XXI.
The heroes who marched to Cattraeth were renowned,
Wine and mead out of golden goblets was their beverage,
That year was to them one of exalted solemnity,
Three hundred and sixty-three chieftains, wearing the golden torques; [113a]
Of those who hurried forth after the excess of revelling,
But three escaped by valour from the funeral fosse, [113b]
The two war-dogs [114a] of Aeron, and Cynon the dauntless, [114b]
And myself, from the spilling of blood, the reward of my candid song. [114c]