Panegyric of Madog ab Maredudd - Cynddelw Brydydd Mawr

A Sov'reign Prince will extol, of nine parts is my poem, 

With all the force of numbers nine-nine are its topics, 

A hero 'tis to celebrate, Gogyrfan's like in stature. 

As rolls the surge from off the sea, the coast line scarcely stems it—

E'en so the valour stubborn is of Cadvan's gentle scion. 

Thou chieftain of the crimson spear, o'er Arran's men who rulest, 

Protector roving far and wide, O Madog, mayst thou govern 

With all pervading energy, a perfect knight in tourney! 

Beneath the vault of Heaven is my Bardic voice unbroken, 

In thy regard my Bardic speech hath neither shame nor weakness, 

True to the hero fair and pure, the fortress and the battle. 

It courts the brave, whose bounteous wealth on song is e'er expended, 

And scatters largess lavishly, his heart is in his people,

As bounds the billow on the strand, and under feet of sea-mew, 

A pilgrim of the hill and forge, am I with panegyric,

Whose praise shall ne'er from mem'ry fade, with its sweet rev'rent greeting.

O thou, whose shield pierced through and through, hath e'er repelled the foeman,

How oft have I, a guest within thy lovely court of Lleision, 

Quaff'd oft, received in golden cup, the golden-waving liquor! 

The gilded horns of buffalo-the lofty horns of oxen.

Hast thou to us directed aye, and standard bearing coursers, 

The steeds that stretch their striding limbs, far reaching in their gallop,

Their colour that of fishes blue, the salmon of the ocean. 

Their bodies those of slender stags, fine provender consuming, 

In conflict on his gory field, his hand is gory ever, 

An eagle he to tear his prey since first he was a chieftain, 

On steeds with foreheads white he thrusts his spear in van of battle, 

With Wolf-like bearing doth he lead the chase of flying foemen.

But cease! my wrath is soothed, that for my high-soul'd prince was rising,

Be it of whomso'er I sing, a mighty plague in battle!

I sing, because I love, because with loud contention striving, 

A song around the glorious gates for some to aid me singing. 

Arise, and sing! the brimful horn is my secure possession; 

For I, O Bards! am safe within, and ye without the palace.

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Cynddelw Brydydd Mawr (c.1155 - 1200) Wales

Translated by Howel W. Lloyd

Source: The History of the Princes, the Lords Marcher, and the Ancient Nobility of Powys Fadog, and the Ancient Lords of Arwystli, Cedewen and Meirionydd, Vol. 1, by Jacob Youde William Lloyd, T. Richards, 1881