Dafydd y Garreg Wen

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Dafydd y Garreg Wen is a traditional Welsh air and folk song.

David Owen, the famous blind harper and composer, lived near Porthmadog in Caernarfonshire, Wales in the first half of the 18th century, who known locally as Dafydd y Garreg Wen, (English: David of the White Rock). The epithet Y Garreg Wen (English: The White Rock) was the name of the farm near Morfa Bychan in which he lived.

Tradition has it that as Owen lay on his death bed, he called for his harp and composed the haunting air. He died at the age of 29.

The words were added nearly a hundred years later in by the poet John Ceiriog Hughes.

'Cariwch', medd Dafydd, 'fy nhelyn i mi, Ceisiaf cyn marw roi tôn arni hi. Codwch fy nwylo i gyraedd y tant; Duw a'ch bendithio fy ngweddw a'm plant!' 'Neithiwr mi glywais lais angel fel hyn: "Dafydd, tyrd adref, a chwarae trwy'r glyn!" Delyn fy mebyd, ffarwel i dy dant! Duw a'ch bendithio fy ngweddw a'm plant!'

'Bring me my harp', was David's sad sigh, 'I would play one more tune before I die. Help me, dear wife, put the hands to the strings, I wish my loved ones the blessing God brings.' 'Last night an angel called with heaven's breath: "David, play, and come through the gates of death!" Farewell, faithful harp, farewell to your strings, I wish my loved ones the blessing God brings.'

Owen is also well known for his air Codiad yr Ehedydd (English: Rising of the lark).

A more literal translation would be:-

'Carry', said David, 'my harp to me'

I would like, before dying, to give a tune on it (her)

Lift my hands to reach the strings

God bless you, my widow and children!

Last night I heard an angel's voice like this:

"David, come home and play through the glen!"

Harp of my youth, farewell to your strings!

God bless you, my widow and children!

there is another version of the lyrics that goes:

Dinas Emlinn, lament for the moment is nigh When mute in the woodlands thy echoes shall die; No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave, And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing wave.

In spring and in autumn thy glories of shade, Unhonour'd shall flourish, unhonour'd shall fade; For soon shall be lifeless the eyes and the tongue, That viewed them with rapture, with rapture had sung.

Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride, And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side; But where is the harp shall give life to their name? And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame?

And, oh, Dinas Emlinn! thy daughters so fair! Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark hair; What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their eye, When have of their charms with Cadwallon shall die?

Then adieu silver Teivi! I quit thy loved scene, To join the dim choir of the bards who have been; With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the old, And sage Taliesin, high harping to hold.

Adieu, Dinas Emlinn! still green be thy shades, Unconquer'd thy warriors, and matchless thy maids; And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can tell, Farewell my loved harp! my last treasure farewell!