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Bedd Taliesin
Taliesin's Grave



Erthygl o Cymru'r Plant

Article from Cymru'r Plant

Bedd Taliesin

(An English translation is at the bottom of the page)

O Dre'r Ddol yng Ngheredigion esgyn llwybr cul, serth, trwy lwyn o fedw mân, i'r mynydd fry. Un hwyr eisteddwn arno'n flinedig, i edrych ar y môr islaw, a meddwl am Daliesin Ben Beirdd, mab henwg Sant o Gaerlleon ar Wysg. Pan yn fachgen yr oedd yn hoff iawn o bysgota. Unwaith aeth gydag Urien Rheged mewn cwch bychan crwn, fel yr arferai'r hen Gymry, - mewn cwrwgl, - i enau'r afon Wysg i chwilio am bysgod. Daeth llong Wyddelig heibio, a chymerwyd ef yn garcharor, ond yn fuan gwelodd Taliesin ffordd i ddianc o'r llong, a neidiodd i'w gwrwgl bach, - yr oedd yn well ganddo ymddiried ei hun i gynddaredd y storm nag i'r Gwyddelod, - a chwythodd y gwynt ef i'r lle y torrai'r môr ei donnau'n ewyn ar y traeth welwn i lawr danaf. Y nos honno'r oedd Gwyddno Garan Hir, arglwydd Cantre'r Gwaelod, wedi gosod ei rwyd am helfa o bysgod, ond yn lle pysgod cafodd ynddi yn y bore y bardd a'i gwrwgl, a dygodd ef i'w balas i farddoni, a dysgu ei fab, Elffin, brydyddu.

Hwyrach nad oedd y môr yn dyfod mor bell i'r tir pan ddigwyddodd hyn i'r prif-fardd, gan nad oedd Seithenyn eto wedi ei eni, chwaithach meddwi a gadael i'r weilgi orlifo Cantre'r Gwaelod; er hynny dychmygwn weld y bardd penfelyn a'i gwch ar y traeth y codwn yn awyddus i weld man ei fedd.

Dirwynai'r llwybr trwy aml ros a gwaen i odrau'r mynydd at lecyn gwastad cysgodol. Un tu iddo elai ffordd garegog fynyddig, lle mae'r fforddolion yn anaml, a chodai bryn bychan o'r tu arall, gorchuddiedig gan redyn melyn gwywedig. Ar ei ganol mae carnedd, a'r glaswellt erbyn hyn wedi hen dyfu drosti. O'i chylch mae eithin a blodau amryliw, ac ynddi dywedir fod Taliesin yn huno. Mae bedd o gist gerrig yn y golwg, ac amlwg yw fod rhywun wedi ei gladdu yno gyda pharch. Os mai yno y claddwyd y bardd, os mai yno y deffry gyntaf, nis gallai ddymuno am fan mwy prydferth. Os mai tir angof yw'r bedd, dwg yr olygfa yma ar gof iddo'n fuan mai bardd oedd,-

"A minnau yw Taliesin,
Pen bardd y gorllewin."

Gwel oddi tano fau tlws Aber Teifi, a mynyddoedd Ceredigion yn cychwyn yn rhes o fryniau mân tua Phenfro; gwel greigiau'r Eryri a'r Aran; gwel yr aruthrol yn Arfon; gwel y dwys a'r tyner ym Maldwyn. Bydd yn anhawdd i hwn beidio barddoni fore'r farn, pan agorir dorau ei fedd.

"Y mae yng Nghymru fyrdd
O feddau hyd y ffyrdd,
Yn balmant hyd y rhai rhed rhyddid byth."

Mae mwy o gyfoeth yn llwch gwroniaid Cymru nag yn llwch aur aml i wlad, - gwna un balmant i ffordd rhyddid a phurdeb, a'r llall atynfa i gaethiwed ac aflendid. "Cymru fechan dlawd," ebe llawer estron, tra'n pocedu, gyda'i law flewog, yr aur a'r mwn sy'n sylfaen dani. Bechan yw, ond llawn cyfoeth er ei mynych dreisio gan estron. Na chyffyrdded neb â llwch ein tadau, - â pheth sydd mor anwyl a chysegredig i ni. Bu'r glaswellt gwyrdd yn goch aml waith, a'r ewyn gwyn yn rhudd gan waed ein hynafiaid dewr; agorwyd bedd droion, ac fe'i cauwyd, sydd heddyw'n "ffordd rhyddid" i Gymru Sydd ei cherdded. Bu'n nos dywell faith, ond cwyd yr haul ar ddiwrnod clir yn awr, -

Darfu'r gaeaf, - wele haf o hoywfyd,
A da wych heulwen eto'n dychwelyd.

Eled estron i'w chwareudai a'i redegfydd os myn, af finnau i fan dawel i fyfyrio uwchben lle'r huna rhai enwog, ac i weddio am ddeuparth ysbryd y rhai fu farw mor ardderchog, yn llesg wedi gweithio dros lwyddiant Cymru.

J.M.E.
Cymru'r Plant Cyf III, Rhif 34, Hydref 1894

From Tre'rddol in Ceredigion, there ascends a steep, narrow path, through a grove of small birch trees, to the mountain above. One evening I sat on it, wearily, to look at the sea below, and think about Taliesin, Chief of Poets, the son of St.Henwg of Caerleon on Usk. When he was a boy he was very fond of fishing. Once he went with Urien of Rheged in a small round boat, as was used by the old Welsh - a coracle - to the mouth of the river Usk to look for fish. An Irish ship came by, and took him a prisoner, but soon Taliesin saw a way to escape from the ship, and jumped into his little coracle - he preferred to entrust himself to the fury of the storm than to the Irishmen, - and the wind blew him to the place where the sea billows break on the beach I could see down below me. That night Gwyddno Garan Hir, lord of Cantre'r Gwaelod, had set out his fishing nets, but in the morning, instead of fish, he found the poet and his coracle in it, and took him to his palace to make poetry, and to teach his son Elffin to versify.

Nowadays the sea doesn't come as far inland as it did when this happened to the poet, because Seithenyn had not yet been born, nor got drunk and allowed the torrent to flood Cantre'r Gwaelod; despite that we can imagine seeing the fair-haired bard and his boat on the beach where he rose eagerly to see the site of his grave.

The path winds through many moors and meadows to the foothills of the mountain to a level, shady place. To one side runs a stony, mountainous path, where travellers are infrequent, and on the other side rises a small hill, covered by wizened yellow bracken. In the centre is a cairn, which the grass has long since overgrown. Around it are gorse and flowers of many colours, and within it, it is said, Taliesin sleeps. A stone cist grave is visible, and it is obvious that someone has been buried here with respect. If it is here the poet was buried, if it is here he first arose, he could not wish for a more beautiful place. If the grave is the land of oblivion, this view rapidly reminds us that he was a poet, -

I am Taliesin,
Chief poet of the west.

Visible below is the jewel of Cardigan Bay, and the mountains of Ceredigion set off in a row of low hills towards Pembroke; the crags of Snowdonia and the Arans can be seen too, as can the hardness and softness of Maldwyn. It will be difficult for him to refrain from versifying on the day of judgement, when the doors of his grave are opened.

"There is in Wales a myriad
of graves alongside the roads,
a pavement for some that leads to everlasting freedom."

There is more wealth in the dust of Welsh heroes than in the gold-dust of many countries, - one pavement makes a road to freedom and purity, the other leads towards slavery and squalor. "Poor little Wales," says many a stranger, while pocketing with his greedy hand the gold and minerals which are her foundations. Little, yes, but full of riches despite foreigners' attempts to ravish her. Let no-one touch the dust of our fathers - or anything so dear and sacred to us. The green grass has been crimson many times, and the white sea-foam red with the blood of our brave ancestors; a grave has been opened many times, and closed again, which is today a 'road to freedom' for the 'Wales which Is' to walk along. The night has been dark and long, but now the sun rises on a clear day, -

Winter wanes, - behold a bright summer,
And wonderful sunshine again returns.

Let the foreigner go to his playhouses and racetracks if he wishes, I myself am going to a quiet spot to meditate above a place where some famous person sleeps, and to pray for a fraction of the spirit of those who died so so excellently, weak from working for the prosperity of Wales.



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