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(Baledi Cymraeg) Clod i’r Cymry ... (Abergwaun 1797)gan Dienw / AnonymousClod i’r Cymry, gw}r sir Benfro, am gymeryd y rheibus elynion cythreulig, ysglyfyddwyr mileinig, sef Ffrancod, pan diriasant yn Abergwaun Lleoliad: Welsh Ballads of the French Revolution, rhif / no. 15 SCROLL DOWN FOR ENGLISH TRANSLATIONSŵn rhyfeloedd sy mor filen Yn magu cynnen cas; Nid yw hynny ond gwaith pechu, Eisiau deisy’ ar Iesu am ras. Mae rhai yn bwgwth daw Gog a Magog – O! lu cyndyniog dwys O rai moethus – i’n difetha (Yn benna’, arwa’ bwys). Gweddïo gwnawn ar Dduw, Fe’n ceidw i fyny i fyw Rhag llu mileinig melltigedig O rai crwydredig ryw. Dwy long forwyodd, yn daer a diriodd, Cywirodd yn Abergwaun, I ysglyfaetha neu ladrata, A’r rhai mileinia’ ymlaen. Y Ffrancod, sorod sur, Oedd yn llawn o arfa dur – O! rai llidiog, lu cynddeiriog, Anhrugarog wŷr. Dwyn a difa moch a defed, Y dynged aeth yn dost; Berwi a rhostio’n ffast a ffestio, Cestio heb hidio’r gost. Dwyn yr yde o’r ysguborie A gwartheg a’r lloie’n llu; Mynd i’r seleri (naws hwyl arw) [I] gael cwrw croyw cry’; ’R ôl yfed eu gore o’r bir y bore Nhwy ollynge’r rest i’r llawr. Gwŷr sir Benfro’n dechreu mileinio, Yn chwennych c’weirio’u gwawr. Nhwy losgen’ ddodrefn tai [?I] ferwi bwyd (roedd bai); Nhw wersylle â’u pabelle (Neu’u tentie, rhodde rhai), Gan ysbeilio’r wlad o’i heiddo, Ymgeisio yn un gainc; Llu gwrthnysig, cad mileinig, Rhai ffyrnig, milwyr Ffrainc. Y Cymry a gode’n gad I ymladd am eu gwlad; Pawb yn eglur, a ’chydig filwyr, [F]el brodyr i wneud eu brad. Hel pladurie a chrymane, Picwarche a garie’r gwŷr, Gan floeddio’n sydyn, “Duw gadwo’r brenin!†Megis byddin bur. . . . Pob perchen awen, gwnawn gyduno I egluro clod I wŷr sir Benfro am iddyn’ fentro Heb hidio dan y rhod. Duw, cadw’r Senedd rhag dim llygredd, Yn buredd heb ddim bai, A’r Cymry tirion yn bur i’r Goron, Yn ffyddlon, rwyddlon rai. O, Arglwydd, dedwydd Dad, Dod nerth i ni gadw’n gwlad; Rhag nerthodd cryfion ein gelynion Dod inni arwyddion rhad. Gwasgara’r cwmwl, tor y swmbwl, Dod iddyn’ drwbwl tranc, Fel na ddelo i Gymru i reibio Neu gwencio drwg eu gwanc. Diogelwch, heddwch hir, Fo i dario yn ein tir, Heb ddim gelyniaeth i’w ystyriaeth, Ond cariad perffaith pur. Arglwydd cyfion, Frenin Sion, Y gwir Dduw cyfion coeth, O, sa’n dragwyddol efo’n brenin breiniol, O, Arglwydd dethol doeth! TRANSLATION The clamour of war is so savage, breeding cruel strife; it is nothing but the product of sin, for want of beseeching Jesus for grace. Some threaten that Gog and Magog will come – Oh! grim, perverse host of voluptuous ones – to ruin us (the greatest, most dire burden). We will pray to God, He shall sustain us alive against a ferocious, accursed host of vagabonds. Two ships sailed, landed brazenly, kept their appointment in Fishguard, to pillage or steal, and the most loathsome of them at the front. The Frenchmen, sour dregs, were teeming with steel weapons – Oh! irascible, furious host, merciless men. They stole and destroyed pigs and sheep, it was a pitiful fate; they boiled and roasted swiftly and feasted, drank greedily without care for the cost. They stole the corn from the barns, and the cattle and calves in droves; they went into the cellars (a spirit of great merriment) to get fresh, strong beer; having drunk their fill of the beer in the morning they poured the rest on the ground. The men of Pembrokeshire began to become furious, wanting to thrash their hides. They burnt the furniture of houses, to boil food (they were at fault); they camped with their pabellau (or their tents, some would say), plundering the country of its possessions, greedy for everything; vile host, a savage throng, fierce ones, the soldiers of France. The Welsh formed an army to fight for their country, everyone plainly, and a few soldiers, like brothers to put paid to them. They gathered scythes and sickles, pitchforks did the men carry, shouting suddenly, “God save the king!†like a true army. . . . Every owner of a muse, let us come together to proclaim praise to the men of Pembrokeshire for having ventured without a care in the world. God, keep Parliament from any corruption, purely without any fault, and the gracious Welsh faithful to the Crown, loyal, liberal ones. Oh, Lord, blessed Father, give us strength to protect our country; against the strong powers of our enemies give us gracious signs. Scatter the cloud, break the spur, give them the trouble of destruction, so that ones of evil greed do not come to Wales to ravage or to fight. May safety, long peace, tarry in our land, without any enmity to be heeded, but perfect, pure love. Just Lord, King of Zion, the true, just, pure God, Oh, may You stand everlastingly with our anointed king, Oh, precious, wise Lord!
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