Month
of January--smoky is the vale;
Weary
the wine-bearer; strolling the minstrel;
Lean
the cow; seldom the hum of the bee;
Empty
the milk fold; void of meat the kiln;
Slender
the horse; very silent the bird;
Long
to the early dawn; short the afternoon;
Justly
spoke Cynfelyn,
"Prudence
is the best guide for man."
Month
of February--scarce are the dainties;
Wakeful
the adder to generate its poison;
Habitual
is reproach from frequent acknowledgement;
The
hired ox has not skill to complain;
Three
things produce dreadful evils,
A
woman's counsel, murder, and way-laying;
Best
is the dog upon a morning in spring;
Alas!
To him who murders his maid!
Month
of March--great is the forwardness of the birds,
Severe
is the cold wind upon the headlands;
Serene
weather will be longer than the crops;
Longer
continues anger than grief;
Every
one feels dread;
Every
bird wings to its mate.
Every
thing springs through the earth'
But
the dead, strong is his prison!
Month
of April--aerial is the horizon;
Fatigued
the oxen; bare the land;
Common
is the visitor without an invitation;
Poor
the deer; blithesome the hare;
Everyone
claims his labour;
Happy
his state who governs himself;
Common
is separation with virtuous children;
Common,
after presumption, is a long cessation.
Month
of May--wanton is the lascivious;
Sheltering
the ditch to everyone who loves it;
Joyous
the aged in his robes;
Loquacious
the cuckoo in the rural vales;
Easy
is society where there is affection;
Covered
with foliage are the woods, sportive the amorous,
There
comes as often to the market,
The
skin of the lamb as the skin of the sheep.
Month
of June--beautiful are the fields;
Smooth
the sea, pleasing the strand;
Beautifully
long the day, playful the ladies;
Full
the flocks, apt to be firm the bog;
God
loves all tranquility;
The
devil loves all mischief;
Everyone
covets honour;
Every
might one, feeble his end.
Month
of July--the hay is apt to smoke;
Ardent
the heat, dissolved the snow;
The
vagrant does not love a long confederacy;
There
is no success to the progeny of an unchaste person;
Bare
the farm-yard--partly empty the circular eminence;
Clean
the perfect person, disgraceful the boasting word;
Justly
spoke the foster-son of Mary,
"God
judges, though man may prate."
Month
of August--covered with foam is the beach;
Blithesome
the bee, full the hive;
Better
the work of the sickle than the bow;
Fuller
the stack than the theatre.
He
that will neither work nor pray,
Is
not worthy to have bread;
Justly
spoke Saint Breda,
"Evil
will not be approached less than good."
Month
of September--benign are the planets;
Tending
to please, the sea and the hamlet;
Common
is it for steeds and men to be fatigued;
Common
is it to posses all kinds of fruit:--
A
princely girl was born,
To
be our leader from painful slavery;--
Justly
spake St. Berned,
"God
does not sleep when he gives deliverance."
Month
of October--penetrable is the shelter;
Yellow
the tops of the birch, solitary the summer dwelling;
Full
of fat the birds and the fish;
Less
and less the milk of the cow and the goat;
Alas!
To him who merits disgrace by sin!
Death
is better than frequent extravagance;
Three
thngs follow every crime,
Fasting,
prayer, and charity.
Month
of November--very fat are the swine;
Let
the shepherd go; let the minstrel come;
Bloody
the blade, full the barn;
Pleased
the sea, tasteless the cauldron;
Long
the night, active the prisoner;
Respected
is everyone who possesses property;
For
three things men are not often concerned,
Sorrow,
angry, look, and an illiberal miser.
Month
of December--the shoe is covered with dirt:
Heavy
the land, flagging the sun;
Bare
are the trees, still is the muscle;
Cheerful
the cock, and determined the thief;
Whilst
the twelve months proceed so sprightly,
Round
the youthful mind, is the spoiler Satan;
Justly
spoke Yscolan,
"God
is better than an evil prophecy."
--Lyra
Celtica. ed. E. A. Sharp, J. Matthay. Edinburgh: John Grant. 1896, 1924.
Reportedly from the Myvyrian Archaiology
Attributed
to Aneurin, a contemporary of Taliesin and Myrddin. Aneurin is a typically
bitter poet, similar to Llywarch Hen, a contemporary. His most famous poem is Y
Gododdin. Is Yscolan "Ysgolan" of the Myrddin poem? Hard to say,
though these are the only mentions of him in history.
Of course, "Yscolan" may also mean "the scholar."
Moreover, the poem does seem to make reference to St. Bernard, which would place
the composition of the poem into the late 12th century, and not the late 6th
century of the historical Aneurin. Moreover,
as far as I know, this poem is not found in The Book of Aneurin. Finally, the
attribution of "wise sayings" to various figures is similar to
"The Stanzas of the Wise Men," which may have been a contemporary
poem.
Finally,
what must be kept in mind is that this poem most certainly passed through the
hands of Iolo Morgannwg, and thus its authenticity simply as a medieval poem is
suspect.