Cyrnol / Colonel



'Cyrnol'

Wel, ‘Cyrnol’, ai ti sydd yma,
Yn nhn a mwg y gad?
Pwy’th listiodd di o ganol Mn
I ymladd dros dy wlad?
‘Rwy’n deall wrth dy glustiau
Nad yma mae dy fyd,
Dy nefoedd di yw cario gwair
A thynnu llwyth o yd.

Pwy bynnag arall hwyliodd
O’i wirfodd dros y lli,
Wnest ti mo’ hynny, 'Cyrnol',
Hen gonscript iawn wyt ti;
Gwyn fyd ‘rhen law na fuasai
Dy dafod mor rydd a’th draed,
I ddweud bod dy gydwybod
Yn erbyn tywallt gwaed.

A dyma thi’n glwyfedig,
O dan y lleuad wen,
Heb gysgod tô y stabal
Na gwellt o dan dy ben;
‘Rwyt yn rhy sal i gerdded,
Mae’th waed yn lliwio’r fan;
‘Rwyt yn rhy drwn i’th gario,
A minnau yn rhy wan.

Ffarwel, hen gyfaill rhadlon,
Mae’th einoes yn byrhau;
Os byth caf weled Cymru
gwnaf yno dy goffau:
Fe drof i mewn i’r ‘stabal
Sy’n fferam wen y ddl,
A thorraf enw “Cyrnol”
I bolyn derw’r stl.

‘Colonel’

Well, ‘Colonel’, can it really be yourself,
In the fire and smoke of war?
Who listed you from Mona’s Isle
To fight for your country’s star?
I can well understand by the look of those ears
That this here is no place for you,
Your heaven was always saving the hay
And drawing straw till the fall of the dew.

Whoever else it was that sailed
Of his own will o’er the sea
You didn’t do that, old ‘Colonel’, me lad,
You are a right old conscript like me;
What a pity, old fellow, that your lolling tongue
Wasn’t as free in its way as your feet,
To tell one and all that your conscience withal
Opposed the killing of man and of beast.

And here you lie now sorely wounded,
Under the pale white light of the moon,
Without the sheltering roof of your stable
Nor straw neath your head as you swoon;
You are too sick now to walk with me,
Your red blood colours the grass;
You are much too heavy to carry,
And I am too weak, alas.

Farewell, my kindly, gracious friend,
As your dear life ebbs away;
If ever I see Wales again
I’ll commemorate this day:
I will go right to your stable
By the farmyard's white-washed wall,
And I’ll carve the name of ‘Colonel’
On the oak post of your stall.



Percy Hughes: allan o’i lyfr / from his book, ‘Clychau’r Wlad’, 1931.
Trosiad / Translation: Barry Tobin, 1999.

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