Celtic Historic Literature by Aneirin, translation by Joseph Clancy
His stock is seen, loud he's proclaimed haven of troops, haven, his blade.
Host in the van, Post of honour on battle's day, closed in combat.
They were wrathful, having been drunk and drinking mead.
No salvation in holding off strong-rushing foes.
When the tale's told, broken the charge of steeds and soldiers, sworn men's fate.
When thoughts in throngs come upon me, moumful of mind,
My breath is faint as in running, and then I weep.
One dear I mourn, one dear whom I loved, noble stag,
Grief for the man who was ever in Argoed's ranks.
He gave his all for countrymen, for a lord's sake,
For rough-hewn wood, for a flood of grief, for the feasts.
Friends about him he bore us to a blazing fire
And to seats of white skins and to sparkling wine.
Gereint from the South gave the war-cry, bright and fair,
Fair-formed was his face, generous spear-lord, praiseworthy lord,
So gracious, well I know his nature,
Well I knew Gereint: kind, noble, he was.
Ungrudging praise for a hero, unbudging anchor in combat.
Mighty eagle of wrathful men, bearing the brunt, Eldef shone bright.
He led the charge on stallions swift in battle, cub nursed from wine-cups.
Before a fresh grave, cheek turned pale, he was one for feasts above bright mead.
verses 84, 85 & 86