I am without spirit, O thou that hast enchanted me, as Creirwy {15d} enchanted Garwy. {15e} In whatever part of the world I am, I lament my absence from the marble castle of Myfanwy. Love is the heaviest burden, O thou that shinest like the heavens, and a greater punishment cannot be inflicted than thy displeasure, O beautiful Myfanwy. I who am plunged deeper and deeper in love, can expect no other ease, O gentle fair Myfanwy with the jet eyebrows, than to lose my life upon thy account. I sung in golden verse thy praises, O Myfanwy; this is the happiness of thy lover, but the happiness is a misfortune. The well-fed steed carried me pensive like Trystan, {15f} and great was his speed to reach the golden summit of Bran. Daily I turn my eyes, and see thee, O thou that shinest like the waves of Caswennan. {15g} Charming sight to gaze on thee in the spacious royal palace of Bran. I have rode hard, mounted on a fine high-bred steed, upon thy account, O thou with the countenance of cherry-flower bloom. The speed was with eagerness, and the strong long-ham’d steed of Alban {16a} reached the summit of the highland of Bran. I have composed, with great study and pains, thy praise, O thou that shinest like the new-fallen snow on the brow of Aran. {16b} O thou beautiful flower descended from Trefor. {16c} Hear my sorrowful complaint. I am wounded, and the great love I bear thee will not suffer me to sleep, unless thou givest me a kind answer. I, thy pensive Bard, am in as woeful plight as Rhun {16d} by thy palace, beautiful maid. I recite, without either flattery or guile, thy praise, O thou that shinest like the meridian sun, with thy stately steps. Should’st thou, who art the luminary of many countries, demand my two eyes, I would part with them on thy account, such is the pain I suffer. They pain me while I look on the glossy walls of thy fine habitation, and see thee beautiful as the morning sun. I have meditated thy praise, and made all countries resound with it, and every singer was pleased in chanting it. So affecting are the subjects of my mournful tale, O Myfanwy, {16e} that lookest like flakes of driven snow. My loving heart sinks with grief without thy support, O thou that hast the whiteness of the curling waves. Heaven has decreed, that I should suffer tormenting pain, and wisdom and reason were given in vain to guard against love. When I saw thy fine shape in scarlet robes, thou daughter of a generous chief, I was so affected, that life and death were equal to me. I sunk away, and scarce had time to make my confession. Alas! my labour in celebrating thy praises, O thou that shinest like the fine spider’s webs on the grass in a summer’s day, is vain. It would be a hard task for any man to guess how great my pain is. It is so afflicting, thou bright luminary of maids, that my colour is gone. I know that this pain will avail me nothing towards obtaining thy love, O thou whose countenance is as bright