_To Myfanwy Fechan_ {15a} _of Castell Dinas Bran_, {15b} _composed by
Howel-ap-Einion Lygliw_, {15c} _a Bard who flourished about A.D._ 1390.
I am without spirit, O thou that hast enchanted me, as Creirwy {15d}
enchanted Garwy. {15e} In whatever part of the world I am, I lament my
absence from the marble castle of Myfanwy. Love is the heaviest burden,
O thou that shinest like the heavens, and a greater punishment cannot be
inflicted than thy displeasure, O beautiful Myfanwy. I who am plunged
deeper and deeper in love, can expect no other ease, O gentle fair
Myfanwy with the jet eyebrows, than to lose my life upon thy account. I
sung in golden verse thy praises, O Myfanwy; this is the happiness of thy
lover, but the happiness is a misfortune. The well-fed steed carried me
pensive like Trystan, {15f} and great was his speed to reach the golden
summit of Bran. Daily I turn my eyes, and see thee, O thou that shinest
like the waves of Caswennan. {15g} Charming sight to gaze on thee in the
spacious royal palace of Bran. I have rode hard, mounted on a fine
high-bred steed, upon thy account, O thou with the countenance of
cherry-flower bloom. The speed was with eagerness, and the strong
long-ham'd steed of Alban {16a} reached the summit of the highland of
Bran. I have composed, with great study and pains, thy praise, O thou
that shinest like the new-fallen snow on the brow of Aran. {16b} O thou
beautiful flower descended from Trefor. {16c} Hear my sorrowful
complaint. I am wounded, and the great love I bear thee will not suffer
me to sleep, unless thou givest me a kind answer. I, thy pensive Bard,
am in as woeful plight as Rhun {16d} by thy palace, beautiful maid. I
recite, without either flattery or guile, thy praise, O thou that shinest
like the meridian sun, with thy stately steps. Should'st thou, who art
the luminary of many countries, demand my two eyes, I would part with
them on thy account, such is the pain I suffer. They pain me while I
look on the glossy walls of thy fine habitation, and see thee beautiful
as the morning sun. I have meditated thy praise, and made all countries
resound with it, and every singer was pleased in chanting it. So
affecting are the subjects of my mournful tale, O Myfanwy, {16e} that
lookest like flakes of driven snow. My loving heart sinks with grief
without thy support, O thou that hast the whiteness of the curling waves.
Heaven has decreed, that I should suffer tormenting pain, and wisdom and
reason were given in vain to guard against love. When I saw thy fine
shape in scarlet robes, thou daughter of a generous chief, I was so
affected, that life and death were equal to me. I sunk away, and scarce
had time to make my confession. Alas! my labour in celebrating thy
praises, O thou that shinest like the fine spider's webs on the grass in
a summer's day, is vain. It would be a hard task for any man to guess
how great my pain is. It is so afflicting, thou bright luminary of
maids, that my colour is gone. I know that this pain will avail me
nothing towards obtaining thy love, O thou whose countenance is as bright
as the flowers of the haw-thorn. O how well didst thou succeed in making
me to languish, and despair. For heaven's sake, pity my distressed
condition, and soften the penance of thy Bard. I am a Bard, who, though
wounded by thee, sing thy praises in well sounding verse, thou gentle
maid of slender shape, who hinderest me to sleep by thy charms. I bring
thy praises, bright maid, to thy neat palace at Dinbrain; {17} many are
the songs that I rehearse to celebrate thy beautiful form.