And fame the fair daughter
Of victory came,
And loud ’mid the slaughter
Was heard to proclaim,
“A hero is fallen!
A warrior’s at rest,
The banner of Gwynedd
Enshrouded his breast,
His name shall inherit
The conqueror’s prize,
His purified spirit
Ascend to the skies.”
THE BATTLE OF GWENYSTRAD.
By Taliesin.
[Taliesin was the greatest of the ancient Welsh bards, and was a contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appears to have been a native of Cardiganshire, for we find him at an early age living at the court of Gwyddno, a petty king of Cantre y Gwaelod, who appointed him his chief bard and tutor to his son Elphin. He was afterwards attached to the court of Urien Rheged, a Welsh prince, king of Cambria and of Scotland as far as the river Clyde, who fought and conquered in the great battle of Gwenystrad, and is celebrated by the bard in the following song. Taliesin composed many poems, but seventy seven of them only have been preserved. The subjects of his poetry were for the most part religion and history, but a few of his poems were of a martial character.]
If warlike chiefs with dawning day
At Cattraeth met in dread array,
The song records their splendid name;
But who shall sing of Urien’s fame?
His patriot virtues far excel
Whate’er the boldest bard can tell:
His dreadful arm and dauntless brow
Spoil and dismay the haughty foe.
Pillar of Britain’s regal line!
’Tis his in glorious war to shine;
Despair and death attend his course,
Brave leader of the Christian force!
See Prydyn’s men, a valiant train,
Rush along Gwenystrad’s plain!
Bright their spears for war addrest,
Raging vengeance fires their breast;
Shouts like ocean’s roar arise,
Tear the air, and pierce the skies.
Here they urge their tempest force!
Nor camp nor forest turns their course:
Their breath the shrieking peasants yield
O’er all the desolated field.
But lo, the daring hosts engage!
Dauntless hearts and flaming rage;
And, ere the direful morn is o’er,
Mangled limbs and reeking gore,
And crimson torrents whelm the ground,
Wild destruction stalking round;
Fainting warriors gasp for breath,
Or struggle in the toils of death.
Where the embattled fortress rose,
(Gwenystrad’s bulwark from the foes,)
Fierce conflicting heroes meet—
Groans the earth beneath their feet.
I mark, amidst the rolling flood,
Where hardy warriors stain’d with blood
Drop their blunt arms, and join the dead,
Grey billows curling o’er their head:
Mangled with wounds, and vainly brave,
At once they sink beneath the wave.