The Gododdin

Translated by Sir Thomas Gray

To Cattraeth Vale in glittering row,
Twice two hundred warriors go.
Every warriors manly neck
Chains of reagle honor deck,
Wreathed in many a golden link;
From the golden cup they drink
Nectar that the bees produce,
Or the grapes exalted juice.
Flushed with mirth and hope they burn
But none to Cattraeth vale return,
Save Aeron brave, and Conan strong,
Bursting through the bloody throng,
And I, the meanest of them all,
That live to weep, and sing there fall.

Wearing a brooch, 
In the front rank wherever he went, 
Breathless in
The presence of a girl, 
He earned his mead. 
The front of his shieldwas pierced; 
When he pursued; 
He would not come back from fight till the blood had flowed, 
Like rushes he cut down the men who did not flee.  
The men of Gododdin recount on the floor of the
Palace that when he used to come back to Madog's tent 
There used not to return but one in a hundred.
        
The men went to Catraeth with the dawn, 
Their mettle shortened their lives.  
They drank sweet, yellow ensnaring mead; 
For a year many a minstrel was glad.  
Red were their swords, 
May their spears never be cleansed; 
There were lime white shields and square pointed spearheads 
Before the retinue of Mynyddog the Luxurious.
        
The men went to Gododdin, 
Inciting one another to laughter, 
Bitter with spears in battle, 
Drawing themselves up in ranks; 
For a short year at peace they were undisturbed.  
The son of Bodgad, the deeds of his hand wrought vengeance.  
Though they should go  to churches to do penance, 
Both old and young, both strong and weak, 
The inescapable tryst with death overtook them.
        
The man went to Catraeth with the dawn, 
In his battlesquare he was a fence of shields; 
They attacked harshly, 
They collected booty, 
The noise of their shields was loud, like thunder.
A competitive man, a sagacious man, a lone champion; 
He slashed and pierced with spears, 
In battlestraits he struck with blades, 
Steel weapons on the heads of men,
But in the palace the slayer was mild.  
Before Erthgi armies groaned.
        
The man went to Catraeth with the day; 
He drank up the mead-carousal at midnight.  
Hapless was his expedition,
The lament of his fellow warriors, the fiery killer.  
No great man whose boasts were so expansive sped forth to Catraeth; 
There was none who put the enemy to flight 
From the stronghold of Eidyn so utterly as he,
Tudfwlch the tall, from its land and its steadings; 
He slew the Saxons every seventh day.  
Long shall remembrance of his valour last, 
And memories of him among his fair company.  
When Tudfwlch arrived, the strengthener of his people, 
The son of Cilydd, there
        
When Caradog hastened forth to battle like a wild boar, 
Cutting down three heroes, the bull of the army, 
Striking down in combat,
He fed the wolves by his hand.  
My witness was Ywain son of Eulad 
And Gwrien and Gwyn and Gwriad, 
Before they were taken from Catraeth, 
From the slaughter, from Bryn Hyddwn;  
After bright mead in the hand, 
Not one of them saw his father again.
        
They respectful lawful entitlements, 
They stained three spear-shafts rather fifty and five hundred.  
Three hounds with three hundred, 
Three battle horsemen of Eidyn of the many goldsmiths;
Three hosts wearing mail coats; 
Three battle spears, 
Three equal chiefs bounding forwards together; 
They routed the enemy bitterly.  
Three in fight, in hardship, they slew easily; 
Like gold in the close packed battle, 
Three lords of the people who sprang of the Britons 
Cynri and Cynon and Cynrain of Aeron.  
The heathen, the crafty men of the Deira,  
Used to ask whether there ever came of the Britons 
A man better than Cynon, the serpent on the path of the enemy.
        
The men went to Catraeth, 
Swift was their host, 
The pale mead was their feast 
And it was their poison; 
Three hundred fighting according to plan, 
And after jubilation there was silence.  
Though they should go to churches to do penance, 
The inescapable tryst with death overtook them.
        
With violence in his post in the front rank, 
Like a fierce sun; where is the prince to be found, 
The lord of the island of Britain? 
Rough was the fight at the ford in the
Face of the harsh one with his shield like a cattlepen.  
His drinking horn was hand some in the hall of Eidyn; 
His kingliness was spectacular, 
His mead was intoxicating, 
He drank wine-drink, he was a reaper in combat, 
He drank sweet wine.  
Bold of purpose in battle, a reaper like a leek in battle; 
Bright arm of battle, they sang a song of battle;
Armoured in battle, winged in battle, 
His shield was not left broad by the spears of war.  
His contemporaries fell in the war-fight;
Unhurt in the broil, he avenged them irreproachably.  
His frenzy was appeased, 
Before the grave of Gwrfelling the great had a green surface.
        
A man in vigour, a boy in years, boisterous in courage; 
There were swift, thick maned horses 
Under the thigh of the handsome young youth, 
With a light broad shield 
On the crupper of his slender speedy horse;
Bright blue swords and fringes of worked gold.  
There shall be no hatred between you and me, 
I shall do better with you, praise you in song.  
He would sooner have gone to the battlefield than to a wedding, 
He would sooner have been food for ravens than get due burial.
  
A beloved friend was Ywain, it is a shame that he is under a cairn.  
I marvel in what land 
The slaying of the only son of Marro could come to pass.
Ôred one who sustained us, on his front-line skittish steed, 
In rugged shape, the ox, wearing a gold torque; 
The boar, the wily one made a compact in front of the boundary, 
Worthy of his lawful entitlements, confronting the war-cry; 
He shakes his battle-spears in fight. 
It was not disputed that an army would be humbled before Cadfannan. 
        
When there comes upon me a host of anxieties 
My breath fails as if with strenuous running, 
And straightway I weep.  I would grieve for my dear one, 
The dear one whom I had loved, the glorious stag.  
Alas for him who was wont to draw himself up with the men of Argoed.  
For the profit of kings, 
Well did he attack the hosts of the country, 
The bristling wood of spears, 
The grievous flood of the enemy, 
In return for the banquets.  
Disposing the banquet, 
He led us up to the bright fire 
And to the reclining seat covered with white fleece.  
Geraint his battle cry was raised in front of the men of the South;
Flashing and bright was the white appearance of his shield; 
The lord of the spear, the generous renowned lord, courteous, 
In liberality like the sea  I know his nature.  
I know you generous Geraint, you were noble.
        
For the very wretched, for the smiling land and the waste, 
For the falling of the hair 
From the head from the men of the eagle,
Gwyddien the fierce, he defended it with his spear, 
The marshaller, the tamer, its owner.  
Morien defended the blessed inspiration of Myrddin, 
And laid the head of the chief in the earth with our help. 
Bradwen fought like three men to please his love; 
Like twelve, Gwenabwy son of Gwen.
        
The men went to Catraeth, they were famous; 
Wine and mead from golden vessels was their drink for a year, 
According to the honourable custom; 
Three men and three score and three hundred wearing gold torques.  
Of those that hastened forth after the choice drink 
None escaped save three, through feats of combat; 
The two battle hounds of Aeron and Cynon the stubborn  
And I, with my blood streaming down, 
For the sake of my brilliant poetry.

                                Aneurin, 603 A.D.