XCI.

Were he to narrow {198a} my dominions through extortion, {198b} The arrival of no enemy would prove to me more formidable. {198c} The man has not been nursed who could be more festive in the hall Than he, or steadier in the field of battle. On the ford of Penclwyd {198d} Pennant were his steeds; Far spread was his fame, compact was his armour; And ere the long grass covered him beneath the sod, He, the only son of Morarch, {198e} poured out the horns of mead.