The saints {178a} exert their courage, {178b} for the destruction of thy retreat, {178c} And the cellar, {178d} which contained, and where was brewed {178e} The mead, that sweet ensnarer. With the dawn does Gwrys {178f} make the battle clash; Fair gift, {178g}—marshal of the Lloegrian tribes; {178h} Penance he inflicts until repentance ensues; {178i} May the dependants of Gwynedd hear of his renown; With his ashen shaft he pierces to the grave; Pike of the conflict of Gwynedd, Bull of the host, oppressor of the battle of princes; {179a} Though thou hast kindled the land {179b} before thy fall, At the extreme boundary {179c} of Gododin will be thy grave. LXXV. Involved in vapours was the man {179d} accustomed to armies, High minded, bitter handed leader of the forces; {179e} He was expert, and ardent, and stately, Though at the social banquet he was not harsh. {180a} They {180b} removed and possessed his valuable treasures, And not the image of a thing for the benefit of the region was left. LXXVI. We are called! The sea and the borders are in conflict; {180c} Spears are mutually darting, spears all equally destructive; Impelled are sharp weapons of iron, {180d} gashing is the blade, {180e} And with a clang the sock {180f} descends upon the pate; A successful warrior was Fflamddwr {180g} against the enemy. LXXVII. He supported martial steeds and harness of war; Drenched with gore, on the red-stained field of Cattraeth, The foremost shaft in the host is held by the consumer of forts, {181a} The brave {181b} dog of battle, upon the towering hill. We are called to the gleaming {181c} post of assault, By the beckoning hand {181d} of Heiddyn, {181e} the ironclad chief. LXXVIII. The sovereign, who is celebrated in the Gododin, {181f} The sovereign, for whom our eye-lids {182a} weep, From the raging flame of Eiddyn {182b} turned not aside; {182c} He stationed men of firmness in command, {182d} And the thick covering guard {182e} he placed in the van, And vigorously he descended upon the scattered foe; In that he had revelled, he likewise sustained the main weight; Of the retinue of Mynyddawg, none escaped, Save one man by slow steps, thoroughly weakened, and tottering every way. {182f} LXXIX. Having sustained a loss, {182g} Moried bore no shield, But traversed the strand {183a} to set the ground on fire; Firmly he grasped in his hand a blue blade, And a shaft ponderous as the chief priest’s {183b} crozier; He rode a grey stately {183c} headed charger, And beneath his blade there was a dreadful fall of slaughter; When overpowered {183d} he fled not from the battle,— Even he who poured out to us the famous mead, that sweet ensnarer. LXXX.