Celtic Historic Literature by Aneirin, translation by Joseph Clancy
Ceredig, a cherished ruler, a raging hero in combat, battlefield's gold-fretted shield,
spears broken to bits, in splinters, not meek, not feeble his sword-stroke,
like a man he held the front line.
Before mortal grief, before anguish, firm in purpose, he kept his post.
May he be welcomed to the host, be made one with the Trinity.
When Caradawg charged in battle, like a wild boar, three lords' killer,
War-band's bull, in strife a slayer, he gave the wolves food with his hand.
I swear this: Owain fab Eulad, and Gwrien and Gwyn and Gwriad,
From Catraeth, from catastrophe, from Bryn Hyddwn before it fell,
After holding bright mead in hand, never a one saw his father.
Men launched the assault, moving as one.
Short were their lives, made drunk by pure mead, Mynyddawg's band, renowned in battle.
For a feast of mead they gave their lives, Caradawg and Madawg, Pyll and Ieuan,
Gwgan and Gwiawn, Gwyn and Cynfan, steel-weaponed Peredur, Gwawrddur and Aeddan,
a war-band steadfast in battle, shields shattered.
And though they were being slain, they slew not one to his own region returned.
verses 32, 33 & 34