Ode to Rhys ap Maredudd of Tywyn
Genau'r Glyn, Tywyn, each day from these to Rhys's halls
Men flock in companies.
May plenty reign there, may rich peace
Through endless ages never cease!
Long age, as of an oak, be his; may he no end
To Fortune's favour see
Till every star shall numbered be,
Earth's dust and blossoms of each tree.
Like the pied blossoms which the trees adorn, like snow,
Like birds that haunt the corn,
Like rain, like dew that decks the morn,
To him be so my blessing borne.
Blessing like dew, I pray, each valley fill; may Rhys
At Tywyn have all that he will
While stand the ancient heavens still,
And, earth and stone, the nearby hill.
Liquor he'll buy; vineyards their bounteous store of wine
Will send the south seas o'er,
Eighteen stout merchantmen and more
With freight of wine-vats by the score.
Wine-vats and weapons, store enow at his command
Now and for evermo,
Good meinie wheresoe'er he go
Of weaponed men, like trees a-row.
Like trees a-row, a thousand, stout and bold: to each,
Aye, thousands more, is told
Largesse of silver and of gold,
Of wine and mead ten thousandfold.
Thousand, two thousand to his hest repair,
A thousand ever his gay livery wear,
Thousand, two thousand poets rare his greatness greet,
Songs honey-sweet a thousand minstrels sing.
Many as snowflakes on Rhydodin shed,
Many as leaves on ash boughs overhead,
As seeds o'er fertile furrows spread each first of May,
So lavish is the pay his hands will fling.
A hundred halls are his if he demand,
Acres and men to match at his command,
Estates a hundred of good land are his each one,
Houses and farms a hundred at his whim.
Nine score of chargers in the year he buys,
Nine score of breastplates 'gainst the shaft that flies,
Nine score of gleaming lances rise in stalwart hands,
At need nine score of lands will follow him.
Nor Italy nor Scotland boasts a knight,
Nor Calais, proof against all foemen's might,
Nor on wide-nostrilled charger white a lord of Wales,
Nor England, who less quails at sight of foe.
Eye never saw in hall with holly gay,
Tongue hath not told on great lord's mustering day,
No host hath heard so far away as distant Llyn
Of one e'er seen good fare to lavish so.
No foam-flecked courser half so swiftly hies,
No hart from ford or buck from bracken flies,
No salmon through the water plies at turn of tide
As, when the feast is cried, men to Tywyn.
Not so far yet hath journeyed bird or star,
Nor sun nor moon nor all the waves that are,
Nor the wide cirque of heaven so far, since first he came,
As Rhys's fame hath spread beyond the Glyn.
Men flock in companies.
May plenty reign there, may rich peace
Through endless ages never cease!
Long age, as of an oak, be his; may he no end
To Fortune's favour see
Till every star shall numbered be,
Earth's dust and blossoms of each tree.
Like the pied blossoms which the trees adorn, like snow,
Like birds that haunt the corn,
Like rain, like dew that decks the morn,
To him be so my blessing borne.
Blessing like dew, I pray, each valley fill; may Rhys
At Tywyn have all that he will
While stand the ancient heavens still,
And, earth and stone, the nearby hill.
Liquor he'll buy; vineyards their bounteous store of wine
Will send the south seas o'er,
Eighteen stout merchantmen and more
With freight of wine-vats by the score.
Wine-vats and weapons, store enow at his command
Now and for evermo,
Good meinie wheresoe'er he go
Of weaponed men, like trees a-row.
Like trees a-row, a thousand, stout and bold: to each,
Aye, thousands more, is told
Largesse of silver and of gold,
Of wine and mead ten thousandfold.
Thousand, two thousand to his hest repair,
A thousand ever his gay livery wear,
Thousand, two thousand poets rare his greatness greet,
Songs honey-sweet a thousand minstrels sing.
Many as snowflakes on Rhydodin shed,
Many as leaves on ash boughs overhead,
As seeds o'er fertile furrows spread each first of May,
So lavish is the pay his hands will fling.
A hundred halls are his if he demand,
Acres and men to match at his command,
Estates a hundred of good land are his each one,
Houses and farms a hundred at his whim.
Nine score of chargers in the year he buys,
Nine score of breastplates 'gainst the shaft that flies,
Nine score of gleaming lances rise in stalwart hands,
At need nine score of lands will follow him.
Nor Italy nor Scotland boasts a knight,
Nor Calais, proof against all foemen's might,
Nor on wide-nostrilled charger white a lord of Wales,
Nor England, who less quails at sight of foe.
Eye never saw in hall with holly gay,
Tongue hath not told on great lord's mustering day,
No host hath heard so far away as distant Llyn
Of one e'er seen good fare to lavish so.
No foam-flecked courser half so swiftly hies,
No hart from ford or buck from bracken flies,
No salmon through the water plies at turn of tide
As, when the feast is cried, men to Tywyn.
Not so far yet hath journeyed bird or star,
Nor sun nor moon nor all the waves that are,
Nor the wide cirque of heaven so far, since first he came,
As Rhys's fame hath spread beyond the Glyn.
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