III. Truly there will be to me bounteous heroism,
A royal eulogy of fame of great abundance.

A path thick, abundant, broad its form.

Until there be seven languages to the king of Gwynedd,
Until exhausting tumult passes away,

A king fond of a sleepless covering,

Violence on Angles, and a journey to banishment,
Through a sea will glide their offspring.

IV. Truly there will be to me one having a right to Mona. Glorious the protection of the dragon to the people of

the Brython.

Chief of armies, a respecter of breastplated men.

Deep, the prophecy divine of the Druids.

They would pitch their tents on Tren and Taranhon.

They would lie in ambush, to take Mona.

Far to go away be it a length from Iwerdon.
Fair the honour to liberate the Cæsarians.

v. Predict a scene of unlovely discord.

I know when a battle was caused over wine and mead
A bear from Deheubarth barking at Gwynedd.

Defending too long wonderful superfluity.

Its fortified uplands were prepared,

On the calends of winter placing lands.

The mutual reflection on shields in the shout of the sword,
To the combat of Cadwaladyr on the lord of Gwynedd.

VI. Truly it will come, this will come to pass.
All Lloegyr will lose their possessions by us.
Seeing the aspects of the speckled white men,
Between the shafts of arrows and white iron,

A shouting on the sea, a lance-darting trembling of
slaughter-

They will languish in the ocean, beyond the broad lake,
Sea and isles will be their gain.

VII. Truly there will come to me from beyond Hafren
Repelled of Prydein, a king of destiny.

A mild ruler of armies, numerous his progeny.
A kingdom suitable, hateful from ice.

The common people of the world truly will be joyful.
They possess energies, a tribe of rich men.

The flash flamed over the region of Hafren.
Let the Cymry be collected splendidly
To the combat of Cadwaladyr; be joyful

The chief minstrels with the glory of the battle.

VIII. Truly he will come

With his host and ships,

And scaring shields,

And changing lances,

And after a valiant shout,

His will will be done.

May the circle of Prydein

Be enflamed there.

The dragon will not hide himself,

However many may come.

Not light the praise

Of conquering Dyved.

He will bear likewise

Over the effusions of Reged.

The creator, possessor of treasure,

Generous, daring his flow,

Immense his battle.

By airing the skin

Of Cadwaladyr, an active work.

O.

POEMS CONNECTED WITH POWYS.

LXII.

SATIRE OF CYNAN GARWYN SON OF BROCHWAEL.

BOOK OF TALIESSIN XXIII.

Text, vol. ii. p. 172. Notes, vol. ii. P. 409.

YNAN, the exciter of battle,

Bestowed on me treasure,

For not false the glory

Of the stout hunting dogs of the domain.
A hundred steeds of equal pace,

Silver their covering.

A hundred legions in green

Of one front running together.

A hundred urchins in my bosom

10 And a battalion of cats.

A sword with sheath of stone.

A fist-cell better than any.

A hundred Cynan had,

Hateful not to see,

From the vales of Cadell.

In battle they were not shaken.

To the battle on Wy there resorted
Spears innumerable.

The Gwentians were slain,

20 With the gore-drenched blade.
A battle in Mona, great, fair,
Hovering over, and praised
Over the Menei, there went
Horses and confident ones.

A battle on the hill of Dyved.
Slaughter stings in motion.

Nor were seen

The kine before the countenance of any one.

Let the son of Brochuael boast,

30 He will declare his wish.

Let Cornwall greet,

The younger will not praise fate.
The incomprehensible will depress
In the day that is praised by me,
My patron of Cynan.
Battles arose.

A woeful spreading flame,
There raises up a great fire.

A battle in the country of Brachan,

40 A warring scene of tumult,

Miserable princes.

Were made to tremble before Cynan.

The breastplate being transfixed,

Like a ruler, they cried out,

Cyngen of perfect song

Thou wilt help with thy wide country.

A saying was heard.

Every one in his red place,

Be the circle red, they say ironically,

50 They will enslave thy Cynan.

LXIII.

RED BOOK OF HERGEST XVI.

Text, vol. ii. p. 279. Notes, vol. ii. p. 445.

I. STAND forth, maidens, and survey the land
Of Cyndylan; Llys Pengwern, is it not in flames?
Woe to the youth that longs for good fellowship.

II. One tree with the tendril on it

Is escaping it may be,

But what God shall have willed, let it come !

III. Cyndylan, with heart like the ice of winter,
With thrust of wild boar through his head,
Thou hast dispensed the ale of Tren!

IV. Cyndylan, with heart like the fire of spring,

By the common oath, in the midst of the common speech,
Defending Tren, that wasted town!

v. Cyndylan, bright pillar of his country, Chain-bearer, obstinate in fight,

Protected Tren, the town of his father!

VI. Cyndylan, bright intelligence departed,
Chain-bearer, obstinate in the host,
Protected Tren as long as he was living.

VII. Cyndylan, with heart of greyhound,

When he descended to the turmoil of battle,
A carnage he carved out.

VIII. Cyndylan, with heart of hawk,

Was the true enraged

Cub of Cyndrwyn, the stubborn one.

IX. Cyndylan, with heart of wild boar,

When he descended to the onset of battle,
There was carnage in two heaps.

x. Cyndylan, hungry boar, ravager,

Lion, wolf fast holding of descent,

The wild boar will not give back the town of his father.