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. {167a} The ruddy reapers of war are thy desire, {167b} Thou man of toil, {167c} but the worthless thou beheadest; {167d} 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, {167e} until blood flows {167f} like bright wine out of glass vessels; {167g} As the contribution {168a} for mead thou claimest gold; Wine nourished was Gwaednerth, {168b} the son of Llywri.