Song To Ale
Book of Taliesin XX
The qualities shall be extolled
Of the man that chained the wind.
When his powers come,
Extremely noisy the elements;
For ever will thy impulse be,
Thou dost pervade
The tide of darkness and day.
The day, there will be a shelter to me,
The night, it will be rested.
Softness is praised.
From a great Guiledig.
The great God caused
The sun of summer, and its excessive heat;
And he caused
The abundance of the wood and field.
lie is the powerful cause of the stream,
It is the powerful cause of every kindness;
God redeemed me
And before they came,
The people of the world to the one hill,
They will not be able to do the least,
Without the power of the King.
lie shall steep it in the Llyn,
Until it shall sprout.
lie shall steep it another time
Until it is sodden.
Not for a long time will be finished
What the elements produce.
Let his vessels be washed,
Let his wort be clear.
And when there shall be an exciter of song,
Let it be brought from the cell,
Let it be brought before kings.
in splendid festivals.
Will not oppose every two
The honey that made it.
Godís departure in me,
As long as the world is in being,
The mildest is the Trinity.
The provocative of the drunkard is drunkenness.
The fishes might show
The capacity of the lodgments
Of the gravel of the salt sea,
Before it overwhelms the strand.
The gravel of the salt sea
Below the sand
Will conceal me from the prvileged one.
Myself he will deliver.
No one will be satsified,
Without the power of the trinity.
Qualities they will honour
In the boundary of Garant.
The mighty ones, without desire, from the recking
Marsh will remove,
When the string of harmony resounds,
Or the shades of night approach,
The hidden retreat from day.
Do the skilful in song know
Where the powerful artist is concealed?
That will give me a robe
From the gate when he ascends.
When the chief leads, in winter,
What melody is commenced together.
In choosing loud fame,
With haste the fortunate will run,
lie will awake the sleeper.
He will merit Carawg
Of the many-citied Cymry,
The father of Caradawg;
The sound of the Meneivians,
The sound of Mynawg of Mona.
The great terrible perjured
On account of Caer Wyrangon.
Who will pay hte precious reward?
Is it Maelgwn from Mona?
Or shall it come from Aeron?
Or Coel or Canawon?
Or Gwrweddw or his sons?
His enemies shall not exult [sic]
From the hostages of Ynyr.
To him will resort the minstrels,
The star of magnificent stars.
have I not disarmed the mystery?
In Mordei Uffin,
In the seas of Gododin,
He is a sharer of varied words,
The raven of the morning divining.
I am an aged exile,
I am of joyful talents,
And the stroke of malice.
Mine, the praising of Urien,
Of splendid purity of life.
Very keen his conduct of hosts,
The ruddy-reaping of the steep.
Ruddyn formed them,
At the battle in Llarddnenwys,
It was Ynyr that broke them to pieces.
A hundred festivals holding
A hundred friends he defended.
I saw mighty men,
Who hastened to the shout of war;
I saw blood on the ground
From the assault of swords.
They tinged with blue the wings of the dawn;
They threw off the spears.
Three hundred festivals complete of the renowned
Ynyr, on the earth indeed there will be redness.
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