XIII.

The hero {98d} marched to Cattraeth with the day; Truly {99a} he quaffed the white mead on serene nights; {99b} Miserable, though success had been predicted, {99c} Proved his mission, which he undertook through soaring ambition; {99d} There hastened not to Cattraeth A chief, with such a magnificent design of enterprize Blazoned on his standard; Never was there such a host From the fort of Eiddin, {99e} That would scatter abroad the mounted ravagers. Tudvwlch Hir, {100a} deprived of {100b} his land and towns, Slaughtered the Saxons for seven days; {100c} His valour should have protected him in freedom; {100d} His memory is cherished by his fair {100e} associates; When Tudvwlch arrived, the supporter of the land, {100f} The post of the son of Kilydd {100g} became a plain of blood.