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Y Gododdin

Celtic Historic Literature by Aneirin, translation by Joseph Clancy


A lord of Gododdin is honoured, A noble patron is lamented.
To Eidin, flame's force, he will not come.
He placed his picked men in the front line, formed a wall before battle.
With savage force he launched the assault.
Since he ate, he drank, heavy burden.
Of Mynyddawg's war-band there returned but a single blade, bitter, dripping.


With Moried lost, a shield was missing.
They carried, they honoured a hero.
He bore blue blades in his hand, heavy spears portending peril.
From a dappled grey, arching his neck, dreadful the slaughter before his blades.
When he comes from battle, not one to flee, he merits praise, sweet ensnaring mead.


Lucky, triumphant, fearful men's lithe backbone, with his blue blade pressing the foreign foe back,
Stalwart powerful, mighty his hand, stout-hearted, shrewd, they thrust against him.
His feat, to leap forward against nine champions, amid friends and foes, and challenge them.
I love the triumphant seat that is his, Cyndilig of Aeron, bold hero.

verses 78, 79 & 80