Geraint, [191f] from the South, did raise a shout,
And on the white water [192a] was his buckler pierced. [192b]
Lord of the spear, a gentle lord!
The praise of mountain and sea
Will he render our youth, even thou, Geraint, wilt render them,
Who hast been a generous commander.
LXXXVIII.
Instantaneously is his fame wafted on high;
His anchors [192c] from the scene of action [192d] cannot be restrained.
Unflinching eagle [192e] of the forward heroes,
He bore the toil, and brilliant was his zeal;
The fleetest coursers he outstripped in war,
But was quite a lamb [193a] when the wine from the goblet flowed.
Ere he reached the grassy tomb, and his cheeks became pale in death, [193b]
He presided over the banquet of mead, and honoured it with the generous horn. [193c]
LXXXIX.
Ruin [193d] he brought upon every fair region, [193e]
And a fettering valour he displayed; [193f]
The front of his shield was pierced.
Caso Hir, [194a] when roused to anger,
Defended Rhuvoniawg. [194b]
A second time they [194c] challenged, [194d] and were crushed
By the warlike steeds with gory trappings.
His martial nobles [194e] formed a firm array,
And the field was reddened, when he was greatly affronted;
Severe in the conflict, with blades he slaughtered,
And sad news [194f] from the war he brought,
Which he wove [195a] into a song for the calends of January. [195b]
Adan, [195c] the son of Ervai, there did pierce,
Adan pierced the haughty boar;
Even he, who was like a dame, a virgin, and a hero. [195d]
And when the youth thus possessed the properties of a king, [195e]
He, stained with blood, brought deliverance to Gwynedd,
Ere the turf was laid upon the gentle face
Of the generous dead; but now undisturbed
In regard to fame and gain, he reposes in the grave,
Namely, Garthwys Hir, [196a] from the land of Rhuvoniawg.
XC.
The garment of Tinogad, [196b] which was of divers colours,
Made of the speckled skins of young wolves,
His jerks and starts and juggling motion,
I fain would lampoon, they were lampooned by his eight slaves. [196c]
When thy father went out to hunt,
With his pole upon his shoulder, and his provisions in his hand,
He would call to his dogs that were of equal size,
Catch it, catch it—seize it, seize it—bring it, bring it;
He would kill a fish in his coracle,
Even as a princely lion in his fury [197a] kills his prey;
When thy father climbed up the mountain,
He brought back the head [197b] of a roebuck, [197c] the head of a wild boar, the head of a stag,
The head of a grey moor hen from the hill,
The head of a fish from the falls of the Derwent; [197d]
As many as thy father could reach with his flesh piercer,
Of wild boars, lions, and foxes, [197e]
It was certain death to them all, [197f] unless they proved too nimble.
XCI.
Were he to narrow [198a] my dominions through extortion, [198b]
The arrival of no enemy would prove to me more formidable. [198c]
The man has not been nursed who could be more festive in the hall
Than he, or steadier in the field of battle.
On the ford of Penclwyd [198d] Pennant were his steeds;
Far spread was his fame, compact was his armour;
And ere the long grass covered him beneath the sod,
He, the only son of Morarch, [198e] poured out the horns of mead.