But rushing with a Cæsar's speed,
Bids the insulting Saxon bleed;
Guides the terror, wide and far,
England's centre feels the war :
Through seas of blood the victor goes,
Stately steeds and flying foes.
Heir of every regal grace,
Pillar of a princely race,
Lion of the generous breast,
Who that sues that is not blest;
Eagle fair, Eryri's pride,
Who that asks, by him denied?
Grediawl-like* he scaled the wall,
And bade its brave defenders fall;
The days were his when Breiniech bled,
Where hungry ravens, crowded, fed;
When shields were red from streaming wounds,
From Pwllffordd to Cydweli's bounds;
If God the Son be still his friend,
His spirit man in vain shall bend.
Prudence marks Llewelyn's sway,
A grateful people pleased, obey;
He nor rues Bryn-derwyn's field,
Where Havoc's sons were taught to yield,
Gelorwydd's day, Evionydd + far,
Where, dragon-like, he led to war;
Nor yet, when foes to check his course,
Had crowded, swell'd, Daufynnydd's force;
May heaven, a hapless nation's friend,
To distant days his life extend;
His shield to save, his arm to bless,
And grant a harras'd race redress.
A lion in pursuit of prey,
A hurricane's tremendous way,
One of the heroes of Aneurin's Gododin. ir river district in Carnarvonshire.
+ The Delta, A pass between the hills.
Insatiate as the spread of flame,
Such Llewelyn's thirst of fame.
Our sires foretold his triple sway,
And fate's directed hours obey;
Old Aberfraw's* sovereign Iôr,+
Chief of distant Dinevor; +
My prince Mathraval's§ sceptre sways,
The bards of Powys|| sing his praise;
His, when glory's race shall close,
His be honor, fame, repose!
Descendant fair of Britain's kings,
A favor'd bard attunes the strings,
And hopes to cut a pathway wide,
When fighting by his sovereign's side.
Gwynedd's** leader, yonder brow
Saw his banners brave the foe;
His bright Toledo,†† deck'd with gold,
Its deeds the wearied edge has told;
and Penvro's§§ utmost bound,
Saw the ruin raging round;
Normans fierce are fierce in vain,
Saxon chiefs but heap the slain;
Lloegr's|||| hosts advance, retire,
Her towns, her castles, feed the fire.
Foremost in the desperate deed,
Sudden as the lightning's speed,
Swift as Flamddwyn's*** dreadful car,
One of the royal residences, in North Wales.
One of the royal residences in South Wales
The thir
§ One of the royal residences in Powys. principality or division of Wales. Vendotia.
** North Wales, the Roma
A proof of our early intercourse with Spain
A district in Pembrokeshire. Pembrokeshire.
§§ The Welsh name o *** Literally thi
Flame-bearer, which ferocious name was assumed by Ida, king o Northumberland, in allusion to the conflagrating torch, with which he consumed the towns and villages of the Britons.
E'en distant Cornwall feels the war ;
His breast with patriot ardour burns,
Crown'd with conquest he returns—
Returns to bid the slaughter cease,
And court the milder cares of peace:
Heroic warriors! bold and strong,
'Tis yours, to share the fame of song-
Comrades in his trials, toils,
Share the triumph, share the spoils.
From the Welsh of Prince Owen Cyveiliog.
OWEN CYVEILIOG was one of the most distinguished of the princes of Powys, as a warrior and as a poet, and began to signalize himself about the year 1160. This poem was composed on account of a battle fought with the English, at Maelor, which is a part of the counties of Denbigh and Flint, according to the modern division. He was driven out of his country by Owen Gwyneth, prince of North Wales, and Rhys ab Griffith, prince of South Wales, in 1167, and recovered it, by the help of the Normans and English, under Henry II. He afterwards married Gwenllian, the daughter of Owen Gwyneth.
Uprose the ruddy dawn of day;
The armies met in dread array
On Maelor Drevred's field:
Loud the British clarions sound,
The Saxons, gasping on the ground,
The bloody contest yield.
By Owen's arm the valiant bled,
From Owen's arm the coward filed
Aghast, with wild affright;
Let then their haughty lords beware
How Owen's just revenge they dare,
And tremble at his sight.
Fill the Hîrlas horn my boy!
Nor let the tuneful lips be dry
That warble Owen's praise;
Whose walls with warlike spoils are hung,
And open wide his gates are flung
In Cambria's peaceful days.
This hour bright is meant for joy,
Then fill the Hîrlas horn my boy,
That shineth like the sea;
Whose azure handles, tipt with gold,
Invite the grasp of Britons bold,
The sons of Liberty.
Fill it higher still, and higher!
Mead with noblest deeds inspire:
Now the battle's lost and won,
Give the horn to Goronwy's son;
Put it into Gwgan's hand,
Bulwark of his native land,
Guardian of Sabrina's flood,
Who oft has dyed his spear in blood.
When they hear their chieftain's voice,
Then his gallant friends rejoice;
But when to fight he goes, no more
The festal shout resounds on Severn's winding shore.
Fill the gold-tipt horn with speed,
(We must drink, it is decreed,)
Badge of honor, badge of mirth,
That calls the soul of music forth!
As thou wilt thy life prolong,
Fill it with metheglin strong.
Griffith thirsts, to Griffith fill,
Whose bloody lance is used to kill,
Matchless in the field of strife,
His glory ends not with his life :
Dragon-son of Conwyn's race,
Owen's shield, Arwystli's grace.
To purchase fame the warriors flew,
More dire and dire the conflict grew,
When flush'd with mead, they bravely fought, ke Belin's warlike sons, that Edwin's downfall wrought.
Fill the horn with foaming liquor,
Fill it up, my boy, be quicker;
Hence away despair and sorrow!
Time enough to sigh to-morrow.
Let the brimming goblet smile,
And Ednyved's cares beguile;
Gallant youth, unused to fear,
Master of the broken spear,
And the arrow-pierced shield,
Brought with honor from the field.
Like an hurricane is he,
Bursting on the troubled sea:
See-their spears distained with gore!
Hear the din of battle roar !
Bucklers, swords, together clashing,
Sparkles from their helmets flashing!
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