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He nor heaps his brooded stores,
Nor on all profusely pours;
Lord of every regal art,
Liberal hand, and open heart.

Big with hosts of mighty name, Squadrons three against him came; This the force of Eirin hiding, Side by side as proudly piding, On her shadow long and gay Lochlin (h) plows the wat’ry way;

(h) Lochlin. Denmark. and Normans) making a grand appearance on the floods, the third from the transmarine Normans, which was attended with an

immense, though successless toil. 3. The Dragon of Mona's sons was so brave in action, that there was a

great tumult on their furious attack; and before the Prince himself there was a vast confusion, havoc, conflict, honourable death, bloody battle, horrible consternation, and upon Tal Malvre a thousand banners; there was an outrageous carnage, and the rage of spears and hasty signs of violent indignation. Blood raised the tide of the Menai, and the crimson of human gore stained the brine. There were glittering cuirasses, and the agony of gashing, wounds, and the mangled warriors prostrate before the chief, distinguished by his crimson lance. Lloegria was put into confusion ; the contest and confusion was great; and the glory of our Prince's wide-wasting sword shall be celebrated in an hundred languages to give him his merited praise.

There the Norman sails afar
Catch the winds and join the war:
Black and huge along they sweep,
Burdens of the angry deep.

Dauntless on his native sands
The Dragon-son of Mona stands (i);
In glittring arms and glory drest,
High he rears his ruby crest.
There the thund'ring strokes begin,
There the

and there the din ; Talymalfra's rocky shore Echoing to the battle's roar. [34] Check'd by the torrent-tide of blood, Backward Menaï rolls his flood; While, heap'd his master's feet around, Prostrate Warriors gnaw the ground.


ri) The Dragon-son of Mona stands. The red Dragon is the device of Cadwallader, which all his descendants bore on their banners.

[34] This and the three following lines were not in the original Editions, but were added by Mr. Mason from the Author's MS.

Where his glowing eye-balls turn,
Thousand banners round him burn:
Where he points his purple spear,
Hasty, hasty Rout is there ;
Marking with indignant eye
Fear to stop, and shame to fly.
There Confusion, Terror's child,
Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild,
Agony, that pants for breath,
Despair and honourable Death.




(This Ode is extracted from the Gododin.

See Mr. Evans's Specimens, p. 71 and 73.]

Had I but the torrent's might,
With headlong rage and wild affright
Upon Deïra's squadrons hurld
To rush, and sweep them from the world!

Too, too secure in youthful pride,
By them, my friend, my Hoel, died,
Great Cian's son: of Madoc old
He ask'd no heaps of hoarded gold;
Alone in Nature's wealth array'd,
He ask'd and had the lovely Maid.

To Cattraeth’s vale in glitt'ring row
Twice two hundred Warriors go:

Every Warrior's manly neck
Chains of regal honour deck,
Wreath'd in many a golden link:
From the golden cup they drink
Nectar, that the bees produce,
Or the grape's ecstatic juice.
Flush'd with mirth and hope they burn:
But none from Cattraeth's vale return,
Save Aëron brave, and Conan strong,
(Bursting thro' the bloody throng)
And I, the meanest of them all,
That live to weep and sing their fall.

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