Fill thou the horn; for it is my delight, in the place where the defenders of our country drink mead, and give it to Selyf the fearless, the defence of Gwygyr; {11d} woe to the wretch that offends him, eagle-hearted hero: and to the son of Madoc, the famous and generous Tudur, like a wolf when he seizes his prey, is his assault in the onset. Two heroes, who were sage in their counsels, but active in the field, the two sons of Ynyr, who, on the day of battle, were ready for the attack, heedless of danger, famous for their exploits; their assault was like that of strong lions, and they pierced their enemies like brave warriors; they were lords of the battle, and rushed foremost with their crimson lances; the weight of their attack was not to be withstood; their shields were broke asunder with much force, as the high-sounding wind on the beach of the green sea, and the encroaching of the furious waves on the coast of Talgarth. {12a} Fill, cup-bearer, as thou regardest thy life; fill the horn, badge of honour at feasts, the hirlas {12b} drinking-horn, which is a token of distinction, whose tip is adorned with silver, and it’s cover of the same metal; and bring it to Tudur, the eagle of battles, filled with the best wine; and if thou dost not bring us the best of all, thy head shall fly off: give it in the hand of Moreiddig, encourager of songs, whose praise in battle is celebrated; they were brethren of a distant clime, of an undaunted heart, and their valour was observable in their countenance. Can I forget their services? . . . Impetuous warriors, wolves of the battle, their lances are besmeared with gore; they were the heroes of the chief of Mochnant, {12c} in the region of Powys. Their honour was soon purchased by them both; they seized every occasion to defend their country, in the time of need, with their bloody arms, and they kept their borders from hostile invasion. Their lot is praise; it is like a mournful elegy to me to lose them both! O Christ! how pensive am I for the loss of Moreiddig, which is irreparable. Pour thou out the horn, though they desire it not, the drinking horn, hirlas, with cheerfulness, and deliver it into the hand of Morgant, one who deserves to be celebrated with distinguished praise. It was like poison to me, to be deprived of him, and that he was pierced - - - - by the keen sword. Pour, cup-bearer, from a silver vessel, an honourable gift, badge of distinction. On the large plains of Gwestun {13a} I have seen a miracle; to stop the impetuosity of Gronwy, was more than a task for an hundred men. The warriors pointed their lances, courted the battle, and were profuse of life; they met their enemies in the conflict, and their chieftain was consumed by fire near the surges of the sea. {13b} They rescued a noble prisoner, Meurig the son of Griffydd, of renowned valour; they were all of them covered with blood when they returned, and the high hills and the dales enjoyed the sun equally. {13c}