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The
Spoils of Annfwn
Perfect was Gweir's prison in the Faery Fort
due to the ministry of Pwyll and Pryderi
no-one before him had entered therein.
In the heavy blue chain a faithful servant guarded him
and for the Spoils of Annwfn hard he chanted
and unto Doom shall continue in poetic rapture.
Three fulnesses of Prydwen we entered in:
Save for seven none came up from Fort Faery.
Am I not splendid in renown, a rhapsody heard
in the four-quartered fort four times over
in exordium out of the cauldron when it gave voice,
warmed by the breath of nine maidens?
Who finished the Chief of Annwn's cauldron,
a rim around its edge of pearls,
swore never it should cook a coward's food?
Lleawc's bright sword was raised to it
and in the hand of Leminawc it was left
and lanterns shone before the door of Avernus' gate
and when we went in with Arthur trouble glittered:
Save for seven none came up from Fort Mead.
Am I not fame-feted, a lyre listened to
in the four-quartered fort, a stone-doored isle?
Transparency and obscurity mingled
shiny wine their liquor before their retinue.
Three fulnesses of Prydwen we went upon the main,
Save for seven none came up from Castle Rigor.
I merit not the little men, the book a boss:
They saw not Arthur's courage beyond The Fort of Glass.
Three score centuries of men stationed on the wall
It was not easy to speak with its watchman:
Three fulnesses of Prydwen we went with Arthur,
Save for seven none came up from Castle Colour.
I am not meet for petty men, slack their habit:
They know not, they, what day who was made,
what hour of the fine day who was born to whom,
who caused that he did not go
They know not, they, the great Speckled Ox in headgear
with seven-score links in its collar-chain:
and when we went with Arthur
Save for seven none came up from Fort Vandwy.
I am not meet for petty men, slack their spirit:
They know not, they, what day the Chief was made,
what hour of the fine day the lord of the land was born,
what a beast they keep with its silver head.
When we went with Arthur
Save for seven none came up from Caer Ochren.
(Lundy Island is locally
known as "Ynys Gweir".)
Perfect is my Chair in Caer Sidi
by Taliesin
from "A Song Concerning the Sons of Llyr ab Brochwel
Powys"
"Perfect is my chair in Caer Sidi:
Plague and age hurt not him who 's in it--
They know, Manawyddan and Pryderi.
Three organs round a fire sing before it,
And about its points are ocean's streams
And the abundant well above it--,
Sweeter than white wine the drink in it."
"Kadeir
Teyrnon" by Taliessin - excerpt
His royal steersman
His peerless writings
His purple cloak
His raids across the wall
His meet throne
Among the army of the wall
Yea, brought from Cawr Nur
Pale horses laden
The elder, Teyrnon,
Heylin the provisioner
A third, female, deeply versed
In praising Arthur.
The third profound song of the sage
To bless Arthur
Arthur the blest
With harmonious art
The defender in battle
The trampler on nine
"Kadeir Teyrnon" - complete
The Chair of the Sovereign
Book of Taliesin XV
The declaration of a clear song,
Of unbounded Awen,
About a warrior of two authors,
Of the race of the steel Ala.
With his staff and his wisdom,
And his swift irruptions,
And his sovereign prince,
And his scriptural number,
And his red purple,
And his assault over the wail,
And his appropriate chair,
Amongst the retinue of the wall.
Did not he lead from Cawrnur
Horses pale supporting burdens?
The sovereign elder.
The generous feeder.
The third deep wise one,
To bless Arthur,
Arthur the blessed,
In a compact song.
On the face in battle,
Upon him a restless activity.
Who are the three chief ministers
That guarded the country?
Who are the three skilful ones
That kept the token?
That will come with eagerness
To meet their lord?
High the virtue of the course,
High will be the gaiety of the old,
High the horn of travelling,
High the kine in the evening.
High truth when it shines,
Higher when it speaks.
High when came from the cauldron
The three awens
of Gogyrwen.
I have been Mynawg, wearing a collar,
With a horn in my hand.
He deserves not the chair
That keeps not my word.
With me is the splendid chair,
The inspiration of fluent (end) urgent song.
What the name of the three Caers,
Between the flood and the ebb?
No one knows who is not pressing
The offspring of their president.
Four Caers
there are,
In Prydain,
stationary,
Chiefs tumultuous.
As for what may not be, it will not be.
It will not be, because it may not be.
Let him be a conductor of fleets.
Let the billow cover over the shingle,
That the land becomes ocean,
So that it leaves not the cliffs,
Nor hill nor dale,
Nor the least of shelter,
Against the wind when it shall rage.
The chair of the sovereign
He that keeps it is skilful.
Let them be sought there!
Let the munificent be sought.
Warriors lost,
I think in a wrathful manner.
From the destruction of chiefs,
In a butchering manner,
From the loricated Legion,
Arose the Guledig,
Around the old renowned boundary.
The sprouting sprigs are broken,
Fragile in like manner.
Fickle and dissolving.
Around the violent borders.
Are the flowing languages.
The briskly-moving stream
Of roving sea-adventurers,
Of the children of Saraphin.
A task deep and pure
To liberate Elphin.
*******
The Death-song of Uther Pendragon
Lyfyr Taliesin XLVIII
Marynawd Ythyr Pendragwn
(The Elegy of Uther Head-dragon (chieftain)
Spoken by Uther:
Am I not with hosts making a
din?
I would not cease, between two hosts, without gore.
Am I not he that is called Gorlassar?
My belt was a rainbow to my foe.
Am I not a prince, in darkness,
To him that takes my appearance with my two chief baskets?
Am I not, like Cawyl, ploughing?
I would not cease without gore between two hosts.
Is it not I that will defend my sanctuary?
In separating with the friends of wrath.
Have I not been accustomed to blood about the wrathful,
A sword-stroke daring against the sons of Cawrnur?
I shared my refuge,
a ninth share in Arthur's valour.
I broke a hundred forts.
I slew a hundred stewards.
I bestowed a hundred mantles.
I cut off a hundred heads.
I gave to an old chief
very great swords of protection.
Is it not I that performed the rights of purification,
When Hayarndor went to the top of the mountain?
To my deprivation, to my sorrow, sinew was brave.
The world would not be if not for my offspring.
Spoken by Taliesin:
I am a bard to be praised. The unskilful
May he be possessed by the ravens and eagle and bird of wrath.
Avagddu came to him with his equal,
When the bands of four men feed between two plains.
Abiding in heaven was he, my desire,
Against the eagle, against the fear of the unskilful.
I am a bard, and I am a harper,
I am a piper, and I am a crowder.
Of seven score musicians the very great enchanter.
There was of the enamelled honor the privilege.
Hu of the expanded wings.
Thy son, thy barded proclamation,
Thy steward, of a gifted father.
My tongue to recite my death-song.
If of stone-work the opposing wall of the world.
May the countenance of Prydain be bright for my guidance.
Sovereign of heaven, let my messages not be rejected.
Uther Pendragon ("Horrible Dragon-Lord")
is the father of King
Arthur. The first half is as if spoken by Uther, the second as if by
Taliesin. The second half mentions Afagddu,
the enemy of Taliesin; it was from Afagddu that Taliesin stole the
magical inspiration of Cerridwen-awen.
*******
The Death-song of
the Terrible Pendragon.
there are those who would translate Uther Pendragon as
the Terrible Pendragon, and believe that this is an elegy for Arthur:
The longing and lamentation of the multitude
Are unceasing throughout the host.
They earnestly yearn for the joyful prize of blue enamel.
There your stone with your name became a riddle.
They also wish for their Prince.
All around appears the rule of order at the head of the feast.
They seek to dress the head of the feast with black.
They unendingly shed blood among the war-bands
Longing for you to defend them and give them succour.
At the vanishing of Caesar's kinsman
they will shout in blood and anger.
The sword that was in the van in taming the brothers of Caw of the
Wall.
They crave with longing for a portion of your cause
And for refuge in the manliness of Arthur.
They long for your coming in a hundred fortresses.
A hundred manors long for your assurances.
They long for you in a hundred schools.
A hundred chieftains long for your coming:
The great and mighty sword that supported them.
They look for your best judgements of merit,
The restoration of principalities.
Your sayings are remembered, soothing the aggressive,
Not without faith and the yelling of your offspring.
The eloquence of the bards is not great enough:
Toiling for weeks with the eagerness of beavers,
With the names of men and war-bands to compare you.
With determination to spread the jewel of your order
through the four quarters of mankind,
Above the eagles, above the fear of disorder,
I am the one who is with the great Warrior.
I am the bard, the bagpiper. I am with the Creator;
Seventy musicians create the great rhapsody of the first power...
The Leader of Heaven has left the nation without a roof.
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