LXXXVI.

When the host of Pryder {189b} arrives, I anxiously count {190a} the bands, Eleven complete battalions; There is now a precipitate flight {190b} Along the road of lamentation. Affectionately have I deplored, {190c} Dearly have I loved, The illustrious dweller of the wood, {190d} And the men of Argoed, {190e} Accustomed, in the open plain, {191a} To marshal their troops. For the benefit of the chiefs, the lord of the war {191b} Laid upon rough {191c} boards, Midst a deluge of grief, The viands for the banquet, Where they caroused together;--he conducted us to a bright {191d} fire, And to a carpet of white and fresh {191e} hide.