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Wales and the French Revolution Series
(Welsh Poems)

Englynion on the present war in France 1794 (selection)

by Ioan Siencyn / John Jenkins(s) (1716–96)

Location: Welsh Poetry of the French Revolution 1789–1805, rhif / no. 3

SCROLL DOWN FOR ENGLISH TRANSLATION


Tri dial anial a ennyn – Duw
Ar y dynion anhydyn:
Y cledd glas, min Suddas syn,
Oer niwaid, pla, a’r newyn.

Mae’r Ffrancod yn bod tan bwys – y cledd
Sy’n ein cloddio heb orffwys;
Mawr ddadwrdd, myrdd a ddodwys
Dan donnen y ddaear ddwys.

Y Ffrancod, croywnod eu creth, – ymnerthodd
I wrthod pabyddieth;
Daeth ffyrnig erledigeth
I’w pyrth o achos y peth.

Unodd eu brenin o’i enau’n – ddiogan
Ddiwygio’r cyfreithiau;
Troi’n fradwr wnâi’r coegwr cau,
Anghall, nes profi angau.
...

Mae’r Ffrancod, syndod yw’r sias, – dan wybr
Yn wynebu saith teyrnas;
A’u curo eto’n atgas
A chur mawr a chario’r ma’s.

Mae’r diawl a’i hawl hyll yn crynu
Yn ei groen yn erchyll,
Rhag i’r Frenchmen i ennill:
Os gwnânt, llawer cant fe’u cyll.
...

Am beth mae’r ymyrreth marwol – a’r brad
Rhwng brenhinoedd daearol?
Ai er Duw a’i air duwiol,
Neu ffawd i babyddiaeth ffôl?

Brydain, na’d Rufain oer afiach – o’th ddawn
I’th ddwyn yn dywyllach
A’r Pab i drin dy gyfrinach;
I ddiawl boed ei ddelwau bach.

Duw Dad fo’n geidwad gwiw odiaeth, – i Siôr
A’i siriol hiliogaeth;
Wŷr hylaw mewn rheolaeth,
Fuddiol gu, na fyddom gwaeth.
...

Duw cadarn, tro’th farn i fod – ein meddyg,
A maddau ein pechod;
Pâr i dwrf rhyfel ddarfod,
A heddwch trwy degwch dod.

Y gweddill a’th ogoneddant, – Arglwydd,
A’th fawrglod a ganant;
Mewn cân mawl, hwy’th ganmolant,
A goslef i nef a wnânt.

TRANSLATION
There are three grievous afflictions which God bestows
on intractable men:
the steel sword (blade of stupid Judas,
cold damage), plague, and famine.

The French live under the weight of the sword
which cuts into us without ceasing;
great tumult, it put a multitude
under the surface of the heavy earth.

The French, whose nature is clear in its intent,
have fortified themselves to reject papism;
fierce persecution came to
their gates because of it.

Their king promised, without disparagement,
to reform the laws;
the unwise and false fool turned betrayer
until he experienced death.
...

The French (the chase is astonishing)
face seven kingdoms on this earth;
who will beat them cruelly again,
with great pain, and carry the day.

The devil with his ugly right quakes
in his awful skin,
lest the Frenchmen win:
if they do, he will lose several hundred souls.
...

For what is the deadly intervention and betrayal
between earthly kings?
Is it for the sake of God and his sacred word,
or prosperity for foolish Papism?

Britain, don’t allow cold and horrid Rome
to lead you from grace to darkness,
and don’t let the Pope handle your secret;
to hell with his tawdry effigies.

May God the Father be a truly excellent saviour for George
and his happy lineage;
with dexterous men in charge,
seemly and dear, we will not be worse off.
...

Steadfast God, turn Your judgement and be our healer,
and forgive our sin;
cause the clamour of war to cease,
and for peace to come through fairness.

Those who remain will glorify You, Lord,
and they will sing Your praises;
in a song of praise, they will laud You,
and send their voices heavenwards.


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