I, in gratitude, have sung
Praise to him with brilliant tongue;
He, my praises to requite,
Gives me “braggat” dark and bright;
I his gold will pay with fame,
And will give him Rhydderch’s[1] name.
Armed with the armed, from battle fray
Never known to turn away,
Yet to bards a patron true,
Denizen of minstrel crew;
And to minstrelsy a slave,
Yet the sunrise of the brave.
Noblest in his pedigree,
Meekest in his piety,
Is the baron brave and free;
To his bard from distant land,
He is dear as hand to hand.
To his glory I will frame,
(Truth will never bring him shame,)
In my native tongue a lay
That shall never pass away,
Till the last of mortal birth
Shall have ceased to tread our earth,
And the summer’s sun to ply
His bold journey through the sky,
Wheat to ripen, dew-drops hoar
Moisture o’er the earth to pour.
Long as ear can listen—long
As the eye can see—the tongue
- ↑ A personage celebrated for his generosity in ancient Welsh tradition.
