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Gwaith Alun by Alun

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Yn anterth dy lwydd, Heber, syrthiaist i'r beddrod,
Cyn i dy goryn ddwyn un blewyn brith;
Yn nghanol dy lesni y gwywaist i'r gwaelod,
A'th ddeilen yn ir gan y wawrddydd a'r gwlith:
Mewn munyd newidiaist y meitr am goron,
A'r fantell esgobawl am wisg wen yn Sion,
Ac acen galarnad am hymn anfarwolion,
A thithau gymysgaist dy hymn yn eu plith.

Llwyni Academus, {104b} cynorsaf dy lwyddiant,
Lle gwridaist wrth glod y dysgedig a'r gwar;
Y cangau a eiliaist a droed yn adgofiant
O alar ac alaeth i'r lluoedd a'th gar:
Llygaid ein ieuenctid, a ddysgwyd i'th hoffi,
Wrth weled dy ardeb yn britho ffenestri
A lanwant, gan gofio fod ffrydiau Caveri
Yn golchi dy fynwent wrth draeth Tanquebar.

Llaith oedd dy fin gan wlithoedd Castalia,
O Helicon yfaist ym more dy oes;
Ond hoffaist wlith Hermon a ffrydiau Siloa,
A swyn pob testynau daearol a ffoes:
Athrylith, Athroniaeth, a dysg yr Awenau,
A blethent eu llawryf o gylch dy arleisiau;
Tithau'n ddi-fost a dderbyniaist eu cedau,
I'w hongian yn offrwm ar drostan y Groes.

Pan oedd byd yn agor ei byrth i dy dderbyn,
Gan addaw pob mwyniant os unit ag ef,--
Cofleidiaist y Groes, a chyfrifaist yn elyn
Bob meddwl a geisiai fynd rhyngot a'r nef:
Yn Hodnet {105} yn hir saif dy enw ar galonnau
Y diriaid ddychwelwyd yn saint trwy'th bregethau--
Amddifad gadd borth yn dy briod a thithau--
Y weddw a noddaist--y wan wneist yn gref.

Gadewaist a'th garant--yn ysbryd Cenadwr
Y nofiaist tros donnau trochionog y mor,
I ddatgan fod Iesu yn berffaith Waredwr
I Vahmond Delhi, ac i Frahmin Mysore;
Daeth bywyd ac adnerth i Eglwys y Dwyrain--
Offrymwyd ar allor Duw Israel a Phrydain--
Yn nagrau a galar Hindoo gallwn ddarllain
Na sengaist ti India heb gwmni dy IOR.

O Gor Trichinopoly, cadw di'n ddiogel
Weddillion y Sant i fwynhau melus hun,
Pan ferwo y weilgi ar lan Coromandel,
Gofynnir adfeilion ei babell bob un;--
Ond tawed ein pruddgerdd am bennill melusach,
A ganodd ein Heber ar dannau siriolach,
Yn arwyl y Bardd a pha odlau cymhwysach
Dilynir ei elor na'i odlau ei hun?

"Diangaist i'r bedd--ni alarwn am danad,
Er mai trigfa galar a niwl ydyw'r bedd;
Agorwyd ei ddorau o'r blaen gan dy Geidwad,
A'i gariad gwna'r ddunos yn ddiwrnod o hedd.
Diangaist i'r bedd--ac ni welwn di mwyach
Yn dringo rhiw bywyd trwy ludded a phoen:
Ond breichiau rhad ras a'th gofleidiant ti bellach,
Daeth gobaith i'r euog pan drengodd yr Oen.

"Diangaist i'r bedd--ac wrth adael marwoldeb
Rhwng hyder ac ofn, os unwaith petrusaist,
Dy lygaid agorwyd yn nydd tragwyddoldeb,
Ac angel a ganodd yr Anthem a glywaist.
Diangaist i'r bedd--byddai'n bechod galaru,
At Dduw y diangaist--y Duw a dy roes:
Efe a'th gymerodd--Efe wna'th adferu
Digolyn yw angau trwy angau y groes."

* * * * *

Cyfieithiad yw'r ddau bennill olaf o emyn Heber ei hun,--

"Thou art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee,
Though sadness and sorrow encompass the tomb."



SEREN BETHLEHEM.


(Cyfieithiad o Saesoneg H. K. White.)

Pan bo ser anhraethol nifer
Yn britho tywyll lenni'r nen,
At _un_ yn unig drwy'r eangder
Y tal i'r euog godi ei ben;
Clywch! Hosanna'n felus ddwndwr
Red i Dduw o em i em,
Ond _un_ sy'n datgan y Gwaredwr,
Honno yw Seren Bethlehem.

Unwaith hwyliais ar y cefnfor
A'r 'storm yn gerth, a'r nos yn ddu,
Minnau heb na llyw, nac angor,
Na gwawr, na gobaith o un tu,
Nerth a dyfais wedi gorffen,
Dim ond soddi yn fy nhrem,
Ar fy ing y cododd seren,
Seren nefol Bethlehem.

Bu'n llusern a thywysydd imi,
Lladdodd ofn y dyfrllyd fedd,
Ac o erchyll safn y weilgi
Dug fi i borthladd dwyfol hedd;--
Mae'n awr yn deg, a minnau'n canu,
F'achub o'r ystorom lem,
A chanaf pan bo'r byd yn ffaglu
Seren! Seren! Bethlehem!



AT MANOR DEIFI.


TO E. WHITLEY, ESQ., BRONCOED.

_Cardigan, March 30th, 1835_.

MY EVER DEAR SIR,

Old recollections--and recollections dearer for being old--make Broncoed
and the name of Whitley much dearer to my memory and heart than other
names and places. My own former humble home is now another's,--I know it
no more; and there is scarcely a house now in the parish into which I
would venture to turn besides yours, your cousin's, Mr. Clough's and two
or three more. Yet, I feel a tie between me and Mold and its
inhabitants, which nothing but death can unloose. There lies the grave
of my dear, though poor parents, and there burst the dawn of my brightest
days. The same Providence which smiled upon the beginning of my happier
years, continues kind still. I have indeed abundant reason to thank
heaven for the many, many blessings which have been showered upon my
path; nor do I forget the kind hands which were employed in showering
them, and your own amongst the number.

When I first came to Manordeifi, there was but one service on the Sunday,
and that almost entirely in Welsh. Seeing that five of the principal
families in Pembrokeshire were under my pastoral care, and that neither
themselves nor their dependants understood any Welsh, I established two
services, one entirely English, the other exclusively in our beloved
Welsh.



CATHL I'R EOS.


Pan guddio nos ein daear gu
O dan ei du adenydd,
Y clywir dy delori mwyn,
A chor y llwyn yn llonydd;
Ac os bydd pigyn dan dy fron
Yn peri i'th galon guro,
Ni wnai, nes torro'r wawrddydd hael,
Ond canu a gadael iddo.

A thebyg it' yw'r feinir war
Sydd gymar gwell na gemau,
Er cilio haul, a hulio bro
A miloedd o gymylau;
Pan dawo holl gysurwyr dydd,
Hi lyna yn ffyddlonaf;
Yn nyfnder nos o boen a thrais
Y dyry lais felusaf.

Er dichon fod ei chalon wan
Yn delwi dan y dulid,
Ni chwyna, i flino'i hanwyl rai,--
Ei gwen a guddia'i gofid:
Ni pheidia'i chan trwy ddunos faith,
Nes gweled gobaith goleu
Yn t'wynu, megys llygad aur,
Trwy bur amrantau'r boreu.



ABAD-DY TINTERN.


Pa sawl bron a oerodd yma?
Pa sawl llygad ga'dd ei gloi?
Pa sawl un sydd yn y gladdfa,
A'r cof o honynt wedi ffoi?
Pa sawl gwaith, ar wawr a gosber
Swniai'r gloch ar hyd y glyn?
Pa sawl _Ave_, cred a phader,
Dd'wedwyd rhwng y muriau hyn?

Ar y gareg sydd gyferbyn,
A faluriwyd gan yr hin,
Tybiaf weld, o flaen ei eilun,
Ryw bererin ar ei lin;
Tybiaf fod y mwg o'r thuser
Eto'n codi'n golofn wen,
A bod swn yr organ seinber
Eto yn dadseinio'r nen.

Ond Distawrwydd wnaeth ei phabell
Lle cartrefai'r anthem gynt;
Nid oes yma, o gor i gangell,
Un erddygan, ond y gwynt.--
Felly darffo pob coel-grefydd,
Crymed byd ger bron y Gwir;
Hedd a chariad, ar eu cynnydd,
Fo'n teyrnasu tros y tir.



CAN GWRAIG Y PYSGOTWR.


Gorffwys donn, dylifa'n llonydd,
Paid a digio wrth y creigydd;
Y mae anian yn noswylio,
Pa'm y byddi di yn effro?
Dwndwr daear sydd yn darfod,--
Cysga dithau ar dy dywod.

Gorffwys for! mae ar dy lasdon
Un yn dwyn serchiadau 'nghalon;
Nid ei ran yw bywyd segur,
Ar dy lifiant mae ei lafur;
Bydd dda wrtho, for diddarfod,
Cysga'n dawel ar dy dywod.

Paid a grwgnach, bydd yn ddiddig,
Dyro ffrwyn ym mhen dy gesig;
A pha esgus iti ffromi?
Nid oes gwynt ym mrig y llwyni:
Tyrd a bad fy ngwr i'r diddos
Cyn cysgodion dwfn y ceunos.

Iawn i wraig yw teimlo pryder
Pan bo'i gwr ar gefn y dyfnder;
Ond os cyffry dig dy donnau,
Pwy a ddirnad ei theimladau?
O bydd dirion wrth fy mhriod,--
Cysga'n dawel ar dy dywod.

Byddar ydwyt i fy ymbil,
For didostur, ddofn dy grombil;
Trof at Un a all dy farchog
Pan bo'th donnau yn gynddeiriog;
Cymer Ef fy ngwr i'w gysgod,
A gwna di'n dawel ar dy dywod.

[Gwraig y Pysgotwr. "Gorffwys for, mae ar dy lasdon
Un yn dwyn serchiadau 'nghalon.": alun105.jpg]



Y DDEILEN GRIN


Sech yw'r ddeilen ar y brigyn,
Buan iawn i'r llaid y disgyn;
Ond y meddwl call a ddarllen
Wers o addysg ar y ddeilen.

Unwaith chwarddodd mewn gwyrddlesni,
Gwawr y nef orftwysodd arni;
Gyda myrddiwn o gyfeillion,
Dawnsiodd yn yr hwyr awelon.

Darfu'r urdd oedd arni gynnau,
Prin y deil dan wlith y borau,
Cryna rhag y chwa ireiddlon
Sydd yn angeu i'w chyfoedion.

Ni all haul er ymbelydru,
Na llawn lloer er ei hariannu,
Ac ni all yr awel dyner
Alw yn ol ei hen ireidd-der.

Blaguro ychydig oedd ei chyfran,
Rhoi un wen ar wyneb anian;
Llef o'r nef yn Hydref waedda--
Darfu'th waith,"--a hithau drenga.




Footnotes:


{1a} O wawl-arluniau gan y diweddar John Thomas.

{1b} O wawl-arluniau gan y diweddar John Thomas.

{1c} O wawl-arluniau gan y diweddar John Thomas.

{1d} O wawl-arluniau gan y diweddar John Thomas.

{26} Cyfeiriad at farwolaeth echrydus Iorwerth II. Cym. _The Bard_,
Gray.

{27} Man y llofruddiwyd llawer o hil Edward.

{28} Harri VII., buddugwr Bosworth.

{33} Yr arwyddair dan Loer arian y Twrc yw,--"Nes llenwi hol ddaear."

{45a} Flodden Field, by Sir Walter Scott.

{45b} Siege of Corinth, by Lord Byron; and Siege of Valencia, by Mrs.
Hemans.

{47} The English Channel.

{53} Hesperus, the evening star.

{101} Caveri.--Afon yn Ngorllewin Hindostan, a lifa heibio Trichinopoly,
claddfa yr Esgob Heber, ac a ymarllwysa i for Coromandel wrth Tranquebar.

{102a} Ganges--prif afon India--gwrthddrych addoliad y Brahminiaid.
Cyffredin ydyw i wragedd daflu eu mabanod i'w thonnau er mwyn boddio y
duw Himalaya, a elwir yn Dad y Ganges.

{102b} Y Malwah.--Rhes o fynyddoedd uchel yng nghanol Hindostan. Nid yw
cyngor na cherydd Prydeiniaid yn gallu rhwystro yr arfer greulon
gynhwynol o losgi gweddwon byw gyda'u gwyr meirw.

{102c} Nid anghyffelyb Hindostan i drionglyn, Coromandel, Tickree, a
Bengal, ydynt y conglau.

{102d} Tybir bod tua 40,000 o Gristionogion, ond bod mwy na'u hanner yn
Babyddion, yn y Carnatic. Nid yw prin werth crybwyll mai un o hil
dyscyblion Swartz, cenadwr enwog tua chan' mlynedd yn ol, ydyw yr Hindoo
a ddychymyga yr Alarnad.

{103a} Angeu disyfyd a gymerodd Heber ymaith tra y mwynhai drochfa
dwymn. Y dydd o'r blaen--y Sabbath--cyflawnai ddyledswyddau ei daith
esgobawl.

{103b} Juggernaut--un o eilunod pennaf Hindostan. Ar ei gylchwyl
llusgir ef ar gert enfawr i ymweled a'i hafoty. Ymdafla miloedd o'i
addolwyr dan ei olwynion trymion, ac yno y llethir hwynt.

{104a} Gauts--mynyddoedd uchel wrth Travancore, penrhyn
deheuol.--Himalaya, mynyddoedd uwch, wrth Cashgur, penrhyn gogleddol
Hindostan.

{104b} Llwyni Academus. Nid oes ond a wypo a ddichon ddychymygu y parch
a dalwyd yn Rhydychen i Heber, ar parch a delir eto i'w enw. Yno y daeth
gyntaf i wydd yr oes drwy ei Balestine, a gyfieithwyd i'r Gymraeg mor
ardaerchog gan yr unig wr cyfaddas i'r gorchwyl--yr enwocaf Gymro, Dr.
Pughe.

{105} Hodnet--yn Amwythig--yno y cyflawnai Heber swydd Bugail
Cristionogol yn ddifefl hyd ei symudiad i India.




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President Obama teams up with one of Marvel's greatest heroes, reports Alison Flood
Articles published by guardian.co.uk Books

Murder One closing so did we commit this crime?

Barack Obama is teaming up with Spider-Man in a new comic from Marvel, which will see the future president exchanging a fist-bump with Peter Parker's alter ego.

The five-page story takes place in Washington DC on inauguration day, when one of Spidey's oldest enemies, the Chameleon, attempts to stop Obama's swearing-in ceremony. Fortunately, Peter Parker is covering the event as a photographer, and jumps in to save the day.

"Ya hear that, Chameleon? The president-elect here just appointed me ... secretary of shuttin' you up," Spider-Man says as he thwacks the Chameleon in the face. "I hope this doesn't ruin the inauguration for you," he tells Obama, as the Chameleon is led away by security officials. "Honestly, I'm more upset by the Chameleon's shockingly deficient understanding of the electoral process," Obama replies.

Spidey then cedes the limelight to Obama. "This is your day, after all, and I know it wouldn't look good to be seen palling around with me," he says, in a nod to Sarah Palin's comment that the then presidential candidate had been "palling around with terrorists".

The story, written by Zeb Wells and illustrated by Todd Nauck and Frank D'Armata, will appear as a bonus feature in Amazing Spider-Man 583, which goes on sale on 14 January.

"When we heard that president-elect Obama is a collector of Spider-Man comics, we knew that these two historic figures had to meet in our comics' Marvel Universe," said Marvel's editor-in-chief Joe Quesada. "A Spider-Man fan moving into the Oval Office is an event that must be commemorated in the pages of Amazing Spider-Man."

In October, graphic novel biographies of Obama and his then rival John McCain were published by IDW. April will see Michelle Obama appearing in the Female Force comic book series.

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Poetry Workshop creature features

For many years my local corner shop displayed a large sign in its window telling local residents to "use us or lose us!" It always looked a rather toothless threat to me. After all, if I didn't use them, what difference would it make to me if they weren't there? And surely a corner shop, one that had been there for years, would have enough customers to survive without recourse to such apocalyptic warning? But it didn't and was soon converted into flats.

This community shop was destroyed not so much by the pressures of the supermarkets or people's commuting patterns, but simply by customer apathy. It's something to think about as crime writers and readers across the world mourn the imminent passing of Maxim Jakubowski's celebrated Charing Cross Road bookshop in London, Murder One.

Apathy is a strange word to connect to a bookstore that thrives on passion. It's noticeable when you walk through the door, when you speak to the friendly, knowledgeable staff, when you look at the shelves and see the vast range of titles on offer. This isn't your regular kind of bookstore: the first time I visited spent a whole lunch break looking up and down, from floor to ceiling from table to table; it was an hour that changed my perception of both crime writing and of bookselling.

Murder One was – and for a few weeks will remain – a shop that took crime seriously. Not in the sense that it intellectualised it, or made unsubstantiated claims for its importance, but in the way that it treated crime writing with the respect it was due. With a genre that has so many off-shoots, branches and sub-genres, it took a shop of Murder One's calibre to show just how diverse, interesting and mentally stimulating crime could be – far more than the guilty pleasure I had, until then, considered it.

Thanks to judicious recommendations, enticing table displays and hours of foraging among the stacks, I discovered writers that I would never have picked up, let alone read. You could always get the latest blockbuster, but delve a little deeper and you'd find books that were not stocked anywhere else, novels that, like the perfect crime, were hidden from public view. The Martin Beck novels by Sjöwall & Wahlöö – probably my favourite sequence of novels in any genre – were introduced to me via Murder One, as were Kem Nunn, Sue Grafton, and Henning Mankell. It's also the staff of Murder One who piqued my interest in the inimitable Fred Vargas, and I can't thank them enough for the introduction.

Inclusive and without snobbery, Murder One amply demonstrated that the best bookshops are places not just of commerce, but of community; places that make feel you belong. It's the kind of store that bibliophiles dream about: well-stocked, well-staffed and shabby enough to lose days browsing within. It's just unfortunate that such shops don't have enough paying customers to keep them afloat, or that these customers visit all too infrequently – something of which I'm certainly guilty.

These kinds of shops are facing a long, bloody battle – and one which, without significant reinforcements, they are likely to lose. As we hear of the travesty of another brilliant independent going down, we'll mourn the loss, wring our hands and damn Amazon and the supermarkets and Waterstone's. Yet perhaps the most important detail we'll probably keep under wraps: the last time we actually spent any money there.

Murder One closing its doors for the final time is undoubtedly a .38 shell for independent bookshops, but whether it's body blow or a warning shot all depends upon us, the consumers. No one, no matter how iconic or established, can exist on fond memories alone: just ask Woolworths. Use these shops now, because it doesn't take a master sleuth to deduce what will happen if we don't.

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