Home
Chair 1998 - Y Bont
- Details
- Written by: Kevin Rottet
- Category: Cymdeithas Madog Chair Competition
- Hits: 1850
Y ddarn fuddugol yn nghystadleuaeth Gadair Cymdeithas Madog, Cwrs Cymraeg Y Bont Aur, 1998 gan Y Saer Maestrolgar (Kevin Rottet)
Y Bont
Ffrindiau mawr oedd John Iwan a fi. Mae llu o atgofion gyda fi o'r oriau a dreulion ni gyda'n gilydd: prynhawnau wedi eu treulio yn Coney Island; ein taith wersyllu yng Ngogledd Maine; y nosweithiau ger lle-tân yn nhy fy mam, yn gwrando ar storïau John am ei ieuenctid yng Nghymru. Ond yr atgof yr wyf yn hoffach o'i ystyried yw dyddiau'r haf pan aem ni i bysgota mewn nant fechan, dawel yn agos i fy mhentref i.
Ein hoff hamdden oedd pysgota. Yr oedden ni'n mynd â'n gwiail a bwcedo bryfed genwair ac eistedd ar bont droed wedi ei gwneud o bren. Yr oedden ni'n eistedd yno am oriau, ein traed yn hongian tair troedfedd uwchben y dwr, ein llinynnau yn plymio dyfnderoedd y nant i ddenu rhyw bysgodyn at ein bachau. Nid oedd llawer o sgwrs rhyngom ni pan oedden ni'n eistedd ar ben y bont, rhag ofn dychryn y psygod, ond rhwng John a fi nid oedd rhaid siarad bob amser. Ond y funud y teimlai un ohonom ni ei linyn yn cael ei siglo gan rhyw bysgoden oedd wedi cael ei ddal, byddai'r awyrgylch yn newid yn gyflym gyda'r cyffro. Rhyw fath o gystadleuaeth oedd rhyngom ni i weld pa un ohonom ni a allai gael y pysgodyn mwyaf.
Bu farw John tair blynedd yn ôl. Yr oedden ni yng Ngogledd talaith New York er mwyn cael gwneud tipyn o daith mewn rhafft ar afon gref sy'n boblogaidd gyda phobl ddewr yn chwilio am anturiaeth. Mae'n galed i mi feddwl yn awr am y daith honno a'm ffolineb ieuanc. Ar ddechrau'r daith yr oedd yr afon yn eithaf tawel, ond wrth i ni hwylio, daeth gwynt a glaw i siglo'n cwch. John oedd y callaf o'r ddau ohonom ni, ond er iddo brotestio, anogais i ni barhau tipyn yn bellach ar yr afon er gwaethaf y storm. Cryfheuodd y tonnau a dymchwelodd y gwyntoedd ein rhafft. Y peth nesaf yr wyf yn ei gofio yw deffro yn saff ar y lan, a John wedi boddi.
Nid oes rhaid canolbwyntio ar fy myrbwylltra yn awr, oddieithr i ddweud bod teimlad fy mod yn euog o ladd fy nghyfaill wedi aros yn gryf ar fy meddwl. A allai'r rhai marw faddau i'r rhai byw eu hurthrwydd?
Gwneuthum sawl peth i geisio anghofio yr a oedd wedi digwydd. Teithiais dros y wlad a threulio wythnosau yng Nghaliffornia ymlith ifainc y traethau. Ymgofrestrais mewn cyrsiau, a graddio gydag anrhydeddau. Cwrddais â merch o'r enw Sally, a sythriais mewn cariad â hi. Prynon ni dy hardd yn New York. Ond nid oedd dim yn llwyddo i wneud i mi ddianc rhag y syniad mai fi oedd yn gyfrifol am farwolaeth ffind fy machgendod.
Un dydd daeth syniad newydd i'm meddwl. Penderfynais fynd i Gymru i ymweld â theulu John a oedd wedi fy ngwahodd sawl gwaith i ddod dros y môr i gael gweld lle cafodd John ei fagu. Gyda thipyn o ansicrwydd y disgynnais o'r awyren, â'm calon yn curo yn galed. Pa fath o dderbyniad a gawn gan y teulu hwn? Yr oeddwn i heb gwrdd â nhw, ond ar ôl holl storïau John yr oedd gen i syniadau eithaf clir a chryf o beth i'w ddisgwyl oddi wrthynt.
Yr oedden nhw yr un mor garedig ag yr oeddwn i'n meddwl. Aethon ni yn ôl i'w ty a oedd yn blas mawr yng Nghogledd Cymru. Ar ôl cinio a sgwrs es i'r gwely mewn ystafell fawr a thwt.
Y prynhawn ar ôl i mi gyrraedd, penderfynais fynd am dro ar diroedd y teulu Iwan er mwyn gweld lle yr oedd fy ffrind wedi treulio ei ieuenctid cynnar. Rhodiais heibio i lawer o goed, i fyny ac i lawer sawl bryn yn meddwl am blentyn bach yn chwarae ar y llethrau hynny.
Cyrhaeddais afonig fechan â phont gerrig drosti. Yr oedd hen onnen enfawr yn sefyll ar y lan ar bwys y bont. Cerddais ar y llwybr caregog, ac aros yng nghanol y bont. Eisteddais arni â'm coesau yn hongian uwchben y dwr yn union fel pan oeddwn i'n fachgen yn pysgota gyda John. Edrychais ar y dwr oer yn rhuthro heibio o dan fy nhraed, yn fas ond yn swnllyd, â physgod bach yn nofio, yr haul yn taro'u cefnau ariannaidd. Ddygodd fy nghof fi yn ôl i'm bachgendod, a gadewais i'm cofion ailadrodd swn ein lleisiau ifainc yn chwerthin ar ôl i un ohonom ni ddal pysgodyn. A dechreuais fod yn sicr, wrth gofio pethau fy ieuenctid, fod John wedi maddau i mi.
Cerddais yn ôl i ffermdy, wedi fy modloni ac yn ysgafnach gan bod y baich yr oedd arnaf wedi diflannu.
"Beth dych chi'n feddwl am ein fferm ni?" gofynnod Mrs. Iwan i mi pan es i mewn i'r ty.
"O, mae'r goedwig yn ddel iawn," atebais, "a'r afon yn hyfryd gyda'i phont fach. Eisteddes yno am awr jest yn meddwl."
"Pont? Pa bont?" ebe hithau. "S'dim pont ar ein tir ni."
"Beth ydych chi'n olygu? Mi nes i eistedd ar ryw bont fechan ddel wedi'i gwneud allan o gerrig, sy'n mynd dros yr afonig."
"Wel, dw i erioed wedi gweld pont ar ein tir ni. Rhaid eich bod chi 'di mynd yn bellach nag o'ch chi'n meddwl."
"Rhaid i mi ddeud, dw i'n siwr adawais i mo'ch tir chi."
Ar ôl y sgwrs hwn, yr oeddwn i'n barod i fynd â Mrs. Iwan am dro i ddangos iddi'r bont lle yr oeddwn i wedi treulio awr mor hyfyryd. Wrth i ni gerdded, disgrifiais i'r onnen fawr oedd yn sefyll ar bwys y bont. Pan gyrhaeddon ni'r lle, welon ni'r onnen fawr yr oeddwn i wedi edrych arni yn fanwl. Ond nid oedd pont yn ei hymyl. Dim ond glaswellt oedd yn tyfu lle gwelais y bont yn gynharach.
Ai ryw fath o freuddwyd, ai arwydd o fyd yr ysbrydion oedd yr hyn a ddigwyddodd y prynhawn hwnnw, ni allaf ddweud. Ond dychwelais i'r Taleithiau yn sicrach nag erioed yr oedd popeth yn iawn rhwng fy hen ffrind â fi.
Y Saer Maestrolgar
The Bridge
John Iwan and I were great friends. I have many memories of the time we spent together: afternoons spent at Coney Island; our camping trip in nothern Maine; the evenings by the fireplace in my mother's house, listening to John's stories about his youth in Wales. But the memory that I'm most fond of considering is the summer days when we would fish in a quiet, little stream near my village.
Our favourite leisure activity was fishing. We would take our rods and a bucket of worms and sit on a footbridge made of wood. We would sit there for hours, our feet dangling three feet above the water, our lines plumbing the depths of the stream to attract some fish at our hooks. There wasn't a lot of talk between us when we were sitting on the bridge, for fear of scaring the fish., but between John and I there was no need to talk all the time. But the minute one of us would feel his line being shaken by some fish that had been caught, the atmosphere would quickly change with the excitement. There was a kind of competition between us to see which one of use could catch the biggest fish.
John died three years ago. We were in northern New York State in order to have a bit of trip on a raft on a strong river that's popular with brave people looking for adventure. It's hard for me to think now about that trip and my youthful folly. At the start of the trip, the river was rather quite, but as we sailed, wind and rain came to shake our boat. John was the wiser of the two of us, and although he protested, I urged us to continue a bit further on the river despite the storm. The waves became stronger and the wind destroyed our raft. The next think I remember is waking safe on the bank, and John had drowned.
There's no need to focus on my rashness now, except to say that there is a feeling that I'm guilty of killing my has stayed strongly on my mind. Can the dead forgive the living their stupidity?
I did several things to try to forget what had happened. I travelled across the country and spent weeks in California among the young beach people. I registered for courses, and graduated with honours. I met a girl by the name of Sally, and fell in love with her. We bought a beautiful house in New York. But nothing succeeded in making me escape the idea that I was responsibile for the death of my boyhood friend.
One day, a new idea came to my mind. I decided to go to Wales to visit John's family who had invited me several times to come over the sea to see where John was raised. I descended from the airplane with a bit of uncertainty, my heart beating hard. What kind of receiption would I have from this family? I hadn't met them, but from John's stories, I had quite clear and strong ideas what to expect from them.
They were as kind as I thought. We went back to their house, a large mansion in North Wales. After dinner and a chat, I went to bed in a large, tidy room.
The afternoon after arriving, I decided to go for a walk on the Iwan family lands in order to see where my friend had spent his early youth. I walked past many trees, up and down several hills, thinking about the little child playing on those slopes.
I reached a little stream with a stone bridge across it. There was large, old ash tree standing on the bank near the bridge. I walked on the stone path, and waited in the middle of the bridge. I sat on it with my legs dangling above the water just like when I was a boy fishing with John. I looked at the cold water rushing past below my feet, shallow but noisy, with little fish swimming, the sun striking their silvery backs. My memory took me back to my boyhood days, and I let my memories repeat the sound of our young voices laughing after one of us caught a fish. And I started to be sure, remembering things of my youth, that John had forgiven me.
I walked back to the farmhouse, contented and lighter because the burden that I had felt had disappearred.
"What do you think about our farm?", asked Mrs. Iwan to me when I went into the house.
"Oh, the forest is very pretty," I answered, "and the river's lovely with it's little bridge. I sat on it for an hour just thinking."
"Bridge? What bridge?", she said. "There's no bridge on our land."
"What do you mean? I sat on some pretty little bridge made of stone that goes over the stream."
"Well, I've never seen a bridge on our land. You must have gone further than you thought."
"I have to say, I'm sure that I didn't leave your land."
After this conversation, I was ready to take Mrs. Iwan for a walk to show her the bridge where I'd spend such a lovely hour. As we walked, I described the large ash tree that was standing near the bridge. When we reached the place, I saw the large ash tree that I had looked at closely. Ond there was no bridge near it. Only grass that was growing where I saw the bridge earlier.
Was it some kind of dream, a sign from the world of spirits that happened that afternoon? I can't say. But I returned to the States more sure than ever that everything was fine between my old friend and me.
Kevin Rottet
Cyfieithiad gan / Translation by John Otley
Chair 1999 - Y Man Cyfarfod
- Details
- Written by: Paul C. Graves
- Category: Cymdeithas Madog Chair Competition
- Hits: 1825
Y ddarn fuddugol yn nghystadleuaeth Gadair Cymdeithas Madog, Cwrs Cymraeg Y Man Cyfarfod, Toronto, 1999 gan Gwiwer (Paul C. Graves)
Y Man Cyfarfod
Oes lle ble mae rhannau ein bywydau ni'n cwrdd â'i gilydd? Yn y byd modern mae popeth yn ddarniog, ac weithiau mae'n anodd gweld y patrwm. Oes lle ble mae'r gorffennol a'r dyfodol yn cwrdd, ble mae'r galon a'r ymennydd yn gweithio gyda'i gilydd, a ble mae'r ffydd a'r ffeithiau'n cysylltu? Oes, ond mae rhaid i ni gael map i ffeindio'r ffordd i'r lle. Ond, pa fath o fap sy'n ddefnyddiol i ni? Dilynwch y map sy'n byw mewn breuddwydion, y map sy'n cael ei wneud yn eich calon.
Deg mlynedd yn ôl, es i i Gymru am y tro cyntaf, i ddringo Bannau Brycheiniog gyda ffrindiau o Gaerdydd. Pan cyrhaeddon ni ben bryn, roedd yn bosib gweld calon Cymru o gwmpas. Roedd map gyda fi, a fe ddarllenais i'r map i weld enwau'r afonydd, y trefi, a'r bryniau. I fi, roedd y profiad yn od iawn - roedd enwau annealladwy ar y rhan fwya ohonyn nhw, enwau estron - enwau Cymraeg. "Beth ydy hyn," fe ofynnais i, "a be' ydy ystyr yr enwau?" Doedd dim ateb gan fy ffrindiau - doedd neb yno yn siarad Cymraeg. Ond, ar ôl munud, roedd yr ateb yn glir. Yr enwau oedd hanes y wlad, a fe ddwedon nhw stori am y wlad a'i phobl buodd yno yn y gorffennol. Fe sylweddolais i byddai'n amhosib i ddeall y wlad a'i hanes heb ddeall ystyr yr enwau, a bydd hynny yn amhosib i wneud heb yr iaith Gymraeg. Fe ddechreuais i ar siwnai newydd ar ben y bryn yn y Bannau Brycheiniog, siwrnai heb ddiwedd. Fe ddarganfyddais i fap i'r siwrnai yn yr iaith Gymraeg.
Mae nifer o ffyrdd i'r lle ble mae popeth yn cwrdd, ac mae ffordd gwahanol i bob un ohonon ni. Fe ffeindiais i ffordd yn yr iaith, ac trwy'r iaith, dw i'n cwrdd âphobl newydd o bedwar ban byd; dw i'n darllen llenyddiaeth unigryw yn ei thafod wreiddiol; dw i'n gwrando ar stori sy'n tyfu a byw o flwyddyn i flwyddyn.
Fe ddarganfyddais i le ble mae'r rhannau fy mywyd yn cwrdd, a mae'r allwedd yn yr iaith Gymraeg. Dyna'r man cyfarfod, ar ben y bryn, y lle fe welais i fyd newydd. Y Man Cyfarfod yw'r man yn y galon ble mae'r ysbryd yn byw.
Gwiwer
The Meeting Place
Is there a place where the parts of our lives meet together? In the modern world everything is fragmentary, and sometimes it's difficult to see the pattern. Is there a place where the past and the future meet, where the heart and the brain work together, and where faith and facts connect? Yes, but we must have a map to find the way to the place. But what kind of map is useful for us? Follow the map that lives in dreams, the map that is made in your heart.
Ten years ago, I went to Wales for the first time, to climb the Brecon Beacons with friends from Cardiff. When we reached the top of a hill, it was possible to see the heart of Wales around us. I had a map, and I read the map to see the names of rivers, towns and hills. To me, the experience was very odd - there were incomprehensible names on the majority of them, foreign names - Welsh names. "What's this," I asked, "and what is the meaning of the names?" My friends had no answer - no one spoke Welsh. But, after a minute, the answer was clear. The names were the story of the land, and they told a tale about the country and it's people who had been there in the past. I realised that it would be impossible to understand the country and it's history without understanding the meaning of the names, and that will be impossible to do without the Welsh language. I started on a new journey on top of the hill in the Brecon Beacons, a journey without end. I discovered a map to the journey in the Welsh language.
There are a number of ways to the place where everything meets, and there is a different way for each one of us. I found a way in the language, and through the language, I meet new people from the four corners of the world; I read unique literature in its original language; I listen to a story that grows and lives from year to year.
I discovered a place where the parts of my life meet, and the key is in the Welsh language. That's the meeting place, on top of the hill, the place where I saw a new world. The Meeting Place is the place in the heart where the spirit lives.
Paul C. Graves
Cyfieithiad gan / Translation by John Otley
Chair 2002 - Y Paith
- Details
- Written by: Cheryl Mitchell
- Category: Cymdeithas Madog Chair Competition
- Hits: 1977
Y ddarn fuddugol yn nghystadleuaeth Gadair Cymdeithas Madog, Cwrs Cymraeg Ar Y Paith, 2002 gan Canolbarthwr (Cheryl Mitchell)
Y Paith
Daeth Cymru a phobloedd eraill i'r paith yng Ngogledd a De America i sefydlu cymunedau i adeiladu ffermydd, ond mae'r gair paith yn dynodi dau beth gwahanol. Ond mae tebygrwydd hefyd.
Mae'r paith ym Mhatagonia yn sych ac yn wastad fel yr anialwch yng ngorllewin y Taleithiau. Does dim llawer o goed yn y Wladfa; dim ond ger Afon Camwy. Yng nghanolbarth Gogledd America, mae'r paith yn llai gwastad ac yn fwy cyfoethog. Mae mwy o laswellt, coed a bryniau oherwydd yr afonydd.
A dweud y gwir mae'r ddau fath o baith yn eithaf tebyg o ran tir, tywydd, pobl, a hanes. Yn y ddau fath o baith, gwelir awyr fawr, golygfeydd agored a digon o le, i symud trwyddo. Does dim llawer o bobl na thraffig ar y ffyrdd. Mae'r tir agored yn achosi, unigrwydd a chyfle i synfyfyrio.
Yn y ddau fath o baith mae gwyntoedd cryf sy'n chwythu'n feunyddiol. Weithiau mae stormydd enbyd. Yn yr haf mae hi'n boeth iawn ac yn y gaeaf mae hi'n oer iawn. Yn y gwanwyn a hydref mae'n eithaf braf.
Oherwydd y tir a'r tywydd mae rhaid i'r bobl weithio'n galed i dyfu cnydau a sefydlu ffermydd. Yn yr haf mae hi'n anodd cael digon o ddwr. Mae'n bosib i ffermwr fethu ac roedd rhaid i rai symud i ffwrdd. Ond mae anhawster yn magu cryfder a chymeriad personol ac yn dod â phobl at ei gilydd. Datblygodd cymunedau clos un y pentrefi. Mae pawb yn wynebu yr yn anawsterau. Mae'r bobl am gael cyfiawnder a chware teg hefyd.
Yn yr hanes fe ddatblygodd cymeriadau cryf fel Tomi Davies a John Daniel Evans yn y Wladfa a John Brown a John L. Lewis yng nghanolbarth y Taleithiau. Roedd rhaid i bobl ddod yn gryf, yn hyblyg a chreadigol i allu wneud yr anialwch yn ffrwythlon. I gloi, dyw'r bobl ddim yn gyfoethog o ran arian, ond maen nhw'n gyfoethog yn fewnol.
Canolbarthwr
The Prairies / The Pampas
The Welsh and other peoples came to the prairie in North and South America to establish communities to build farms, but the word "paith" denotes two different things. But there are also similarities.
The "paith" ("pampas") in Patagonia is dry and flat as a desert in the Western States. There isn't a lot of wood in Yr Wladfa; only near the Camwy River. In mid North America, the "paith" ("prairie") is less flat and richer. There are more grass, trees and hills because of the rivers.
To tell the truth, the two types of "paith" are quite similar as to land, weather, people and history. In both types of "paith", great sky, open scenes are seen with plenty of room to move through. There isn't a lot of people or traffic on the roads. The open land causes loneliness and an opportunity to muse.
In both types of "paith" there are strong winds that blow daily. Sometimes there are huge storms. In the summer, it's very hot and in the winter, it's very cold. In the spring and autumn, it's quite nice.
Because of the land and the weather, people must work hard to grow crops and establish farms. In the summer, it's difficult to get enough water. It's possible for a farmer to fail and some had to move away. But the difficulty developed strength and personal character and brought people together. Close communities developed in the villages. Everyone faced the difficulties. The people wanted to have justice and fair play too.
In history there developed strong characters like Tomi Davies and John Daviel Evans in the Wladfa and John Brown and John L. Lewis in the Central States. People had to become strong, flexible and creative to be able to make the desert fruitful. To close, the people aren't rich as to money, but they are rich inside.
Cheryl Mitchell
Cyfieithiad gan / Translation by John Otley
Chair 2004 - Chwedl Ddau Gymydog
- Details
- Written by: Sarah Stevenson
- Category: Cymdeithas Madog Chair Competition
- Hits: 1920
Y ddarn fuddugol yn nghystadleuaeth Gadair Cymdeithas Madog, Cwrs Cymraeg Y Ddeilen Goch, 2004 gan Delyth (Sarah Stevenson)
Chwedl Ddau Gymydog
Amser maith yn ôl, cyn clociau a chyn cenhedloedd, roedd y wlad yn lân, a'r nefoedd yn llawn heulwen drwy'r dydd a golau'r sêr gyda'r nos. Crwydrodd anifeiliaid heb ofn bodau dynol. Dyna adeg pan gafodd Morwyn-y-Llyn a Crwt-y-Coed eu geni.
Wrth i Grwt-y-Coed adeiladu tai tegan o ffyn a phren ar lannau'r llyn, roedd Morwyn-y-Llyn yn chwarae dan y dyfroedd dyfnion, yn adeiladu cestyll tywod oedd yn codi eu tyrau i'r heulwen uwchben.
Daeth tro ar fyd. Adeiladodd Crwt-y-Coed dy nad oedd yn degan, ty digon mawr i ddau. Ond dim ond fe oedd yn byw rhwng ei furiau, yn cael ei swper ar ei ben ei hunan bob nos, yn meddwl am ei goedwig annwyl a weithiau am y Forwyn dlos oedd yn byw dan y dŵr.
Nid fe oedd yr unig un i sylwi ar y Forwyn. Un dydd, dechreuodd ymwelwyr cyrraedd lan y llyn, dynion o bedwar ban byd. Ond doedd dim diddordeb gyda Morwyn-y-Llyn ynddyn nhw. Cyn bo hir fe adawon nhw'r tir fel yn y dyddiau cynnaryn ddistaw ar wahân i'r anifeiliad a'r gwynt.
Bob bore, roedd Crwt-y-Coed yn arfer gweiddi ar Forwyn-y-Llyn gyfarchiad llawen, a bob bore, dywedodd Morwyn-y-Llyn "Bore braf ydy e, yntefe?" wrth iddi hi nofio mewn cylchau araf o gwmpas y llyn. Fe welodd y bachgen bob tro fod y ferch yn brydferth fel y blodau. Ond roedd y Crwt yn swil, a dim ond "bore da" a "noswaith da" ddywedodd e bob dydd.
Un bore daeth dyn tal i weld Morwyn-y-Llyn. Fe aeth e bob dydd i'r llyn a gofyn i'r ferch, "Wnei di fy mhriodi?" Bob tro dywedodd hi ddim byd wrtho. Ar ôl wythnos, gwylltiodd y dyn, a dechreuodd e weiddi a rhegi - nid dyn caredig iawn oedd e. Roedd ofn ar Forwyn-y-Llyn. Pan welodd Crwt-y-Coed hynny, gwylltiodd e hefyd ar ran y Forwyn, a rhedodd e fel cath ar dân i lannau'r llyn.
Gwelodd y dyn tal y bachgen crac 'ma yn rhedeg tuag ato, gyda ffyn yn ei wallt a dail ar ei ddillad, yn edrych fel rhywun o tu hwnt i'r byd cyffredin, a rhedodd y dyn tal. Ond daeth e o hyd i goedwig yn llawn mieri a changhennau, ac wrth iddo fe ffoi roedd y Crwt a'r Forwyn yn gallu ei glywed yn rhegi eto ac yn melltithio'r coed.
Yn ffodus, doedd dim diddordeb gyda'r Crwt na'r Forwyn mewn melltithion di-rym dyn fel na. Gwenodd y ddau ar ei gilydd, roedd y goedwig a'r llyn yn ddistaw ac yn heddychol unwaith eto. Doedd yr un ohonyn nhw wedi dweud dim byd eto. O'r diwedd, torrwyd y tawelwch gan Crwt-y-Coed.
"Bore da," dywedodd e wrth Forwyn-y-Llyn.
"Bore braf ydy e, yntefe?" atebodd hi. A chydiodd hi ym mraich Crwt-y-Coed am y tro cyntaf.
Y Diwedd ... neu'r Dechrau
Delyth
The Story of Two Neighbours
A long time ago, before clocks and before countries, the land was pure, and the skies full of sunshine throughout the day and starlight at night. Animals wandered without fear of human beings. That was the time when the Lake Maiden and the Forest Boy were born.
While the Forest Boy built toy houses of sticks and wood on the shores of the lake, the Lake Maiden played beneath the deep waters, building sand castles that raised their towers to the sunlight overhead.
Things changed. The Forest Boy built a house that wasn't a toy, a house big enough for two. But only he lived between its walls, having dinner on his own each night, thinking about his beloved forest and sometimes about the lovely Maiden who lived under the water.
He wasn't the only one to notice the Maiden. One day, visitors began to arrive at the banks of the lake, men from the four corners of the world. But the Lake Maiden had no interest in them. Before long, they left the land as in those early days - silent, apart from the animals and the wind.
Every morning, the Forest Boy used to shout a cheerful greeting to the Lake Maiden, and every morning, the Lake Maiden said "It's a fine morning, isn't it?" as she swam in slow circles around the lake. The lad saw, each time, that the girl was as lovely as the flowers. But the Boy was shy, and he said only "good morning" and "good evening" each day.
One morning, a tall man came to see the Lake Maiden. He went to the lake every day and asked the girl, "Will you marry me?" Each time, she said nothing to him. After a week, the man was enraged, and he began to shout and swear - he was not a kind man. The Lake Maiden was frightened. When the Forest Boy saw this, he too was enraged, on behalf of the Maiden, and he ran like the wind (lit. "like a cat on fire") to the lakeshore.
The tall man saw that angry lad running towards him, with sticks in his hair and leaves in his clothing, looking like someone from out of this world, and the tall man ran. But he found the forest full of briars and branches, and as he fled, the Boy and the Maiden could hear him swearing still and cursing the trees.
Fortunately, neither the Boy nor the Maiden had any interest in the powerless curses of a man like that. The two smiled at each other, the forest and the lake quiet and peaceful once again. Neither one had said anything yet. Finally, the silence was broken by the Forest Boy.
"Good morning," he said to the Lake Maiden.
"It's a fine morning, isn't it?" she answered. And she took the arm of the Forest Boy for the first time.
The End ... or The Beginning
Sarah Stevenson
Cyfieithiad gan / Translation by Sarah Stevenson
Page 12 of 24