Volume 2 — THE SLAYING OF OWAIN
Reading edition
[During the battle a conference was held, at which the British leaders demanded as a condition of peace that part of the land of Gododin be restored. In reply, the Saxons killed Owain, one of the greatest of the Cymric bards. Aneurin thus pictures him:--]
A man in thought, a boy in form, He stoutly fought, and sought the storm Of flashing war that thundered far. His courser, lank and swift, thick-maned, Bore on his flank, as on he strained, The light-brown shield, as on he sped, With golden spur, in cloak of fur, His blue sword gleaming. Be there said No word of mine that does not hold thee dear! Before thy youth had tasted bridal cheer, The red death was thy bride! The ravens feed On thee yet straining to the front, to lead. Owain, the friend I loved, is dead! Woe is it that on him the ravens feed!
THE FATE OF HOEL, SON OF THE GREAT CIAN
[From various expressions used by Aneurin in different parts of his great poem, it is evident that the warriors of whom he sang fortified themselves, before entering the field of battle, with unstinted libations of that favorite intoxicant of those days, sweet mead. He mentions the condition of the warriors as they started for the fray, and tells of Hoel's fate. This son of Cian had married the daughter of one of the Bryneish. His marriage caused no abatement of a feud existing between the tribes to which the husband and wife respectively belonged. He repudiated her family, disdained to take her away, and was sought and slain by her insulted father.]
The warriors marched to Cattræth, full of mead; Drunken, but firm of array: great the shame, But greater the valor no bard can defame. The war-dogs fought fiercely, red swords seemed to bleed. Flesh and soul, I had slain thee, myself, had I thought, Son of Cian, my friend, that thy faith had been bought By a bribe from the tribe of the Bryneish! But no; He scorned to take dowry from hands of the foe, And I, all unhurt, lost a friend in the fight, Whom the wrath of a father felled down for the slight.
THE GIANT GWRVELING FALLS AT LAST
[The bard tells the story of Gwrveling's revelry, impulsive bravery, and final slaughter of the foe before yielding to their prowess.]
Light of lights--the sun, Leader of the day, First to rise and run His appointed way, Crowned with many a ray, Seeks the British sky; Sees the flight's dismay, Sees the Britons fly. The horn in Eiddin's hall Had sparkled with the wine, And thither, at a call To drink and be divine, He went, to share the feast Of reapers, wine and mead. He drank, and so increased His daring for wild deed. The reapers sang of war That lifts its shining wings, Its shining wings of fire, Its shields that flutter far. The bards, too, sang of war, Of plumed and crested war; The song rose ever higher. Not a shield Escapes the shock, To the field They fiercely flock,-- There to fall. But of all Who struck on giant Gwrveling, Whom he would he struck again, All he struck in grave were lain, Ere the bearers came to bring To his grave stout Gwrveling.