LXXIV.

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.