Peace! rude Traeth Mawr; no longer urge O’er thy wild strand the sweeping surge: ’Tis Morvyth on thy beach appears, She dreads thy wrath—she owns her fears; O! let the meek repentant maid Securely through thy windings wade. Traeth Bychan, check thy dreadful ire, And bid thy foamy waves retire,
Till from thy threat’ning dangers freed, My charmer trips the flow’ry mead; Then bid again with sullen roar Thy billows lash the sounding shore! Abermo, from thy rocky bay Drive each terrific surge away: Though sunk beneath thy billows lie Proud fanes, that once assail’d the sky, Dash’d by thy foam, yon vestal braves The dangers of thy bursting waves. O! Cyric, see my lovely fair Consign’d to thy paternal care; Rebuke the raging seas, and land My Morvyth on yon friendly strand. Dyssynni, tame thy furious tide, Fix’d at thy source in peace abide;
She comes—O! greet her with a smile! The charmer of sweet Mona’s isle. So may thy limpid rills around; Purl down their dells with soothing sound, Sport on thy bosom, and display Their crystal to the glitt’ring day; Nor shrink from summer’s parching sun, Nor, chain’d in ice, forget to run. So may thy verdant marge along Mervinia’s bards in raptur’d song Dwell on thy bold majestic scene, Huge hills, vast woods, and vallies green, Where revels thy enchanting stream, The lover’s haunt, and poet’s theme. Thou, Dyvi, dangerous and deep, On beds of ooze unruffled sleep; O’er thy green wave my Morvyth sails. Conduct her safe, ye gentle gales; Charm’d with her beauties, waft her o’er To fam’d Ceredig’s wond’ring shore.
Thou foamy Rhediol, rage no more Adown thy rocks with echo’d roar! Be silent, Ystwyth, in thy meads, Glide softly through thy peaceful reeds; Nor bid thy dells, rude Aeron, ring, But halt at thy maternal spring: Hide from the nymph, ye torrents wild, Or wear, like her, an aspect mild; For her light steps clear all your ways; O, listen! ’tis a lover prays! Now safe beneath serener skies, Where softer beauties charm her eyes, She Teivi’s verdant region roves, Views flow’ry meads and pensile groves. Ye lovely scenes, to Morvyth’s heart, Warm thoughts of tenderness impart, Such as in busy tumults roll, When love’s confusion fills the soul. Her wearied step, with awe profound, Now treads Menevia’s honour’d ground. At David’s shrine now, lovely maid, Thy pious orisons are paid: He sees the secrets of thy breast,— One sin, one only, stands confess’d, One heinous guilt, that, ruthless, gave Thy hopeless lover to the grave.
Thy soften’d bosom now relents, Of all its cruelty repents, Gives to remorse the fervent sigh,— Sweet pity’s tear bedews thine eye. Now love lights up its hallow’d fire, Melts all thy heart with chaste desire: Whilst in thy soul new feelings burn, O! Morvyth, to thy bard return; One tender look will cure his pain, Will bid him rise to life again, A life like that of saints above, Ecstatic joy, and endless love.
* ↑ ‘Mona,’ the isle of Anglesea.
* ↑ St. David was, in those times, reckoned the tutelary saint of Wales.
* ↑ ‘Menai,’ the frith or channel dividing Anglesea from Carnarvonshire.
* ↑ ‘Arvonia,’ Carnarvonshire.
* ↑ ‘Desert of the storm,’ the Snowdon mountains in Carnarvonshire, supposed to be the highest in Britain.
* ↑ ‘Traeth Mawr’ (Anglicè, ‘Great Strand’), in Carnarvonshire, noted for its quicksands, and the sudden flowing of its tides; the passage over it is very dangerous, and not to be attempted without a guide, which, however, the pilgrims to St. David’s did in those days.
* ↑ ‘Traeth Bychan’ (Little Strand), in Merionethshire, a place equally dangerous.
* ↑ ‘Abermo,’ a dangerous rocky bay in Merionethshire.
* ↑ ‘Proud fanes, that once assail’d the sky.’ A very large tract of fenny country on this coast, called Cantre’r Gwaelod (i. e. the Lowland Canton), was, about the year 500, overflowed by the sea, occasioned by the carelessness of those who kept the flood-gates, as we are informed by Taliesin, the famous bard, in a poem of his still extant. There were, it is said, many large towns, a great number of villages, and palaces of noblemen, in this canton, and amongst them the palace of Gwyddno Garanhir, a petty prince of the country. There were lately (and I believe are still) to be seen in the sands of this bay, large stones with inscriptions on them, the characters Roman, but the language unknown. This disastrous circumstance is recorded by many other ancient Welsh writers.
* ↑ ‘Cyric,’ the patron saint of the Welsh mariners.
* ↑ ‘Dyssynni,’ a river in Merionethshire, running through a beautiful country.
* ↑ ‘Mervinia,’ Merionethshire.
* ↑ ‘Dyvi,’ a large river dividing Merionethshire from Cardiganshire.
* ↑ ‘My Morvyth sails.’ It was usual for those (even females) who went from North Wales, on pilgrimages to St. David’s, to pass the dangerous strands and sail over the rough bays in slight coracles without any one to guide or assist them, so firmly were they persuaded that their adored saint, as well as Cyric the ruler of the waves, would protect them in all dangers. See note p. 37.
* ↑ ‘Ceredig,’ an ancient prince, from whom Ceredigion (Anglice, ‘Cardigan’) derives its name.
* ↑ ‘Rhediol,’ ‘Ystwyth,’ and ‘Aeron,’ rivers in Cardiganshire.
* ↑ ‘Teivi,’ a large river dividing the counties of Cardigan and Pembroke.
* ↑ ‘Menevia,’ in Welsh ‘Mynyw,’ the ancient city of St. David’s, in Pembrokeshire. The pilgrimages to this place were, in those times, esteemed so very meritorious, as to occasion the following proverbial rhyme in Welsh:— Dôs i Rufain wnwaith, ag i Fynyw ddwywaith, A’r un elw cryno a gai di yma ae yno. And in Latin:— Roma semel quantum, bis dat Menevia tantum. Would haughty popes your senses bubble, And once to Rome your steps entice, ’Tis quite as well, and saves some trouble, Go visit old Saint Taffy twice.