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Dyma ymdrech i droi penillion Eifion Wyn i'r Saesneg:
Cwm Pennant.
In a fold of the high, lonely moorlands,
The Valley of Valleys lies;
The home of the stoat and the vixen,
Where the hawk haunts the winter skies.
I don't own a foot's width of it,
Or even a dog or a sheep;
But I feel I am lord of the valley
By my fire at night, before sleep.
How I love my one-chimneyed cottage
Over there, in that dip in the ground,
With the whitewash like snow on its stonework
And bilberry bushes around.
Its doorway, though low, bids you welcome:
It has done so for aye and a day,
And tinkling each season beside the house
Two mountain streams sing on their way.
If I pay an occasional visit
To the clamouring city street,
I find myself constantly listening
For a croak, or a whistle, or bleat;
Longing for sight of the moorlands,
For the sky like an ocean above;
For the spring of the mosses beneath my feet,
For Gwen, and the children I love.
I shall love the old Vale of my childhood
'Til my loving ceases to be;
For it and its green slopes have daily
Become dearer and dearer to me.
And each daybreak I ask the same question
As I stand on the ridge deep in thought:
"Why, Lord, did you fashion Cwm Pennant so sweet -
And an old shepherd's life so short?"
Cyf Clive Ball.
Cyfarchion o Orllewin Awstralia!