| The Wind | |
| Sky-wind, unhindered course, | |
| mighty commotion passing yonder, | |
| you are a harsh-sounding minstrel, | |
| 4 | world's fool without foot or wing. |
| It's amazing how wondrously you were sent | |
| from the pantry of the sky without any feet, | |
| and how swiftly you run | |
| 8 | now across the hilltop on high. |
| Constant hymn, tell me your destination, | |
| you north wind of the valley. | |
| You fly the length and breadth of the world, | |
| 12 | hilltop weather, be on high tonight, |
| oh man, and go to Uwch Aeron | |
| nice and gently, a clear song. | |
| Don't wait, don't restrain yourself, | |
| 16 | don't be afraid despite Bwa Bach, |
| [he who] serves a malicious accusatory complaint. | |
| The land and its nurture is closed to me. | |
| [One who] steals nests, though you winnow leaves | |
| 20 | no one indicts you, you are not restrained |
| by any swift troop, nor officer's hand, | |
| nor blue blade nor flood nor rain. | |
| No mother's son can kill you (false expression), | |
| 24 | fire won't burn you, deceit won't weaken you. |
| You won't drown, you've been forewarned, | |
| you won't get entangled, you are smooth. | |
| There's no need for any swift horse beneath you, | |
| 28 | or bridge over estuary, nor boat. |
| No official or retinue will arrest you | |
| to bring you to judgement, winnower of treetop foliage. | |
| No eyesight can see you, huge open lair, | |
| 32 | thousands hear you, nest of the great rain. |
| You are God's blessing over all the earth, | |
| roaring, fierce shattering of oaktree tops, | |
| swift-natured notary of the sky, | |
| 36 | fine leaper over many barren lands. |
| Dry nature, powerful creature, | |
| trampler of the sky, immense journey, | |
| shooter on snowfields up above, | |
| 40 | noisy disperser of chaff-heaps, |
| storm agitating the sea, | |
| high-spirited lad on beach waves, | |
| you are a fine author of an awdl who scatters snow, | |
| 44 | you are a scatterer, a pursuer of leaves, |
| free laugher [on] hilltop, | |
| thruster of the wild-masted white-breasted sea. | |
| Woe is me that I placed deep love | |
| 48 | on Morfudd, my golden girl. |
| A maiden made me an exile, | |
| run on high to her father's house. | |
| Knock on the door, make it open | |
| 52 | to my messenger before daybreak, |
| and seek a way to her, if there be one, | |
| and sing the voice of my sigh. | |
| You come from the splendid stars, | |
| 56 | say this to my noble faithful maid: |
| as long as I be in the world, | |
| I am a true servant. | |
| Woeful is my face without her, | |
| 60 | if it is true that she is not untrue. |
| Go up on high, you will see the fair girl, | |
| go down below, sky's favourite. | |
| Go to fair-haired Morfudd Llwyd, | |
| 64 | come back safely, you are the sky's treasure. |