Celtic Historic Literature by Aneirin, translation by Joseph Clancy
He rushed to battle before cattle rose.
A well-trained war-band, shields in tatters, shield rent before Beli's blaring herd.
A lord deep in blood, guarding the flank, sustains us, grey-haired, from a charger,
A prancing steed, fierce golden-torqued ox.
The boar made a pact in the front of the line, fitting message, shout of rejection:
'Lord who calls us to heaven, save us!'
He brandishes his spears for battle.
Cadfannan, name famous for plunder, none denied hosts would be his pavement.
For a feast, most sad, most precious, for settled, for desolate land,
For the falling of hair from the head, among soldiers, an eagle, Gwydyen.
With his spear he fought for Gwyddug, a Planner, a tiller, its owner.
Three bristled boars, bent on destruction, Morien carried off with his spear,
Myrddin of song, sharing the best part of his wealth, our strength and support.
Ramparts ringing, the war-band fighting with the Saxons and Irish and Picts,
He bore the stiff red corpse of Bradwen, deft-handed Gwenabwy fab Gwen.
For a feast, most sad, most precious, for settled, for desolate land, shattered the shields in combat.
Savage the stroke of sword on head, in England men dead from three hundred lords,
His gauntlet performed good work against Saxons and Irish and Picts.
Though he seized a wolf 's pelt, without weapon, ever brave, in his bare hand,
From the battle of wrath and ruin he perished, Bradwen did not come back.
verses 45, 46, 47 & 48