English Version: 165 - Y Draenllwyn

The Hawthorn Bush

'The dignified green hawthorn bush,
lovely dwelling where praise grows,
you are dressed in leaves and bark,
4enchanted youth, you are armoured.
You change your appearance frequently,
your form is varied, dear one of the Lord.
Your burden in May is lovely,
8colour of fine snow, better than money.
Truly radiant manner, armed tower,
your armour is a fine coat of many colours.

[You have had] a war–wound from your enemy.
12Woe is me! Where are you? How grim!
There isn't half of you left here
nor even a third, colour of sparkling cherries.
He cut off your legs, my treasure,
16vicious deed, and your thick branches.
Tell me, colour of a spray of foam,
you have been punished, who did this'.

'I know no cause,
20I am weak and grievously wounded,
except the arch–scoundrel who came here
(a shock for me yesterday)
with an applewood–handled axe
24to chop and beat me from my quarter
and drag one of my legs off with him
(woe is me, Mary!)
and steal my goods and my branches
28and the fine tips and my precious stones.'

'I saw you growing coral.
Your top was fairer than an Englishman's shop.
Be quiet, don't worry soldier,
32you shall have proper compensation for a man:
the churl will be killed by a song
and strung up as dead as a dog'.