The Salmon
A translated poem by the famous medieval Welsh poet, Dafydd Ap Gwilym.
From: 1315 C.E. To: 1370 C.E.
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
“The Salmon,” by Dafydd Ap Gwilym, in The Land of My Fathers: A Welsh Gift Book, by William Lewis Jones, 1915.
Thou Salmon from the ocean, messenger mine! What grace and what rare gifts God hath favoured thee withal! Fairest creature art thou, be holy Mary my witness, of all that dwell in the sea.
Sure, thou prince of the wave, the prayer of Curig the Saint shall keep thee secure on the sea-weed from every snare of the shore, — from weir-keeper's close-meshed net, or the thrust and fell heart-blow of the spear of the river spoiler.
Thou fleet rider of the deep, best of messengers!— thou burrower of the brine, thou flashing coil of the ocean— hie thee swiftly, I pray thee, cleave the water and tarry not; let no fish discover thee, nor any man beware of thee, until thou comest unto the place where dwells the lady, lovely of hue as the swallow athwart the sea-spume.
A second Llyr art thou, whom neither rocks nor coracle-keepers can let from her retreat. And when thou art come, peerless prince of the dappled tribe, above the rippling ford that skirts the hill — while the glassy wave is clear, glide softly on and look around thee!
There shalt thou see mansions fair, groves and orchards, with here and there a lake or two. Beware, however, of a certain fly-catcher when thou callest there his bedfellow from her bower!
Should'st thou then mark a maid with eyebrows black against a forehead white as snow; with twin roses on her checks of the true blood-red hue; with shapely hand of spotless white, bedecked —alas that I live to tell it!— with rings; with arm long and slender like the firmament above the sun; with bosom glowing as the sun's self and breasts white as pure snow, more dazzling than the seagull's sheen: go thou nigh unto her, and greeting give her from me!
Should she, fair Luned's image, come with her headdress of gold to the water's edge, creep close unto my sweet bird and take a leap at her fair bosom! Greet her as thou would'st thine own sweetheart of the seas and tell her that I am dying of her love!
Frame for my snow-white darling, from thy hiding-place in the lake, some story like Medrod of old! Use wise words, as thy memory prompts thee, to let her know how longing sore afflicts me — how sick at heart and anguished I am, bereft of all sight of my dear one.
But what boots it? How false she is! The divine creature is so chaste that of the many lovers that have courted her none has found her kind. Ready with her promises hath the precious one ever been, — promises that she hath never made good. Of my praises she would have none, nor puts she trust in the word of any man, be he strong or weak.
Yet once more, O Salmon, king of thy kind, go unto my Gwen, — ask her whether it was just of her, fairest of women, to steal my soul. Let her do one thing or the other, peerless among beauties from Dover to Menevia, either steal my soul beyond redemption, or decide to leave her spouse.
DAFYDD AP GWILYM. (Trans, W, L. J.)
Ap Gwilym, Dafydd. “The Salmon.” In The Land of My Fathers: A Welsh Gift Book. Edited by William Lewis Jones. Hodder & Stoughton, 1915.
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