Welsh National Anthem by Machine Translation 

I was thinking of a way to show how Machine Translation and Post Editing is not worth it. Granted, you can use Machine translation for fun stuff that isn’t related to anything particularly serious but take a look at what it does to the Welsh National Anthem. Just in time for our lovely Six Nations.


HUMAN Translation


Mae hen wlad fy nhadau yn annwyl i mi, Gwlad beirdd a chantorion, enwogion o fri;
Ei gwrol ryfelwyr, gwladgarwyr tra mad,
Dros ryddid collasant eu gwaed.


The land of my fathers is dear unto me,
Land of poets and singers, and people of stature,
Its warring defenders, so gallant and brave,
For freedom their life’s blood they gave

The old country of my fathers is dear to me, Country of poets and singers, renowned celebrities; Her great warriors, patriotic people, Over blood they colted their blood.

Gwlad, gwlad, pleidiol wyf i’m gwlad.

Tra môr yn fur i’r bur hoff bau,

O bydded i’r hen iaith barhau.

Land!, Land!, Faithful I am to my land!

While seas serves as a wall
For this land so pure,
O, long may our language endure.

Country, country, party to my country.
Through sea is a wall of the best favorite,
O may the old language continue.

Hen Gymru fynyddig, paradwys y bardd, Pob dyffryn, pob clogwyn, i’m golwg sydd hardd;

Trwy deimlad gwladgarol, mor swynol yw si
Ei nentydd, afonydd, i fi.

O land of the mountains, the bard’s paradise,

Whose precipice, valleys are fair to my eyes,
Green murmuring forest, far echoing flood
Fire the fancy and quicken the blood

The ancient mountainous Wales, the parade of the poet,Every valley, every cliff, to my sight is beautiful;

Through a patriotic feeling, it is so charming. Its streams, rivers, to me.


Os treisiodd y gelyn fy ngwlad tan ei droed,

Mae hen iaith y Cymry mor fyw ag erioed,
Ni luddiwyd yr awen gan erchyll law brad,
Na thelyn berseiniol fy ngwlad.


For tho’ the fierce foeman has ravaged your realm,
The old speech of Wales he cannot o’erwhelm,
Our passionate poets to silence command,
Nor banish the harp from your strand.
If the enemy raiseth my country to his feet,

The old language of the Welsh is as alive as ever,
The stew was not dreaded by a horrible victim of betrayal,
Not the berry of my country.