Classic Poem

BY LLYGAD GWR ,

God , to whom my voice I raise,
Grant my tongue the power to praise,
To praise as princely deeds require,
For such demand the Poet's lyre;

Arvon's strength, and Mona's tower,
Even proud Deganwy owns his power.
Where are they that dare invade
The chief that spurns a stranger's aid?
He nor waits th' impending blow,
Nor checks, at home, th' invading foe,
But rushing with a Caesar's speed,
Bids the insulting Saxon bleed,
Guides the terror, wide and far,
England's centre feels the war;
Through seas of blood the victor goes,
Stately steeds and flying foes.

Heir of every regal grace,
Pillar of a princely race,
Lion of the generous breast,
Who that sues that is not blest;
Eagle fair, Eryri's pride,
Who that asks, by him denied;
Grediawl like, he scal'd the wall,
And bad its brave defenders fall;

The days were his, when Breiniech bled,
When hungry ravens crowded, fed;
When shields were red from streaming wounds,
From Pwllford to Cydweli's bounds;
If God, the son, be still his friend,
His spirit, Man in vain shall bend.

Prudence marks Llywelyn's sway,
A grateful people, pleas'd, obey;
He nor rues Bryn-derwyn's field,
Where havoc's sons were taught to yield;
Gelorwydd's day, Eivionydd far,
Where, dragon like, he led the war;
Nor yet, when foes, to check his course,
Had crowded, swell'd, Dauvynydd's force;
May Heaven, a hapless nation's friend,
To distant days, his life extend;
His shield to save, his arm to bless,
And grant a harrassed life redress.

A Lion in pursuit of prey,
A Hurricane's tremendous way;
Insatiate as the spreading flame,
Such Llywelyn's thirst of fame;
Our Sires foretold his triple sway,
And Fate's directed hours obey;
Old Aberfraw's Sovereign Ior,
Chief of distant Dinevor;
My Prince Mathraval's sceptre sways,
The Bards of Powys sing his praise;
His, when Glory's race shall close,
His, be honor, fame, repose!

Descendant fair of Britain's Kings,
A favor'd Bard attunes the strings;
And hopes to cut a path-way wide,
When fighting by his Sovereign's side;
Gwynedd's leader, yonder brow,
Saw his banners brave the foe;
His bright Toledo, deck'd with gold,
Its deeds, the wearied edge has told:
Rhos and Penvro's utmost bound,
Saw the ruin raging round;
Normans fierce, are fierce in vain,
Saxon chiefs but heap the slain;
Lloeger's hosts, advance, retire,
Her towns, her castles, feed the fire.
Foremost in the desperate deed,
Sudden as the lightning's speed,
Swift as Flamddwyn's dreadful car,
Even distant Cornwall feels the war;
His breast with patriot ardour burns,
Crown'd with conquest he returns;
Returns to bid the slaughter cease,
And court the milder cares of Peace;
Heroic warriors! bold and strong,
'Tis your's to share the fame of song;
Comrades in his trials, toils,
Share the triumph, share the spoils.