as the flowers of the haw-thorn. O how well didst thou succeed in making me to languish, and despair. For heaven’s sake, pity my distressed condition, and soften the penance of thy Bard. I am a Bard, who, though wounded by thee, sing thy praises in well sounding verse, thou gentle maid of slender shape, who hinderest me to sleep by thy charms. I bring thy praises, bright maid, to thy neat palace at Dinbrain; {17} many are the songs that I rehearse to celebrate thy beautiful form. AN ODE _Of David Benvras_, _to Llewelyn the Great_, _Prince of Wales_, _A.D._ 1240. He who created the glorious sun, and that cold pale luminary the moon, grant that I attain the heights of poetry, and be inspired with the genius of Myrddin; {18a} that I may extol the praise of heroes, like Aneurin, {18b} in the day he sung his celebrated Gododin; that I may set forth the happiness of the inhabitants of Venedotia, the noble and prosperous prince of Gwynedd, the stay and prop of his fair and pleasant country. He is manly and heroic in the battle, his fame overspreadeth the country about the mountain of Breiddin. {18c} Since God created the first man, there never was his equal in the front of battle. Llewelyn the generous, of the race of princes, has struck terror and astonishment in the heart of kings. When he strove for superiority with Loegria’s king, when he was wasting the country of Erbin, {18d} his troops were valiant and numerous. Great was the confusion when the shout was given, his sword was bathed in blood; proud were his nobles to see his army; when they heard the clashing of swords, then was felt the agony of wounds {18e} - - - - - Many were the gashes in the conflict of war. Great was the confusion of the Saxons about the ditch of Knocking. {19a} The sword was broke in the hand of the warrior. Heads were covered with wounds, and the flood of human gore gushed in streams down the knees. Llewelyn’s empire is wide extended, he is renowned as far as Porth Ysgewin. {19b} Constantine was not his equal in undergoing hardships. Had I arrived to the height of prophecy, and the great gift of ancient poesy, I could not relate his prowess in action; no, Taliesin {19c} himself was unequal to the task. Before he finishes his course in this world, after he has lived a long life on earth, ere he goes to the deep and bone-bestrewed grave, ere the green herb grows over his tomb, may He that turned the water into wine, grant that he may have the Almighty’s protection, and that for every sin, with which he hath been stained, he may receive remission. May Llewelyn, the noble and generous, never be confounded or ashamed when he arrives at that period; and may he be under the protection of the saints. A POEM _To Llewelyn the Great_, _composed by Einion the son of Gwgan_, _about_ 1244.