The Melody
I learnt a heavenly melody
with my own two hands on the end of a bench,
and what I learnt (such is man's custom)
4 brought honour to the harp for a while.
This is the melody, there upon my bench,
that I composed from a love-tryst,
weaving a noble girl's worthy praise
8 on love's embroidering frame.
All the girls of the land,
because of my nature, say of me:
'This is but a simple, obvious melody,
12 and a simpleton is the man who brings it.'
I sang, with poor deception,
an easy psalm, my privilege is great,
and a song set to that lovely
16 melody, so say young men.
A sweet, skilful composition, sign of a rewarding song,
it earned me praise, the minstrels' tune,
the musical voice of a bright, joyful bird,
20 it is a song requested by handsome poets.
Alas (it is something I desire greatly)
that Dyddgu cannot hear this bardic melody.
If she's alive, she'll hear it above the perch
24 of a grey-mantled nightingale of familiar voice,
of Hildr's expertise just beneath the treble-string,
an extravagant song, sung by a drunken man;
the fine sound of a persistent voice, bright and splendid,
28 a gentle resonance like an Englishman's psaltery.
No fluent French piper
nor any master-musician ever composed such a melody.
Let his lips be worthless,
32 along with his cywydd and his ten
fingernails,
who may sing a song of praise
(God won't reproach him), or a harp-song,
for a bright, radiant, glad-eyed girl,
36 when he's allowed to sing this melody.