Each eye glancing fire, shrouded now by the sod![169]
I weep when the blast of the trumpet is sounding,
Which rouses ye not, O my lovely! my brave!
When warriors and chiefs to their proud steeds are bounding,
I turn from heaven’s light, for it smiles on your grave![170]
[168] “What I loved when I was a youth is hateful to me now.”
“Four and twenty sons to me have been
Wearing the golden chain, and leading princes.”
Elegies of Llywarch Hen.