Celtic Historic Literature by Aneirin, translation by Joseph Clancy
I sang nobly how ravaged your room and your chamber would be.
Worthy of sweet ensnaring mead, a champion's charge at dawn.
Splendid prize, an English war-band he scourges while he's kept alive.
Gwynedd's folk will hear of his glory, Gwananhon will be his grave.
Gwynedd's steadfast Cadafwy, war-band's bull in a conflict of kings.
Before a bed of earth, before slumber, a grave on Gododdin's border.
He fought with a savage foe, black slayer, a pirate host.
He was not in hiding, an outlaw, he was not a bittersweet comrade.
Grey steeds in his care snorted.
Nothing was gained of Pobddelw's ground, he gave up, war's bull,
not an acre, steadfast his stand, Llywyrddelw.
His war-steeds bore bloody trappings of war, red herd at Catraeth.
Blaenwydd feeds a hot-blooded host, wrathful war-hound charging the slope.
Renown, bright honour, is ours, from Hedyn's hand, iron is sown.
verses 75, 76 & 77