ANEIRIN


Odes of the Months

Month of January--smoky is the vale;

Weary the wine-bearer; strolling the minstrel;

Lean the cow; seldom the hum of the bee;

Empty the milk fold; void of meat the kiln;

Slender the horse; very silent the bird;

Long to the early dawn; short the afternoon;

Justly spoke Cynfelyn,

"Prudence is the best guide for man."

Month of February--scarce are the dainties;

Wakeful the adder to generate its poison;

Habitual is reproach from frequent acknowledgement;

The hired ox has not skill to complain;

Three things produce dreadful evils,

A woman's counsel, murder, and way-laying;

Best is the dog upon a morning in spring;

Alas! To him who murders his maid!

Month of March--great is the forwardness of the birds,

Severe is the cold wind upon the headlands;

Serene weather will be longer than the crops;

Longer continues anger than grief;

Every one feels dread;

Every bird wings to its mate.

Every thing springs through the earth'

But the dead, strong is his prison!

Month of April--aerial is the horizon;

Fatigued the oxen; bare the land;

Common is the visitor without an invitation;

Poor the deer; blithesome the hare;

Everyone claims his labour;

Happy his state who governs himself;

Common is separation with virtuous children;

Common, after presumption, is a long cessation.

Month of May--wanton is the lascivious;

Sheltering the ditch to everyone who loves it;

Joyous the aged in his robes;

Loquacious the cuckoo in the rural vales;

Easy is society where there is affection;

Covered with foliage are the woods, sportive the amorous,

There comes as often to the market,

The skin of the lamb as the skin of the sheep.

Month of June--beautiful are the fields;

Smooth the sea, pleasing the strand;

Beautifully long the day, playful the ladies;

Full the flocks, apt to be firm the bog;

God loves all tranquility;

The devil loves all mischief;

Everyone covets honour;

Every might one, feeble his end.

Month of July--the hay is apt to smoke;

Ardent the heat, dissolved the snow;

The vagrant does not love a long confederacy;

There is no success to the progeny of an unchaste person;

Bare the farm-yard--partly empty the circular eminence;

Clean the perfect person, disgraceful the boasting word;

Justly spoke the foster-son of Mary,

"God judges, though man may prate."

Month of August--covered with foam is the beach;

Blithesome the bee, full the hive;

Better the work of the sickle than the bow;

Fuller the stack than the theatre.

He that will neither work nor pray,

Is not worthy to have bread;

Justly spoke Saint Breda,

"Evil will not be approached less than good."

Month of September--benign are the planets;

Tending to please, the sea and the hamlet;

Common is it for steeds and men to be fatigued;

Common is it to posses all kinds of fruit:--

A princely girl was born,

To be our leader from painful slavery;--

Justly spake St. Berned,

"God does not sleep when he gives deliverance."

Month of October--penetrable is the shelter;

Yellow the tops of the birch, solitary the summer dwelling;

Full of fat the birds and the fish;

Less and less the milk of the cow and the goat;

Alas! To him who merits disgrace by sin!

Death is better than frequent extravagance;

Three thngs follow every crime,

Fasting, prayer, and charity.

Month of November--very fat are the swine;

Let the shepherd go; let the minstrel come;

Bloody the blade, full the barn;

Pleased the sea, tasteless the cauldron;

Long the night, active the prisoner;

Respected is everyone who possesses property;

For three things men are not often concerned,

Sorrow, angry, look, and an illiberal miser.

Month of December--the shoe is covered with dirt:

Heavy the land, flagging the sun;

Bare are the trees, still is the muscle;

Cheerful the cock, and determined the thief;

Whilst the twelve months proceed so sprightly,

Round the youthful mind, is the spoiler Satan;

Justly spoke Yscolan,

"God is better than an evil prophecy."

The Gododdin

I.

He was a man in mind, in years a youth,

And gallant in the din of war;

Fleet, thick-maned chargers

Were ridden by the illustrious hero;

A shield, light and broad,

Hung on the flank of his swift and slender steed;

His sword was blue and gleaming,

His spurs were of gold, his raiment was woollen.

It will not be my part

To speak of thee reproachfully,

A more choice act of mine will be

To celebrate thy praise in song;

Thou hast gone to a bloody bier,

Sooner than to a nuptial feast;

Thou hast become a meal for ravens,

Ere thou didst reach the front of conflict.

Alas, Owain! my beloved friend;

It is not meet that he should be devoured by ravens!

There is swelling sorrow in the plain,

Where fell in death the only son of Marro.

II.

Adorned with his wreath, leader of rustic warriors, whenever he came

By his troop unattended, before maidens would he serve the mead;

But the front of his shield would be pierced, if ever he heard

The shout of war; no quarter would he give to those whom he pursued;

Nor would he retreat from the combat until blood flowed;

And he cut down like rushes the men who would not yield.

The Gododin relates, that on the coast of Mordei,

Before the tents of Madog, when he returned,

But one man in a hundred with him came.

VII.

The heroes marched to Gododin, Gwanar laughed,

As his jewelled army went down to the terrific toil.

Thou slayest them with blades, when there is not much chattering;

Thou, powerful supporter of the living law, producest the silence of death.

XVII.

And now the early leader,

The sun, is about to ascend,

Sovereign of the revolving lights,

In the heaven of Britain’s isle.

Direful was the flight before the shaking

Of the shield of the pursuing victor;

Bright was the horn

In the hall of Eiddin;

With pomp was he bidden

To the feast of intoxicating mead;

He drank the beverage of wine,

At the meeting of reapers;

He drank transparent wine,

With a battle-daring purpose.

The reapers sang of war,

War with the shining wing;

The minstrels sang of war,

Of harnessed war,

Of winged war.

No shield was unexpanded

In the conflict of spears;

Of equal age they fell

In the struggle of battle.

Unshaken in the tumult,

Without dishonour did he retaliate on the foe;

Buried was whoever he willed,

Ere the grave of the gigantic Gwrveling

Itself became a green sward.

LXV.

I am not headstrong and petulant,

I will not avenge myself on him who drives me on,

I will not laugh in derision;

This particle shall go under foot.

My limbs are racked,

And I am loaded,

In the subterraneous house;

An iron chain

Passes over my two knees;

Yet of the mead and of the horn,

And of the host of Cattraeth,

I Aneurin will sing

What is known to Taliesin,

Who communicates to me his thoughts,

Or a strain of Gododin,

Before the dawn of the bright day.

LII

Gododin! in respect of thee will I demand

The dales beyond the ridge of Drum Essyd;

The slave, greedy of wealth, cannot control himself;

By the counsel of thy son, let thy valour shine forth.

The place appointed for the conference

Was not mean, in front of Llanveithin;

From twilight to twilight he revelled;

Splendid and full was the purple of the pilgrim;

He killed the defenceless, the delight of the bulwark of toil,

His inseparable companion, whose voice was like that of Aneurin.

LXII.

Angor, thou who scatterest the brave,

And piercest the sullen like a serpent;

Thou tramplest upon those who in strong mail are clad,

In front of the army;

Like an enraged bear, guarding and assaulting,

Thou tramplest upon the furious,

In the day of capture,

In the dank entrenchment;

Like the mangling dwarf,

Who in his fury prepared

A banquet for the birds,

In the tumultuous fight.

Cywir art thou named from thy righteous (enwir) deed;

Leader, director, and bulwark (mur) of the course of battle

Is Merin; and fortunately (mad) wert thou, Madien, born.

LXIV.

It is incumbent to sing of so much renown,

The tumult of fire, of thunder, and tempest,

The glorious gallantry of the knight of conflict.

The ruddy reapers of war are thy desire,

Thou man of toil, but the worthless thou beheadest;

The whole length of the land shall hear of thee in battle;

With thy shield upon thy shoulder, thou dost incessantly cleave

With thy blade, until blood flows like bright wine out of glass vessels;

As the contribution for mead thou claimest gold;

Wine nourished was Gwaednerth the son of Llywri.

LXXVI.

We are called! The sea and the borders are in conflict;

Spears are mutually darting, spears all equally destructive;

Impelled are sharp weapons of iron, gashing is the blade,

And with a clang the sock descends upon the pate;

A successful warrior was Fflamddwr against the enemy.

LXXXI.

Blessed Conqueror, of temper mild, the strength of his people,

With his blue streamers displayed towards the sea-roving foes.

Brave is he on the waters, most numerous his host;

Manly his bosom, loud his shout in the charge of arms.

Usual was it for him to make a descent before nine armaments,

With propulsive strokes, in the face of blood and of the country.

I love thy victorious throne, which teemed with harmonious strains.

O Cynddilig of Aeron, thou lion’s whelp.

XC.

The garment of Tinogad, 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.

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 kills his prey;

When thy father climbed up the mountain,

He brought back the head of a roebuck, 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;

As many as thy father could reach with his flesh piercer,

Of wild boars, lions, and foxes,

It was certain death to them all, unless they proved too nimble.

XCIV.

Echo speaks of the formidable and dragon-like weapons,

And of the fair game, which was played in front of the unclaimed course of Gododin.

Profusely did he bring a supply of wine into the tents, for the benefit of the natives,

In the season of the storm, as long as it trickled from the vessels,

And the army, a well nourished host, continued to drop in.

A splendid troop of warriors, successful against a hundred men,

Is led from Dindovydd in Dyvneint.

Before Doleu in battle, worn out were the shields, and battered the helmets.

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