The Stars
By God, my girl, I need
the thick groves of May this year
instead of walking slopes (it's not right)
4 and hillsides, my fine-haired girl;
[we must] take our pleasure thus up on the hill,
and find our bed beneath the birches.
Love is costly: I am full of talk.
8 Costliness changes people.
I undertook (isn't this enough of a fetter?)
a most wretched journey for a third of the night
in the hope of getting, generous one like the sun,
12 a girl's kiss. She had agreed.
I crossed the public highway.
I was blind in the dark on the open moor
last night, long crooked pitch-black road,
16 like Trystan was for a pretty girl.
I walked past many an edifice
on the long uneven ridge, strong tall lad.
I walked across nine enclosures
20 and along old hillforts;
from there to the fortress
of ghosts, nasty companions.
I made my way from the great green fortress
24 to boggy land on the edge of a big mountain.
The black headland darkened
as I went towards it, this wasn't easy,
as if I was in the depths of a dungeon,
28 predicament caused by sudden treachery.
I crossed myself with an unseemly shout,
it was panic-stricken, and far too late.
In a state of terror I recalled
32 a song about a wondrous pair,
scaly hide in a bright cladding,
which were in the stone vessel.
I am just like that because of misfortune
36 in the most poisonous bog.
I promised to go to Llanddwyn, surety payment,
in return for my safekeeping.
The Son of the Virgin Mary does not sleep
40 when He gives great salvation, treasure of wise faith.
He saw how great was the suffering of the fine witty poet.
God was kind. He lit for me
(reed candles, twelve signs of the zodiac,
44 a fair shower against awful trouble)
stars for our sake, cherries of the night,
glorious sudden appearance.
Their light was like a shining festival,
48 sparks of the bonfire of seven saints;
flaming plums of the cold harsh moon,
sparkling berries of the icy moon;
swollen glands of the hidden moon,
52 they are the seeds of fair weather;
radiance of the moon's large nuts,
colour of a sunny hillside, our Father's paths;
common sign of fine weather,
56 Aquila of every good climate;
flint mirror, sun lighting the earth,
faces of great God's halfpennies;
pieces of lovely bright gold covered in hoar-frost,
60 gems of the crupper of heaven's host.
They are neatly hammered in place in pairs,
rabble of the broad grey sky;
the shield nails are sunlight for us
64 across the heavens, very deep arrangement.
No swift breeze will dislodge
the auger holes of the sky from their sanctuary.
They extend far and wide, the wind does not beat them,
68 they are the embers of the great sky.
The backgammon pieces of the mighty sky's board,
bright is their work.
The needles (I value them highly)
72 of the great firmament's head-dress.
Until last night (far and late tryst ending in failure)
I never had cause to say 'many thanks'.
Radiant subject of praise, coins of a bright path,
76 clover on the face of the sky.
They did a good turn by their late showing,
gilding of ice, goldwire of the air,
wax candles of a hundred altars
80 on the wide backdrop of the great sky.
Holy God is pleased with his beads
scattered around without a string.
In their wisdom they show hill and vale
84 to me so clueless down below,
the roads to Anglesey and my road.
God forgive all my intent.
I arrived at dawn without a wink of sleep
88 at the court of the finest girl.
I will not boast of my journey
except to say this, wondrous noble girl:
the sharpened axe will not be struck
92 against the stone's edge again.