There was the hero, with both his shoulders covered, { 118a} By a variegated shield, and possessing the swiftness of a warlike steed; There was a noise in the mount of slaughter, { 118b} there was fire, { 118c} Impetuous were the lances, there was a sunny gleam, { 118d} There was food for ravens, the raven there did triumph, { 118e} And before he would let them go free, With the morning dew, like the eagle in his glad course, He scattered them on either side, and like a billow overwhelmed them in front. The Bards of the world judge those to be men of valour, Whose counsels are not divulged to slaves. { 119a} The spears in the hands of the warriors were causing devastation; And ere was interred under { 119b} the swan-white steed, { 119c} One who had been energetic in his commands, His gore had thoroughly washed his armour: { 119d} Such was Buddvan, { 119e} the son of Bleiddvan the Bold.
It were wrong not to record his magnificent feat; He would not leave an open gap, through cowardice; { 120a} The benefit of Britain’s minstrels never quitted his court Upon the calends of January; { 120b} according to his design, { 120c} His land should not be ploughed, though it might become wild; He was a mighty dragon of indignant disposition; A commander in the bloody field, { 120d} after the feast of wine, Was Gwenabwy { 121a} the son of Gwên, { 121b} in the strife of Cattraeth.
True it was, as the songs relate, { 121c} No one’s steeds { 121d} overtook Marchleu; The lances { 121e} hurled by the commanding earl, In his prancing career, { 121f} strewed a thick path; As he had been reared for slaughter by the aid of my mother, { 121g} Furious was the stroke of his sword whilst lending support to others; { 121h} Ashen shafts were scattered from the grasp of his hand, { 122a} Above the narrow summit { 122b} of the solemn pile, { 122c} The place where one caused the smoke to ascend; { 122d} He would slaughter with the blade, whilst his arms were full of furze; { 122e} As when a reaping comes in the interval of fine weather, { 122f} Would Marchleu { 123a} make the blood to flow.
Lower down { 123b} was sent from the southern region, { 123c} One whose conduct { 123d} resembled the flowing sea; { 123e} He was full of modesty and gentleness, When allowed to quaff the mead: But along the rampart to Offer, { 123f} even to the point of Maddeu, { 123g} Enraged, he was glutted with carnage, and scattering, with desolation; { 124a} His sword resounded on the heads of mothers; He was an ardent spirit, { 124b} praise be to him, the son of Gwyddneu. { 124c}